Call of Destiny


Chapter 1

The three candles flickered softly on the small table in front of Carenn.  Soon Sha, the 
greater sun, would be up.  Once the lesser suns, Roon and Dur, rose and followed in it’s 
wake, it would be time to prepare for the Rebirth Ceremony.  Two weeks...It did not seem 
that two weeks had passed since they had brought the news of Turell’s death.  He was a 
hero, they said.  He had never wanted to be a hero, had not really wanted to be out there 
on the Minbari-Centauri border, but he was a telepath and they said that they needed a 
telepath with deep space experience, so he went.  They did not have many details of what 
happened only that they ship had experienced some type of malfunction which had left 
them vulnerable to the Centauri cruiser that had destroyed their ship or nearly so.  It was 
said that at least three of the crew had survived until the Minbari fleet that they had 
signaled arrived.  The ship was unsalvageable, but the lifesupport had continued to 
function well enough to sustain what was left of the crew.

Two weeks to meditate on three years of marriage and a lifetime of friendship and now it 
was time to say good-bye and be reborn to new possibilities.  The rebirth ceremony had 
always seemed so comforting before when it was someone else’s change but now it was 
one more ritual to perform, one more tradition.  Still, Carenn was Minbari and the Minbari 
liked their rituals.  There was a ritual for everything -for meeting and saying good-bye, for 
new friends and old.  Rituals insure predictability.  They create order and reduce risks.  
When you have a ritual for everything then you always know how to behave, what to say.  
Strange that a race so concerned with order and stability should consider the Rebirth 
Ceremony one of their most important ritual when it was supposed to celebrate change.  
Still, once you create a ritual for something then how unpredictable can the change truly 
be.

Rising slowly, Carenn made her way into the bedroom to dress for the Ceremony.  She 
chose the pale blue outfit that Turell had always liked and began to prepare.  Like all 
Minbari dress, the outfit was layered.  The inner layer tightfitting and the outer layers 
loose and flowing.  It was more than tradition since Minbar was in the 18,000 th year of 
it’s most recent Ice Age.  The temperature by many worlds standards was cool, although it 
had been rising slowly over the last 1000 years.

By the time she was ready, the lesser suns had risen and she could hear the sound of others 
stirring in the house she and Turell had shared with her family.  Her parents and younger 
brother, Turhan, lived on the East side of the courtyard while she and Turell had occupied 
the North side.  Carenn’s grandmother, Falenn had a room on the South side of the 
courtyard so that she might look out on Lake Minbar.

“We are ready, Carenn.” called her grandmother Falenn. “Do you require any help getting 
dressed.”

“No, I am ready, grandmother.” Carenn replied opening the door. “As ready as I will ever 
be,  I suppose.”

Falenn caught Carenn’s hand and patted it softly as they made their way to the dining area.  
As was customary, an extra place had been set at the table for Valen.  Falenn who had 
spent two days preparing this meal, the first Carenn would eat after her two week fast, 
waited for Carenn and the others to be seated before she herself took her place.  Then 
following a brief prayer, she and Carenn exchanged bowls as a token of welcome.  It was 
said that in the time of the Ancients when Minbari still warred with one another and 
murder was not an unheard of practice, the exchange of bowls was intended as a sign of 
trust.  Now it was done because it was always done.  It was ritual.  Each member of the 
family was now expected to offer a portion of food to the chef, Falenn, in thanks.  After 
all, according to tradition Falenn had remained awake for two days eating only bread and 
drinking only water in order to prepare this meal.  There were fifteen steps in the 
preparation, each involving a different spice and a different blessing.  The meal was a gift, 
an honor given by the one who prepared it for the guest who would come.  It was not 
about food but meditation, cleansing, and ritual.  Somehow, Carenn thought, everything 
comes back to ritual.  Since the guests must now observe similar rituals in the eating of the 
meal, meditating at intervals, praying when ritual required, the three suns were well up in 
the sky by the time they were finished.  It was now time to. head to the Temple.

They left their house on the shore of Lake Minbar and began to make their way toward 
the Temple in Shandor where the Ceremony would be held.  It was a three mile walk to 
the Temple.  They were soon joined along the way by others who would be attending the 
Ceremony, mostly other members of the religious caste.  The three castes, religious, 
warrior, and worker, rarely socialized together.  Since Turell had died in the recent 
conflict there was likely to be some members from the other castes there to pay their 
respects, the Ceremony being open to all, but they would be few in number and easily 
recognizable by their attire and the bonecrest which were distinctive to the different castes.

The Temple lay just ahead of them now, it’s crystal spires shining in the sunlight.  The 
glaciers that had formed Lake Minbar had also exposed vast formations of crystalline 
rock.  By tradition, the metamorphic rock with it’s varying pattern of waves was used for 
all temple structures.  The Central Temple of Shandor was carved of a light grey and 
white rock unlike the Great Temple in Yedor, the capital of Minbar which was carved of a 
striking black and white rock.  As they approached the front entrance, Carenn was again 
struck by the beauty of the stained crystal surrounding the doorway.  The pattern, as 
always, was a series of triangular shapes of various sizes and colors.  The triangle was 
sacred on Minbar, it’s three sides reminding them of the past, the present, and the future.  
As far back as Sha’khat, the first ruler to unite the southern continents, the triangle and 
the pyramid had been sacred.  Valen’s gift of the triluminary had been part of this 
tradition.

As Carenn and her family entered the Temple, Carenn glanced around at those already 
assembled.  There were a number of faces that she did not recognize , including a warrior 
caste Minbari and the two worker caste Minbari that stood by him.  Unusual, they seemed 
to be talking in a friendly, companionable manner.  Carenn and her family put on the white 
robes required for the Ceremony and proceeded to the front of the temple.  When they 
reached it and  took their place beside the family of Turell, all were seated for the 
Ceremony.

Carenn tried to focus on the ritual but her thoughts kept straying to the night that she had 
realized that Turell was dead.  She had needed no one to tell her that Turell was dead. She 
had seen it, felt it.  Perhaps it was because Turell was a telepath and she had some small 
gift in that area, not like Turell but enough to sense feelings at times.  It had certainly 
always been enough to know what Turell was feeling, although he could have probably 
blocked her out, if he had wanted to.  He didn’t, never had.  They had known as far back 
as Academy that they wished to be together someday.  It would be somewhat difficult they 
knew.  Turell was of the clan of Lar, the family Krell.  Their clan had been in dominance 
for the last 22 years and his mother and grandmother were both renowned poets of Ti’Lar, 
poem songs that seek to recall old memories and provoke new thoughts.  Although 
Carenn’s grandmother Falenn had represented their clan Shan at the Yedor competition 40 
years ago, their clan and family Mir did not come close to the standing of Turell’s family.  
Still, they could always hope and in the end Turell became part of the family Mir since by 
tradition the male joins the clan of the female.  If the male were of a different caste, which 
was rare, he still retained his right of caste.  The children were raised into the tradition of 
the dominant caste.

Lost in thought, Carenn barely realized that the ceremony had ended.  Since no one was 
looking askance, she assumed that training had carried her through without incident.  She 
berated herself for the lack of attention.  The rebirth Ceremony was one of their most 
sacred, surely a good member of the religious caste should treat it with the reverence it 
was due, although the clan Shan believed that enlightenment comes through an emotional 
moment of connection and divine revelation not systematic prayer, meditation, etc.  While 
all Minbari were expected to engage in systematic prayer and meditation, method mattered 
less to the clan Shan than to the other clans of the religious caste.  Leave it to one trained 
in logical discourse to reason their way out of inattention to religion Carenn thought with 
a sigh.  She had certainly undergone a change but to what- a childless widow destined to 
bounce nieces and nephews on her aging knees.  There had never been anyone but Forell 
and never would be.

As she stood on the steps of the Temple receiving the formal greeting and condolences of 
the guests, Carenn noticed the Warrior and Workers she seen earlier.  They appeared to be 
waiting their turn at greeting, but she was fairly certain that they had never met. Before 
she knew it, she was looking up into the eyes of the warrior and experiencing an 
enlightenment that had not come earlier.

“Veroon of the family Loors,” he said, his hands steepled at his waist in the formal style of 
greeting for the religious caste. “I was the aide to Alyt Mazic who commanded the 
Trekhati.  This is Dulann of the family Veric and Zaka of the family Durs.  They were two  
of our engineers.”

That explained their presence Carenn thought while returning the formal greeting of 
Veroon.  They were the survivors she had heard about.  She had not realized that Turell 
had been keeping such honored company.  The family of Loors had served Minbar with 
honor since the days of Valen, a thousand years ago.  It was said that one of their family 
had acted as the chief aide to Valen himself during the Great War.  She did not recognize 
the family of the two worker caste, but that was not unusual.  While Valen had raised the 
worker caste to equal status during the Great War, they had never truly taken the place he 
had prepared.  It was an equality in name, if not in fact.  They both looked very young to 
have been an engineer on what was apparently a relatively important mission judging by 
the presence of Veroon.

Turell had not been able to give her many details of this assignment but the presence of a 
member of the Star Rider Clan suggested that it had to do with testing new technology 
since that was their specialty.  Turell’s role was to safeguard the mental well being of the 
crew, resolve disputes if any arose.

“I would like to call on you later, if I may,” Veroon was saying. “Turell gave me several 
things that he wished you to have, and I thought that you might have some questions 
regarding his death that I might be able to answer. Would tomorrow be acceptable?  I 
must travel to Yedor the following day.”

“Yes, of course,” Carenn heard herself saying. “I would be most honored to receive you 
following the noon Temple.”

With a second bow, Veroon turned and left, Dulann and Zaka walking slightly behind him 
on his right.  Carenn watched them turn the corner as her father came to claim her arm and 
begin the walk home.  Carenn had always enjoyed the walk to and from temple along the 
tree-lined shore of Lake Minbar.  Here and there, they would often stop to gaze at one of 
the fountains or waterfalls that graced the broad lane but today her mind was on other 
things, not the same things that had occupied it this morning but something new, a warrior 
with pale blue eyes and a sad, haunted smile.


Veroon’s thoughts were elsewhere as well.  They were on a face that he had come to 
know so well in the six days that they had waited for help after the Centauri fight, 
Carenn’s.  Veroon had been pleased to serve as aide and second-in-command for Alyt 
Mazic on this particular mission.  The Star Riders had been working for a number of years 
to develop a new class of Minbari cruiser, one much smaller and faster than their other 
Fleet ship.  The problem lay in the final requirement for this new ship.  It must be able to 
open it’s own jump point into hyperspace and no ship this size had been able to do it.  A 
ship this size could not house the engines normally required to open a jump point or 
generate the necessary energy, but the engines had been miniaturized and a distortion field 
utilized to ramp up the necessary energy.  The distortion field was proving particularly 
unstable and had led to several accidents.  The Star Riders had been forced to seek 
assistance from the worker caste scientific clans on ways to contain and stabilize the field.  
They would be conducting tests of the new design along the Minbari-Centauri border.  It 
was a relatively unimportant sector of Minbari space and sparsely populated which made it 
ideal for these trials.

The Centauri had once boasted what they called an empire, but this empire was but a 
shadow of it’s former self.  That, however, did not stop this arrogant and ostentatious 
race.  While the Minbari had maintain an informal diplomatic relationship with the 
Centauri, it was more a matter of form.  Minbari as a whole had little interest in alien 
affairs,  and the Centauri represented little threat to the Minbari who were the oldest 
spacefaring race left on this side of the galactic core, if you did not include the Vorlons 
and discounted the rumors about hidden First Ones.  No one dared to challenge the 
Minbari, and the Star Riders were determined that anyone who did would pay a heavy 
price.

Because the trials were expected to last for at least four months, a telepath had been 
requested as was customary on long deployments.  A crew isolated for four months and 
thrown together with other clans and even castes needed a telepath to mediate disputes 
and monitor mental well-being.  Turell formerly of the family Krell, now of the family Mir, 
had been selected as he had had the most deep space experience since he had served on a 
religious caste vessel protecting the Norsai, an agrarian race that occupied several worlds 
on the border of Minbari space.  The crew also included three worker caste engineers.  
Inesval of the family Tach was the chief engineer.  His work on energy fields had been 
recognized many times at the Dronia competition where the worker caste clans competed 
for dominance every 11 years.  His assistant was a young Minbari named Dulann of the 
family Veric.  Both of them were originally from the F’Tach Islands which lay between the 
two southern continents.  The final worker caste member was actually a theoretical 
physicist, Zaka, a female of the family Durs.  

The trials had been going well, although the ship continued to experience unpredictable 
power falloffs.  The Trekhati had just entered the space near Morabito III when Merrik 
called out, “I have a Centauri war cruiser in orbit around the planet.”

“A Centauri warship,”  Mazic repeated looking thoughtful. “We were not informed of the 
presence of any Centaur warships in this area.  Open gunports and hail them.  I wish to 
know the reason for this unexpected visit to Minbari space.”

“Alyt, we are receiving their reply,” Veroon acknowledged looking like a gok that had lost 
it’s dinner to the well-meaning interference of a Minbari child.  “I am putting it on screen.”

The Centauri captain who appeared on screen must have fancied himself a highly placed 
member of his society judging by the height of his hair but Mazic would have been 
unimpressed, even if he had realized the significance of his hair.  Mazic was a warrior not 
a diplomat and he was certainly not a Merchant, the clan of the worker caste having had 
more contact with the other races in the galaxy than any other group of Minbari society.  
Mazic merely wanted to know when he could expect the Centauri to leave Minbari space 
or be escorted out.  Being escorted out was not, however, on the mind of the Centauri 
Captain.

“I am Captain Morel of the Centauri warship Cartegia.  This world is currently under our 
protection.  You are asked to leave at once.

“What are they playing at,” Mazic asked, turning to face Veroon.  “ We have held this 
area for centuries.  Surely, they can not mean to challenge us.”

“It appears that they do’” Veroon replied. “They are powering up weapons.”

“Have they locked on yet,” Mazic demanded, returning his attention to the screen.

“No, but they are breaking orbit and heading in this direction. What are your orders.”

“Go to battle alert and prepare to bring the shields and weapons online,” Mazic ordered.

“We have shields but weapons are not functional, Veroon replied while his fingers flew 
over the console searching for a cause.  “It appears that we are experiencing another 
power loss which is affecting the weapons systems.  I am attempting to reroute power 
from the jump engines.”

“Invesval to the bridge,’ Mazic ordered just as Inesval and the other two worker caste 
crew entered the bridge, followed by Turell.

“I need those weapons active Inesval and I need them now,” Mazic ordered without even 
looking at Inesval.  “Turell, can you tell me if these Centauri are serious or just insane?”

“Quite serious,” Turell responded after a brief pause.  “I also believe that this captain is 
expecting reinforcements shortly”.

“Alyt, they are locking on.  Do you wish me to begin evasive maneuvers,” Veroon called 
out from behind his captain.

“Yes. And get me those weapon.”

The ship suddenly lurched sideways struck by a second Centauri warship emerging from a 
jump point behind them.  Veroon fought to maintain control and move the ship away from 
this latest threat.  He did not notice that a beam from the ceiling was currently lying across 
what had been the command chair and that underneath the beam lay Mazic, quite dead.

“Veroon, what are your orders,” Merrik said from the weapons console.

“My orders...” Veroon began puzzled before he followed Merrik’s gaze to the center seat.

“Zaka, take navigation and continue evasive maneuvers,” Veroon called after realizing that 
Mazic was not the only casualty of the Centauri’s first pass. “Inesval, what happened to 
the shields?  The Centauri should not have been able to inflict this kind of damage.”

“The power loss appears to be affecting them as well, but I think that I can reroute power 
and stabilize them, if you like.”

“No,” Veroon replied. “I need weapons.  We can not jump or outrun them.  I need 
weapons now. If you have to reroute power from the shields.”

“Done,” Dulann replied. “Weapons are now online.”

“Merrik, fire on my mark.  Zaka, as soon as the first shot is off, I want to turn and fire on 
the second cruiser.  Understood.  Then fire.”

The first shot caught the approaching Centauri cruiser amidship taking out the engines and 
causing the ship to veer off.  As planned the Trekhati wheeled and fired down the throat of 
the trailing Centauri cruiser.  The explosion ripped through the bridge destroying weapons 
and navigation control. “Come about,” Veroon ordered as the ship was rocked by a shot 
from the first disabled vessel “and fire.”  The second shot hit the field generators setting 
off a series of explosions that ripped  the Centauri vessel apart.  Unfortunately, before the 
Trekhati could react a piece of the trailing ship struck them sending the ship tumbling 
forward.

The sight that greeted Veroon’s eyes when he regained consciousness was not a joyous 
one.  He had commanded his first ship in battle, surely the dream of every Minbari warrior, 
and all around him lay the results, the dead and the dying.  The ship was now drifting, but 
at least the two Centauri vessels had been destroyed.  If no others arrived, they had a 
chance of surviving until help arrived, assuming there was anyone left but him and the 
distress beacon was working.  Slowly, Veroon made his way around the bridge checking 
each individual for any signs of life.  After some five minutes he had determined that only 
Dulann, Zaka, and Turell were still alive on the bridge.  If the sensor were correct, 
everyone below decks was dead.  Zaka and Turell were injured, but Veroon could not tell 
how badly.  Dulann began to stir, so Veroon went to kneel beside him.

Placing a restraining hand on Dulann’s shoulder, Veroon quietly said, “Do not try to get 
up too quickly, you may have injuries that I can not detect.  How do you feel?”

“Like I had been beaten around the head by a warrior skilled in the den’bok,” Dulann 
replied with a crooked smile.

“There is no other kind,” Veroon chuckled as he helped Dulann to rise.  “How were you 
able to reroute power so quickly from the shields to the weapons?

“I had anticipated that order and begun to work out the details as soon as I noticed the 
fluctuations in shield power, “ Dulann replied shyly, expecting a reprimand for his 
presumption.

“It is well that you did, Dulann.  You may well have saved our lives, or some of them 
anyway.  It would appear that only you, I, Turell, and Zaka survived.  If you are up to it, 
can you determine if the distress beacon is functioning.  I want to check on life support.”

When Veroon returned  he did not find Dulann’s expression encouraging.  “Well...,” he 
began, catching Dulann’s eyes.

Shaking his head, Dulann pointed to a schematic of the ship.  “It appears that there was 
extensive damage to upper aft quarter of the ship.  It is doubtful that the distress beacon 
escaped damage.”

“What can we do?” Veroon asked, already turning the situation over in his head.  It was 
possible that the inhabitants of Morabito III would send word to the Fleet, assuming that 
they had not invited the Centauri presence, but Heron hated to rely on  that possibility for 
help.  His examination of life support indicated that at best they had six days left.  “Is there 
some other way to send a message?”

After a moments thought, Dulann hesitatingly said “Yes, it may be possible to use the 
tachyon particles in the distortion generator to send a message, but that is more Zaka’s 
field.  If only she revives...”

Fortunately, Zaka had revived and proved to be less injured than Veroon had first thought.  
While she and Dulann worked to send the tachyon signal, Veroon settled down “to 
command” what was left of his bridge and watch over Turell who continued to slip in and 
out of consciousness.

“Are you married, Turell” Veroon asked during one of those conscious periods.

“Yes, in two weeks we will celebrate the third anniversary of our Rebirth.  I was hoping to 
be home for it.”

“You will be,” Veroon replied, trying to sound optimistic.  His optimism was lost to Turell 
who appeared to be slipping into unconsciousness again, but this time Veroon suddenly 
saw a face in his mind and watched as this face laughingly led him down the shore of a 
lake.  Normally, a telepath would not broadcast their thoughts in this manner but Turell’s 
injuries had made this a decidedly unnormal time.  He watched them playing Na’shan’lan, 
praying in Temple, watching the moons rise. making love in the early light.  Veroon who 
had not a shred of the gift tried to remember the lesson of his meditation teacher in 
Temple but, whether it was lack of practice or a fascination with something he himself had 
never experienced, he was not successful.  When Turell regained consciousness, he 
seemed unaware of what he had done, and Veroon was too polite, or too embarrassed, to 
mention it.

It took almost two days for Zaka and Dulann to get the tachyon signal working and at best 
it would be three days before help could arrive from the deep space station on Tachlan II, 
but at least no more Centauri ships had arrived.  If only Turell, who was now more 
unconscious than conscious, could hold on till help arrived.  Veroon could not remember 
ever having spent such a long time alone in the presence of the worker caste.  True, he had 
been called to work with that caste on a number of occasions, but outside of work he had 
rarely ever been in their company, certainly never discussing family, home.  It was 
generally considered impolite to inquire after the family of strangers.  Minbari society was 
based around the group, the family, the clan, the caste.  The individual was expect to 
subsume his own ambitions and desires to the will of the group, to achieve fulfillment 
through the collective actions and successes of the group.

Death or shared fate had now forged an unlikely group of Minbari.  Strangely, Veroon 
found that he truly liked them, not understood them mind you, but liked them.  He could 
not honestly say that about many of his own caste, although a proper Minbari would never 
allow likes or dislikes to interfere with social protocol, politeness, obligation.  He could 
not recall a time when he felt more at ease in anyone’s presence.  When, if, they were 
rescued he would miss this time for propriety did not admit too close an association with 
the other castes outside of business.  

Unfortunately, the arrival of three Centauri heavy cruisers on the sixth day after the battle 
seemed to make anyones associations a moot point.  Just as Veroon was debating 
surrender, jump points opened all around them.  Ten Minbari cruisers suddenly 
surrounded them.  Veroon never asked what was said between the two fleets, but he 
suspected that it was brief and to the point.  Shortly after the arrival of the Minbari ships, 
the Centauri discovered that they were needed elsewhere and left with as much dignity as 
a full retreat would allow.

It took several hours to get the damaged Trekhati aboard the lead Minbari cruiser.  Time 
enough to examine it’s shattered mass later.  Turell was taken immediately to the medical 
facilities where physicians tried desperately to repair the damage.  Veroon reported to the 
fleet captain immediately and briefed him on the battle and it’s aftermath.

Less than six hours after their rescue, Turell passed beyond the veil, unaware that he was 
one of the hero’s of the Battle of Morabito.  Veroon did not find any consolation in being 
a hero either.  Second guessing oneself never serves any useful purpose but when Mazic 
died Veroon became responsible for the Trekhati and it’s crew.  He had very little left to 
show for his first command and only Dulann’s quick action had saved that much.  Of 
course, it was unthinkable to give credit for this victory to one of the worker caste.  So 
Dulann’s part was never to be officially mentioned.  He was merely a survivor of Centauri 
foolishness and arrogance.

At this point in his musings, Veroon stopped, unsure of why it seemed so important to see 
Carenn.  He could have given her the pendant at the ceremony or sent a servant to deliver 
it.  Suddenly, he realized that he had to know if what he felt for her was just an echo of 
Turell’s feelings or something else.  A few minutes with her, he thought smugly, and the 
usual religious caste superiority and argumentative disputation will cure me of whatever it 
is that ails me.  This is quite likely the result of guilt over the death of her husband, a 
distorted attempt to atone.  In any event, tomorrow it will be over.


Having calculated the walking time from Temple to the Mir house, and allowing time for 
them to settle in after Temple, Veroon appeared the following day dressed in warrior 
black and sporting the new epaulets denoting his promotion to alyt.  Following the formal 
introductions, Carenn led Veroon to the sitting area on the North side of the courtyard.

“You said yesterday that you had something to give me from Turell,” Carenn asked after 
they had been seated.

“Yes, “ Veroon replied handing her a small package that he had collected from Turell’s 
quarters after their ship had been taken aboard the Minbari cruiser.  “He wished you to 
have these things.”

Carenn carefully opened the neatly wrapped package to find the small pendant that she 
had given Turell before he left and the holo taken of them last year.  Strange, but the face 
she knew so well already seemed to be blurring around the edges.  They had never been 
separated before he had agreed to this assignment.  That six months apart could cause her 
to forget so much frightened her, and so she stared even harder at the holo, running her 
hand over it as though she could somehow make her hands remember what her mind had 
forgotten.  Veroon watched as she caressed the holo, embarrassed and unsure of what to 
say, certain that if he found the right words he could ease the pain.  He had always been 
good with words, better than a warrior was supposed to be, or so he was told.  
Unfortunately, no words came to him now.

When Carenn finally looked up, Veroon told her briefly about the battle and the long wait 
for help.  He wanted her to understand that Turell had not suffered too greatly and that his 
thoughts had been for her.  It seemed inadequate, but it was all that he had to give.  While 
he talked Carenn studied his face, surprised by the feelings she saw there.  She had always 
assumed that warriors were coldly dispassionate to death and suffering.  It was, after all, 
their business, but there was nothing cold or dispassionate about Veroon’s face.  As he 
continued, she was again surprised that Turell, a very private person, as were all Minbari, 
should have told him so much.  It seemed unlikely that they had become such good friends 
in such a short time.  Friendship between the castes was not unheard of, but it was 
certainly not common.  They fight, we pray, and the workers build.  That was the law first 
set down in the time of Sha’khat and confirmed by Valen.  What do the fighter and the 
priest have in common.  The two castes seldom agreed on anything, and despite a 
thousand years of peace, the two castes were no closer to understanding one another than 
they had been in the time of Valen.  The scrupulously fair would say that neither caste was 
better than the other, but they were qualitatively different in ways that the less than fair 
had taken great pains to enumerate over the centuries.

For their part, her family was even more puzzled than Carenn by what these two could 
find to talk about for so long and when Veroon finally took his leave they were even more 
amazed to hear them discussing a meeting on Veroon’s return from Yedor.  It was true 
that the official time of mourning was over,  and they fervently prayed that Carenn would 
be able to get on with her life which had always seemed to center on Turell but this was 
unexpected and not entirely welcome.  While Minbari valued the privacy of others and no 
one would think to mention Veroon’s visits, still they would be noted.  Minbari value 
propriety and conformity to accepted traditions.  What they saw smacked of neither.

If Veroon and Carenn were aware of how others viewed them, it did not show.  Neither of 
them wanted to analyze the situation too closely for fear that something valuable would be 
forever lost, and so it was that they began to meet regularly along the shores of Lake 
Minbar, always in a public place, their behavior well within the bounds of proper decorum, 
but a look can convey a thousand words and anyone looking could read volumes.  Which 
is why Carenn was surprised when her father confronted her about the situation.

“You have been spending a great deal of time with Veroon.  Can you tell me why,” Durval 
asked softly.  “We are concerned about you and want only the best for you.”

Struggling to put into words feelings that she herself barely understood, Carenn looked to 
her grandmother hoping to see an answer to that question in her face but finding only an 
enigmatic smile instead.  Finally, she said, “I have no answer to that question.  I know only 
that I find myself telling him the most extraordinary things, hopes, dreams...Everything 
seems lighter, sharper, clearer. I am sorry. I do not mean to cause you alarm.  I only know 
that I enjoy his company.  Is that wrong?”

At that precise moment, Veroon was facing a less gentle interrogation about his interest in 
Carenn.  “Veroon, you have always been a good son and your recent actions have brought 
honor to our family and our clan, but this relationship must stop.  It is time that you 
considered finding a proper wife and having children.  This relationship will only distract 
you from that task.  Besides, with your promotion there are many possibilities ahead.  
With Mazic gone, you would be the likely successor for the White Star project,” his 
mother pleaded.

“Finding a wife is not a task, although I suppose any obligation can be considered a task.  
What makes Carenn so unsuitable? I am not even certain that she or her family would find 
me suitable, but you have often told me that once committed to a task, honor demands 
that we see it through, and I would see this through, however it turns out.” And bowing 
deeply, Veroon took his leave.  It was time to settle the matter.

Chapter 2


Veroon could not recall being this nervous during the Battle of Morabito, but then death 
to a warrior was merely an end to their obligations, or so he had been told.  If Carenn did 
not approve of him tonight, it would be a fate worse than death.  By tradition, when 
Minbari became close as he and Carenn had become close, they would spend three nights 
together.  The male would sleep while the female watched.  If she approved of his true 
face, then they would make formal petition to the Elders of their respective clans to 
continue the rituals which would end with the Rebirth Ceremony and their joining.  What 
concerned him most was the possibility that the dreams would return.  It had been over a 
year since the battle, but he still occasionally dreamed of the battle.  This would not be a 
good night to have that happen.

His family had greeted her as politeness dictated, but nothing more.  While they continued 
to make every effort to point out the error of his ways, the other marriageable possibilities, 
they had not yet decided to force the issue.  There was still time, and at least sixty other 
rituals to go before they would have to act to end this relationship.

As so often happens, the more you try to avoid something, the more inevitable it becomes.  
So, it is not surprising that Veroon found himself in his nightmare again, calling out orders 
to a dead crew, watching helplessly as the Centauri cruiser closed on their position.  Just 
as it fired, he jerked awake to find Carenn looking at him in concern.

“Are you alright? You seemed to be having a dream and not a pleasant one,” Carenn 
began, not sure how to proceed.  From his feverish comments, it was clear that he had 
been dreaming of the battle.  he had even called to Turell at one point.

“I am sorry, Carenn.  I hoped that the dream would not come tonight, that you would not 
witness this weakness but...”

“Do warriors have no weaknesses?” Carenn asked with a teasing smile. “I am not sure I 
wish to be mated to someone without weaknesses.  It would make me feel quite 
inadequate.”

“Warriors have many weaknesses, but for a warrior to discover that life, preserving life, is 
more important than duty and honor, that is a weakness that can not be tolerated and 
could prove fatal.  If the Fleet had not arrived when it did, I was prepared to surrender in 
order to get help for Turrell.  I saw no honor in allowing him and the others to die alone in 
the cold and friendless night.”

“They were not alone, Veroon.  You had each other,” Carenn quietly pointed out to 
Veroon before continuing, “Have you spoken of this to anyone, Veroon?  It is possible 
that you are not alone in these feelings.  I will listen if you wish to talk, but I can not help 
you with this.  I know nothing of war or battle, except the stories of ancient wars and the 
battles of Valen, but they are only words to me.  I do not know, and can not imagine, 
killing someone or asking others to die for me.  Perhaps, you might speak with Branmer.  
He recently came to the Temple in Shandor.  His father is warrior caste, so it is possible 
that he might understand, that he might help you to understand.”

“Perhaps...” Veroon began,  “Do you wish to leave now? I will see you home.”

“Did you think that this would frighten me away?  You must have a low opinion of the 
religious caste.  We too followed Valen into fire, into storm, into darkness, and into death.  
Do you think that one nightmare would make me flee?  I do not understand what is 
happening between us or why.  I only know that it is and that I want it to be so.  I loved 
Turell ever since we were children.  Ours was a warm and safe love, a calm lake of 
contentment.  You are not a lake but a waterfall, exciting, frightening but compelling.  I 
could not walk away if I wanted to, which I do not,” Carenn finished to look up and find 
Veroon standing over her.  Kneeling, he reached over to gently cup her face in his hand 
and kiss her lightly on the lips.  What was intended as an affectionate kiss became more 
passionate than either of them intended as Carenn and Veroon embraced each other as if 
the world beneath them had begun to shift violently.  In a way, it had for they could no 
more deny the sense of completeness that they experienced than they could have stopped 
the suns from rising.

“Sleep now, “ Carenn told Veroon finally.  “I do not think the dream will trouble you 
further tonight.” And she was right.


Veroon did not know what he expected Branmer to look like, but he certainly was not 
expecting someone as young and physically impressive.  He looked like his father’s son, 
but there was a gentleness to his manner that had nothing to do with the warrior caste.
“I have looked forward to meeting you,” Branmer smiled, gesturing toward a small sitting 
room in the rear of the Temple.  ‘The hero of Morabito’...I understand that you and 
Carenn have applied to the Clan Elders.  Judging by my parents, you are braver than even 
Morabito would suggest.  It is a difficult thing to try and bridge so great a gap, but there is 
little reward in following the path that everyone else walks.  Of course, it is harder to get 
lost when you are following others, and you have the look of a lost man, Veroon.  Would 
you like to discuss the path you have chosen?”

Judging by this first speech, Branmer certainly had a warriors love of directness.  He had 
even used the warrior dialect rather than the more convoluted religious caste dialect.  It 
was comforting to Veroon to hear it, and it made what he had to say easier somehow.  “I 
do not think the Calling of my Heart is warrior caste anymore, if it ever was.  I enjoy the 
challenge of the den’bok.  The fighting pike has always fascinated me and the abstraction 
of strategy is intellectually challenging, but these things did not prepare me for the horror 
and loss that I felt at the battle.  What did they die for? ”

“I hope that I never meet a warrior that can be unmoved by death.  Each life is unique and 
precious.  When it’s flame goes out, we are all diminished.  It’s like will never come again.  
Still, I must believe that some things are worth fighting for, dying for.  Even Valen who 
cherished life understood this to be so.  The secret is to know what those things are, and I 
can not answer that question for you, but you do not have to walk this path alone. Not 
yet, at least.  Valen said that wisdom is not a destination but a journey.  It is a path along 
which we may discover great moments of revelation.  Of course, not all of us are open to 
revelation for sometimes those revelations show us things that we would rather not see.  
What have you seen, Veroon?”

Branmer sat patiently as Veroon struggled to explain the sense of emptiness that had filled 
him after the battle.  He had indeed felt lost and confused.  As always, the most difficult 
questions centered on why.

“I can not help but ask myself why the Centauri were willing to fight and we willing to kill 
over something so insignificant as Morobito.  It is a small planet in an out of the way part 
of the sector without major resources or wealth.  Why would the Centauri want it?  Why 
should we have been willing to kill and die for it? Why?,” Veroon looked pleadingly at 
Branmer, hoping that he had an answer that would make the deaths that had occurred 
meaningful.

“I can give you my father’s answer, “ Branmer sighed.  “He would say that the Centauri 
are a decadent and greedy race that are motivated by pride to try to restore an empire that 
is forever lost.  They do not have the power, honor or skill to undertake a major campaign 
against us, so like carrion eaters they circle hoping to feast on our scraps.  We, for our 
part,  must drive them off lest these little successes embolden them to attack greater 
targets.”

“Is it that simple?  Did Turell and the others die for nothing more than greed and pride?  
The Centauri are a spacefaring race and while their technology is less advanced than ours, 
they are still civilized.  They have mothers and fathers, children.  Do they love their kin 
any less than us,” Veroon said, shaking his head at the thought that life could hold so 
much less meaning for the Centauri than for his people.

“I said that I was giving you my father’s answer, but I did not say that I agreed.  The truth 
is always more complex than the stereotype, and I must believe that his view is a 
stereotype.  Unfortunately,  we have isolated ourselves from the Centauri and most of the 
other races for centuries.  I have seen them occasionally in Yedor, but I have never really 
spoken to them.  I have never read their literature, studied their language, or sang their 
songs.  If I, a priestly scholar, have not done these things, then who has taken the time or 
trouble.  There are workers from the Merchant clan who probably know a great deal more 
of these races, but who among the religious or warrior clans speaks to them, our own 
people.  Yet, the time is coming when we may need allies.”

 Veroon was silent for some moments.  “Allies...,” he began.
“Yes,” Branmer continued, answering Veroon’s unspoken question.   “Valen said that one 
day we must unite with the other half of our soul in a war with the Ancient Enemy and he 
spoke of a race that was as yet unknown to us.  The Time of Prophesy is almost upon us 
and we are no closer to understanding his prophesy or finding this race than we were 500 
years ago.  I have studied the old prophesies, or at least the ones that are available to a 
lowly scholar, looking for clues, but I have come no closer to the answer.”

“Prophesy, as my father would say, is for priests not for warriors.  I have never thought 
much of it till Morobito.  Visions and revelations were the stuff of Temple.  But...” 
Veroon stopped, apparently debating whether to continue then said “I saw something after 
the battle that makes me question these beliefs.  I think that I saw him, Valen.  He was 
standing in a doorway with a bright light over one shoulder.  His expression was sad, 
pensive ‘How can you find the other half if you do not look for it?   How can you hope to 
find me?’  It suddenly seemed very important to find him, but I did not know where to 
look.  He held out his hand and told me that I must look for him among the stars and take 
with me the Teacher, the one whose transformation and sacrifice would teach us 
understanding, the one who would lead us through darkness.”  Veroon stopped again, 
shaking his head as if to clear the vision away.  “I was probably only a slight concussion, 
but it seemed so real, so compelling.”

“Have you spoken of this to anyone else?

“No,” Veroon laughed harshly.  “Warriors do not admit to injury much less visions.  
Beside, I do not understand it myself.  Who is this Teacher?”

“I was recently asked to examine a cask that was opened in Tuzanor some years ago on 
the instructions of Valen.  The scrolls spoke of a Teacher who would undergo a great 
transformation to become a Minbari never seen on Minbar.  She, the scrolls were quite 
clear that it would be a female, would restore the balance that was lost and lead us against 
the coming darkness.  She was to be born when the Warrior staggers.”

“And when is that,” Veroon asked quietly.

“That we do not know,” Branmer said. “But we are coming into the ninth generation from 
the last great war and, according to Valen,  the next war is nearly upon us so the child will 
be born soon.”

“Do you believe this?”

“Yes, I believe.  I have studied the other prophesies of Valen such as the rising of the seas 
to cover the foothills of Tuzanor, the Dronia Plague.  His predictions are too precise to be 
chance.  Unfortunately,  the prophesies often seem too broad to admit to a single solution. 
We do not understand them until the events are already upon us.”  Branmer stood and 
walked to the window overlooking the temple courtyard before continuing.  “It is even 
possible that Morobito is the second sign he spoke of, the challenge of the decadent ones. 
If so, then we are but one generation from the coming darkness.”

Veroon and Branmer sat in silence for some moments before Veroon finally asked “What 
was the first sign?”

“The first sign was the loss of balance.  Fewer were to be born and those that were would 
be less than those that came before.  I have seen the work of Lanimer on the matter.  He 
has confirmed a drop in birth rate beginning over eight hundred years ago which has 
accelerated over time.  He could not account for the decline through any of the usual 
demographics - disease, war, marriage rate, economic advance, education.”
  
“Soul Hunters,” Veroon forced himself to say.  “I have heard it said that they have taken a 
particular interest in Minbar.”

“Some have suggested that they are the cause,” Branmer confirmed, then shaking his head 
continued, “It does not seem possible that they could be responsible for all the lost souls.”

“Strange,” Veroon began, “that I have heard nothing of these things before.  I dutifully 
spent my three years in Temple.”

“Ah, well, the warrior clans would not be likely to spend much time studying this 
particular set of prophesies since Valen has said that the Warrior caste will not stand with 
the rest of us out of pride and anger.  The burden of this war will fall to the religious 
caste.”

“I can not believe that the Warrior caste would refuse to fight.”

“They might if they did not believe.  You have only to look at the Anla’Shok to see how 
we have fallen into disbelief.  The few who now join them come mostly from the religious 
caste.  They are old and forgotten,”  Branmer sat down heavily beside Veroon, sighed, 
then shook himself and said, “But we were discussing your problem and your question.  
My answer is that I do not even understand my own people so how much less do I 
understand other races.”

“I have also been reminded recently of this fact.  I always thought myself very open and 
egalitarian for a warrior, but when I was alone at Morobito with Turell, Dulann, and Zaka 
I realized that I knew nothing of the other castes.  How can this be?”

“We live on the same planet, share the same religion, history, and values, but we are 
strangers to one another.  Why? We do not live in the same neighborhoods or attend the 
same temples, schools, social events.  I have found from observing my parents and their 
clans that there are indeed deep divisions between the castes, old stereotypes and real or 
imagined slights that are never resolved.  The Grey Council with it’s balanced membership 
of the three castes holds us together, but in many ways it also holds us back.  The balance 
prevents us from acting because the castes so rarely agree.”

“Perhaps that is a good thing,” Veroon said, “Perhaps not.  If all that you say is correct, 
then we are not prepared to fight the coming war.  We stand divided and alone against the 
coming darkness.  What must be done?”

“Perhaps, Veroon, therein lies your destiny.  You could be the instrument for bridging the 
divisions between our people and the other races.  You could help us to understand.”

“But I thought that was the function of this Teacher that you spoke of in the prophesy.  I 
am a warrior and a very confused one at that.  What can one individual truly do?”

“Even the Teacher must be taught and we will need many teachers in the days that are to 
come.  Perhaps together we can find some of our answers.”
 
And with those words began a lifetime friendship.  Branmer would stand with him when 
he faced the Clan Elders to declare that the Calling of his Heart was religious, giving up 
the family that would not completely disown him but could never forgive him.  He would 
stand with him at the Rebirth Ceremony where that family should have stood to watch his 
joining with Carenn.  He would be there for the birth of their long awaited first child.

Chapter 3


Veroon paced the room pondering the requirements of faith.  Surely, if one believed in the 
wisdom of the Universe, then worry was unnecessary and a sign that faith was lacking.  
Whatever happens will happen and we will learn and grow from the experience.  The 
purpose of the Universe will be served.  Unfortunately, a tiny voice in his head kept 
reminding him that the “ways of the Universe” were beyond the understanding of mere 
mortals, and the lessons they taught were seldom truly welcome.  He had once asked 
Branmer how one recognized the will of the Universe, assuming that he knew and 
understood.

“The correct response to that question is to tell you to pray, meditate, read the sacred 
scrolls, and listen for the still, quiet voice of the Universe.  In reality, few will ever know 
with a certainty that they have heard that voice.  They will ponder, meditate, and choose a 
course of action.  If the choice was incorrect, made for the wrong reasons, then they will 
fail, but there is no shame in failure if we learn the lessons that it teaches us.  The only true 
failure is a failure to learn from our mistakes.  Faith carries no guarantees, if it did where is 
the faith.  Faith is a belief in things unseen, unproven.”

Perhaps, Veroon thought, there was still too much of the warrior in him.  He found it hard 
to believe in things he could not touch, hold, see.  And, right now, more than anything in 
the universe, he wanted to see Durak’s face in the doorway telling him that the birth had 
gone well.  They had waited for so long for this moment, prayed so hard.  Carenn had 
wanted so much to give him a child.  The Shan clan and family Mir were a long lived and 
prolific clan.  To be childless in such a tradition was difficult.  Veroon knew that there 
were some who whispered that it was a sign that their marriage was not blessed, that 
warrior and religious were not meant to mix.  He could not believe that to be true.  The 
past twenty-one cycles had been happy and useful ones for him and Carenn.  He had 
worked hard to build understanding between the religious and worker caste.  He had even 
become something of an expert on alien cultures, although the Minbari had little need or 
interest in such experts.  Mostly, he had studied the prophesies that he and Branmer had 
discussed so long ago.

Lost in thought, Veroon was surprised to turn and find Branmer by his side.  “What great 
question troubles you today,” Branmer said with a slight smile.  “You can not solve all the 
world’s problems alone.  Beside, what would the rest of us have to do then.”

“Actually, I was standing here feeling particularly useless.  It has been hours since the 
labor began, and still I wait.” Veroon said, resuming his pacing.

“Well, if you believe in luck, then the time is right for I noticed coming over here that the 
Priest has begun rising.”  With that, Branmer pointed up to the brightest of Minbar’s three 
moons, called the Priest for it’s white, unblemished appearance.  The smallest of Minbar’s 
moons, the Worker,  was already up. This smallest moon had gotten it’s name from it’s 
ever changing appearance which the Ancients had attributed to the industry of it’s many 
workers and not to the volcanic activity which was a constant fact of life on the Worker.  
The surface of the Warrior, Minbar’s most distant moon, was a sharp contrast to the Priest 
with it’s pockmarked surface, the result of numerous colisions with asteroids and other 
space debry.  In fact, scientists were predicting another possible collision for the Warrior if 
the science vessel sent to study  the asteriod was unable to divert it from it’s present 
course.

Neither man was thinking of asteriods at that moment, so they were unaware that the 
attempt to divert the asteroid had only been partly successful.  A sizable chunk of the 
asteroid was even now heading for the Warrior.  It’s impact would cause a slight tremor in 
the orbit of the Warrior that would not subside for many years to come.  Just as it hit, 
Durak entered the room, smiling broadly and carrying a small bundle.

“You have a child, Veroon, a daughter.  Come and see her.”

At that moment, Veroon knew that he was not quite the warrior he thought for no warrior 
would have been this pleased by the birth of a daughter.  “And Carenn,” Veroon looked 
up, “is she well.”

“Tired, but well.  You may see her now, if you wish,” Durak said, motioning to the door.

Carrying his bundle like fragile glass, Veroon entered the room to see Carenn.  The 
acolytes that had been praying since the labor began, left the room to give them a moment 
of privacy with their new daughter.  Gently kissing Carenn on the forehead, Veroon said 
softly, “She is more beautiful than I could have imagined.  Thank you.”

“I think she already has your look of intense concentration,” Carenn teased.  “I suspect 
that we will pay for that single-minded focus in the future.”

“Rest now,” Falenn said to Carenn, coming through the door to take the baby and place it 
in the small crib by Carenn’s bed.  Like all Minbari beds, it was tilted but only slightly 
since it would take several years for the child to develop the skill of sleeping at an angle.  
Minbari considered it tempting fate to sleep in the horizontal, a tradition passed down 
from the time of Sha’khat who had died following a long illness.  His son, Den’Bok, the 
founder of the warrior caste, had blamed the death on his sleeping position and decreed 
that all Minbari sleep with the head raised.

After everyone had left, Carenn drifted off to sleep listening to the gentle breathing of her 
long awaited child.  How long she slept, she could not tell but suddenly she found herself 
wide awake.  A strange, but soothing melody was playing from somewhere across the 
room.  Carenn rose when she noticed the flickering light coming through the window.  
Moving toward the window, Carenn could just make out the outline of something in the 
garden, a figure all in white with transparent wings slowly beating.  The figure floated 
toward her, stopping only a few feet from the window.  Looking down at the baby in the 
crib, the figure smiled and said “Prophesy is fulfilled.  She who will teach has been born 
and shall be called Delenn.  Do you recognize me?” the figure said, looking up at Carenn.

Unable to speak for several minutes, Carenn just stared. Finally, she said, “Valeria.  You 
are Valeria.  But why have you come here, now.”

“Did you not pray for this moment?  Did you not promise great sacrifices for this child?  
Great is this gift, but the price is also great.  She has a destiny that you can not share, 
much to learn that you can not teach, but, know this, she will learn, teach and lead her 
people through darkness and fire.  You have been blessed, as have your people.”

With that, the figure slowly rose out of sight.  Carenn continued to stand by the window, 
tears slowly forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks.  To see Valeria was 
considered a great blessing.  Those called in such a way became Sisters of Valeria and 
devoted their lives to understanding the vision first given to Verinni so long ago.  It was a 
great honor.  Her family and clan would rise in standing among the others, but it would 
mean that Carenn would be required to leave Veroon as soon as their child, Delenn, was 
weaned so that she might take up residence in the Temple of Verinni.  With all of her 
heart, Carenn wished that she could lie about the vision, but Minabri do not lie, except to 
save another and to lie about something like this would be doubly bad.  The price was 
indeed high.


Veroon had not taken the news well either, but had agreed that they must go to the temple 
to report it.  After the vision was confirmed by a temple telepath, it was decided that 
Carenn would have until Delenn’s fourth birthday to prepare.  The knowledge of their 
eventual separation made the next four years both a time of joy and sorrow.  Carenn was 
determined to burn the memory of each moment into her heart for these moments would 
have to sustain her across the lonely years ahead.  She could only hope that she was strong 
enough to endure the trial that life had set before her.


Four years passed all too quickly for Carenn and Veroon.  Tomorrow, they would journey 
into Yedor where Carenn would leave for Tuzanor and the temple of Verinni.  Delenn 
could not contain her excitement.  Yedor was filled with so many wonders.  The light 
glistened off the crystal spires of it’s temples while the wind gently whistled through the 
broad streets lined with fountains and waterfalls.  She did not understand why her parents 
seemed so sad.  It was more beautiful than the pictures her father had shown her when he 
first told her that they would be traveling to the great city.  She did not yet know that 
when her dream was over her mother would not be returning with them.  A place had been 
prepared for her with the Sisters of Valaria.  What lay ahead of Carenn now was a life of 
prayer, meditation, and sacrifice.  It was not the life that she would have chosen but it was 
a small price to pay for the honor of her clan and the child that walked beside her, 
oblivious to the destiny that lay ahead of her.  Lost in thought, Carenn did not notice that 
Delenn had stopped to play in a nearby fountain, fascinated by the sound and the gently 
spraying jets of water.

“Carenn, where is Delenn?,” Veroon suddenly asked. “I thought she was with you.”

While Carenn and Veroon retraced their steps calling for Delenn, Delenn had followed the 
small stream leading out of the fountain and wandered into the great square of the Central 
Temple.  Turning to point out the stained crystal of the Temple to her father, she suddenly 
became aware that she was alone.  In fear she tried to find her way back to the little 
fountain but each turn seemed to lead her into an area that was smaller and darker than the 
last.  Instead of the lightness of the Central Temple, Delenn faced an old temple carved 
into the foot of the Grey Mountains.  She started to go back the way she had come when 
the door to the temple slowly opened in response to a gentle wind. Curious, Delenn 
entered the temple to find the inside lighted by three small candles.  Delenn’s voice echoed 
as she called out to whoever inhabited the temple but only silence answered.  Drawn to the 
flickering candles and exhausted from her flight through the city, Delenn fell asleep by the 
votive table.


While Delenn dreamed of crystal spires, Dukhat sat in another part of the temple 
transfixed by descriptions of great black shifting ships and the desperate battle to stop the 
darkness.  According to the prophesies of Valen,  the Shadows would be on the move 
again soon.  If Dukhat was right, the first three of Valen’s nine signs had occurred, which 
meant that the one who would teach them had been born.  Valen had said that she who 
would teach them would be born where it had all begun after the warrior was staggered by 
a heavenly blow.  Dukhat had recently found an old scroll calling the one who is to come a 
“child of Valen”, although this last description might well have been figurative.  All 
Minbari might be called “Children of Valen”.

Still... He had spent much of his time since joining the Grey Council studying the 
prophesies and now his search had focused on finding this child.  If his interpretation was 
correct, the child would be born in the area along Lake Minbar where the first of his 
ancestors had arisen.  So he had narrowed his search to those children born in the three 
days after the asteroid had struck the outer moon of Minbar, called the Warrior.  His 
search had brought him here to this unlikely place.

Dukhat had studied the Discourses with Valen very carefully, particularly his discourse on 
the Teacher.  It was said that Valen often sat with his followers speaking and answering 
questions.  Following Valen’s prophesies on the coming war and the Teacher, his 
followers had asked how they would know this teacher.  What he had asked them are the 
signs.  They replied, repeating the words of Valen
.
Look! She will be born where it all began in the hours after the Warrior staggers.  
My blood will be on her hands, my word on her lips, and my spirit in her eyes.   

Look!  Before your eyes she will undergo a great transformation to become a 
Minbari never before seen on Minbar. She will restore the balance which was lost 
and lead you against the coming darkness.  She will stand in the place I have 
prepared for her.  She will continue the journey I have started.

Look!  This child will discover the secret that is hidden from many.  She will follow 
me into fire and understand the sacrifice that I ask of those who call on my name.  
She will know trial, tribulation, and rejection but from this journey will come a 
strength against which none can prevail.  

Again, they had asked him how they would know this Teacher for they wished to be sure 
that they would be ready to follow.  Valen had said

She will have a wisdom beyond her years.  The knowledge she brings is like seed.  
These seed will grow, flower, and produce the fruit of understanding, but only for 
those who are ready to hear it.

“How may we be ready,” they asked.

What must a seed have to grow,  Valen asked.

“Sun, soil and water,”  they replied.

Then I tell you this:  I have prepared the soil with my words.  The seed that falls 
away from my teachings and those of Verinni will fall to the darkness.  You who 
stand between the candle and the star know that those who seek to go too closely to 
the sun will perish, but those who are content to bask in it’s rays will live.  The 
water is the spirit that resides in us all, that which is a projection of the Universe 
itself seeking to understand.  If you allow the water to flow over you, you will live 
and grow.  The Teacher who is coming will sow these seeds, but many will not listen 
because the message she brings will be hard for them to hear.

Still, they asked after his meaning, wanting a concrete answer to the identity of the 
Teacher.  Shaking his head Valen replied.

You listen but do not hear.  Listen with the heart not the head.  The head is filled 
with many voices, the voice of pride, the voice of ego, the voice of the world.  If you 
hold my words in your heart, you will find the Teacher and Follow.  To the one who 
believes and understands the rest, I say ‘Go to the place where you will last see me.  
There in the days of alignment following the staggering of the Warrior, you will find 
the one who is to come, the one who will teach.’

Dukhat had found that tracking the movements of Valen was no easy task.  Many records 
from the war and the days after had been lost or destroyed.  Worse still was the problem 
of separating fact from fiction, legend from truth.  All too often, one account placed Valen 
in one place while another had him elsewhere at the same time.  Assuming that both could 
not be correct,  Dukhat had been forced to look closely at each account to determine 
which account was most likely based on the age of the record, the source, the likely 
movements of Valen, etc.  It had been a long, difficult process.  

Finally, Dukhat had narrowed his choices to three, and after deliberating and meditating 
for some weeks chosen this temple, the Temple of Falenn, rumored to be the site where 
she was taken bodily into heaven. All logic said that this should be the least likely site.  It 
was no longer occupied, had not been for centuries, rarely visited, and only sporadically 
maintained.  While Falenn was revered as the founder of the religious caste, the religion of 
the ancient gods had long since been abandoned in favor of the vision of Verinni and the 
teachings of Valen.  Most likely, the few remaining followers of the old religion had 
invented the visit of Valen to lend credibility to their beliefs. Most unlikely, but his heart 
said here and here Dukhat had come.

What he expected to find here he did not know.  He knew only that he must come.  And 
so, he had waited, fasting and praying for three days.  Still, he was no closer to finding the 
Teacher than before.

With a sigh, Dukhat stood and made his way back to the sanctum.  As he entered, he was 
surprised to see a small child sleeping by the votive table.  Few people came to the Temple 
of Falenn anymore, none while he had been here. As Dukhat looked around for the family 
of this little one, the child awoke, looked around momentarily confused, and then seeing 
him outlined against the light coming through the doorway drew back.  

“Do not be afraid,” Dukhat said approaching the child slowly.  “I will not let any harm 
come to my little ones in my great house.  What is you name, child?”

After a brief pause, Delenn answered “Delenn of the family Mir.”

The family Mir...That name stuck in Dukhat’s mind.  It was one of the names on his list, 
and the child looked about the right age.  Could it be this simple?  Valen had said that 
there were no coincidences.  If that were true, then his search was over.

“Where is your family, Delenn?” Dukhat asked taking the child’s hand and leading her 
over to one of the small benches that lined the wall.

“They are lost,” Delenn cried. “I have looked everywhere and can not find them.”

Touched by the child’s despair, Dukhat gathered her onto his lap and said “If you believe 
that they will come for you,  then they will.  You are too young to understand yet but if 
you believe in something strong enough it can come true.  Do you believe, Delenn?”

Delenn’s face suddenly filled with wonder and joy as she looked up at Dukhat and 
answered firmly, “Yes, I believe.”

Just then, the door opened a second time to reveal two very worried adults. “Delenn,” the 
woman called out as the child on his lap jumped down to race toward her welcoming 
arms. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mama,” Delenn beamed as she turned to look back at Dukhat. “I believed and it 
came true.”

While Delenn turned her attention to the man who was obviously her father, Dukhat 
bowed to the woman and introduced himself.  “Dukhat of the family Shal.  You have 
restored my faith as well.”

Slightly puzzled, Carenn replied “Carenn of the family Mir.  Thank you for  caring for 
Delenn. We became separated near the Central Temple and have been searching for 
hours.” Glancing at the candles,  she added  “I hope that she did not disturb your 
meditation.  Delenn sees wonder and mystery everywhere that she looks and can not help 
but investigate.”

“Not at all’, Dukhat responded with a slight smile. “If only we all could posses the 
curiosity and faith of a child...”

 As Dukhat stood outside the temple watching them walk back toward the center of the 
city, he silently asked Valen to forgive his earlier despair and vowed to renew his efforts.  
After all, finding the child was just the beginning.  The task of preparing her to teach her 
people and lead them against the coming darkness still lay ahead, and Dukhat did not 
know how much time remained.  Still, he was content.  The path, for now, was clear.  
Dukhat stopped to light one more candle before going to collect his work.  There was 
much too do.  First, he must find out more about this child.  Then, he must prepare the 
way.

For her part, Delenn would carry this memory forever in her heart, although time would 
blur the details.  She would remember only the figure bathed in light and a voice soft and 
soothing that asked her to believe in something unseen, to surrender herself to hope.  For 
her, it would be the first time but not the last.


Preparing the way proved easier than Dukhat would have imagined for Delenn proved to 
be a brilliant and apt pupil with an extraordinary memory and a thirst for knowledge.  Her 
teachers spoke well of her progress, but the Temple of Shandor, while an old one, did not 
offer her the opportunities that Dukhat would have liked.  Dukhat was pleased to discover 
her father’s interest in other races for he had come no closer to discovering the identity of 
the “unknown race”, but he did know that whoever succeeded would have to have the 
open-minded interest that Veroon seemed to be passing along to Delenn.

As was the custom, Delenn had began Temple on her fourth birthday. As a member of the 
religious caste, she would attend Temple until her ninth birthday.  Then, application would 
be made to one of several Academies.  The most prestigious of the academies was the 
Verinni Academy in Tuzanor but only a very select few from the best temples would be 
invited.  So Dukhat set about the task of arranging for Delenn to attend the Yedor 
Temple.  His friend Turval was an instructor there in meditation.  So it was that he 
arranged a visit there during the Festival of Falenn.

“Dukhat, why did you not tell me that you were coming,” Turval said with a slightly 
reproving smile.  “I would think that responsibility would have tempered your childlike 
delight in surprises and mystery.”

“Hardly.  After all, was it not you that told me we must surrender ourselves to mystery or 
be lost in the mundane.  Besides, I would like your help in a matter of some interest to 
me,”  Dukhat said, motioning Turval outside into the courtyard recently deserted by 
students scurrying for class.

“What can I do to help one of the Grey Council, or is this a personal matter?

Dukhat paused a moment before answering, unsure of what to tell his old friend. “For 
now, call it a personal matter.  There is someone that I want to attend temple here, and I 
would like your help in securing her entry.”

“One of your family,” Turval inquired, “Surely you do not need my help in the matter.”

“No.  This child is not known to me, personally.  She is from the family Mir and is 
currently attending temple in Shandor.  Her mother recently joined the Sisters of Valeria.  
Her father was formerly warrior caste from the family Loors,”  Dukhat replied.

“Then her father would be the Hero of Morobito.  I have heard of him and the talk 
following his Change of Heart.  I think that I have also heard Branmer speak of him.  They 
are quite good friends, I understand, but that is not surprising given their backgrounds.  
May I ask why you are interested in this particular child.  You are many things but not a 
philanthropist,” Turval said with a teasing smile.

“I would rather not say just now.  I may be wrong, but I do not think so.”  Rising, Dukhat 
began to pace around as he so often did when something fired his imagination.  “Still, 
there is time yet to determine the truth.”

“Which is...” Turval urged.

“Let me say only that I believe that she has a destiny, one that may be important to the 
prophesies.  You say that you know Branmer.  Would it be out of character for you to 
visit and perhaps see the girl, Turval.”

“Well, I am not as precipitous as you old friend, but it was my intent to visit Shandor soon 
as I have been named to the committee for the Shan Competition.  Might as well get 
acquainted now as later. Anything else that you require of me.” Turval said, rising to walk 
to the fountain and stand beside Dukhat.  Despite his teasing, Turval had great respect for 
the wisdom and learning of his friend.  Dukhat become one of the youngest ever to serve 
the Grey Council because of that wisdom.  He was not known to act without good reason 
or choose his words without care.  For him to suggest that this child had a destiny linked 
to the prophesies was not a light matter, easily swept aside.  Turval did indeed love a 
mystery, and Dukhat had handed him one that he could not resist.

So it was with some interest that Turval walked with Branmer through the Shandor 
Temple the following week.  “Tell me how your newest class is doing, Branmer.  Do you 
have any promising pupils?”

Branmer laughed saying, “None that will be ready for the Shan Competition in the next 
two cycles, but there are indeed several promising students.  Why do you ask, Turval?”

“I thought that perhaps I might attend one of your classes and observe.  Some of my 
colleagues forget that we in Yedor are not the only place blessed with talent.  Like the 
wild laklenn tree, beautiful things often grow in rocky, desolate soil.”

“I would hardly call Shandor rocky and desolate, but I understand your point.  There were 
many who questioned my decision to come here rather than serve in Yedor, but I felt 
called to come here, to this place, to these people,” Branmer smiled at some inward image 
before continuing.  “I do not believe that I was wrong.  I have found great joy and 
contentment here.”

“Then I am pleased for you, Branmer.  What is it that brings you this contentment?  Your 
work?  Your friends? Your family,” Turval inquired.

“All of those things certainly for they are all tied together here.  I have been working with 
my friend Veroon on a project to bring understanding to the castes and between us and the 
other races.  We have spend too much of our time these last three hundred years looking 
inward.  The time is coming when that may prove our downfall,” Branmer said firmly.

“But how can we understand others if we do not understand ourselves, if we do not know 
who we are and where our heart lies,” Turval paused, letting his words trail into the 
silence.

“No one knows better than I what it is to question who we are or where your heart lies.  I 
have done that for most of my life, torn between two worlds.”  Sighing Branmer 
comtinued,  “I think there is value in moving beyond oneself for I can conceive of being 
only that which I understand, only that which I am taught, but the Universe is infinite and 
there must be infinite possibilities.  How can I choose wisely, if I do not even know the 
choices, if I allow others to say ‘Choose from these and no more”.”

“I see that you have indeed been busy.  Remember that while all choices may be possible 
not all choices are right.  Too often we allow our course to choose us and then console 
ourselves with the belief that destiny is immutable and can not be avoided.  It is also 
possible to choose the right course for the wrong reason or the wrong course for the right 
reason.  Unfortunately, we are mortal and fallible.  I can not know with certainty what the 
results of my action today will be in ten years or twenty, and I can not make my choice 
now based on those possible consequences.  I must strive to do each right thing now and 
let history and destiny take care of itself,” Turval paused as he noticed the garden empty 
of students,  “Come. It must be time for class to begin.”

Turval listened to Branmer discuss the techniques of meditation, but he had long ago 
learned to tune out unwanted distractions.  Meditation had always been his refuge and 
solace, his way of allowing the mind to sort itself out and focus his attention on that which 
was important.  Right now, his focus was on the child Delenn.  Unlike her classmates who 
were finding more than enough distractions to meditate properly, Delenn had not moved 
in some minutes, rare in a child so small.  At first, he assumed that the child had fallen 
asleep.  He himself had been known to put his students to sleep on occasion and the 
attention span of children was notoriously short, but this child, if awake, seemed to 
possess far more focus than most of his adult pupils. He saw a slight smile play across her 
face and heard her sigh as Branmer announced the end of the exercise.  After class, he 
approached Delenn and asked her about that sigh.

“Child, what were you thinking of during the meditation? Turval asked gently.

“Daddy had shown me pictures of an old tree that grows in the mountains of the place 
where Mama went.  It had flowers the color of the sky at night.”

“The laklenn tree,” Turval suggested, surprised to find her thinking of the tree which had 
so recently been the object of his own meditation. “It grows in the mountain rocks near 
my home.  I have often admired it’s ability to withstand the trials and tribulations of it’s 
existence and still produce such beauty.  So you too find it beautiful.”

Delenn said nothing for several moments, then continued, “I was sitting there waiting for 
Mama to come.  When I was lost before in the old temple he told me that if I believed that 
they would come for me then they would.  I believed very hard for the man in light and 
they did come.  Someday, I will believe that hard again, and Mama will come back.”

Before Turval could ask about this man in light, Branmer approached them saying, 
“Delenn, I promised to stop by and talk to your father today.  May I walk with you 
home?”  Turning, he asked if Turval would like to accompany them.  He had spoken to 
Turval before about his friend Veroon and wished the two to meet.

“If you will tell me about the fountains again?” Delenn looked up expectantly.

“Have you not growth tired of my stories?” Branmer laughed.  “Perhaps Turval has some 
new stories for you.”  Turning to Turval, Branmer motioned out the doorway saying, 
“Well, Turval, can you think of any story that might satisfy an insatiable curiosity.”

“Have you ever heard of the founding of the castes, Delenn,” Turval began, paused as 
Delenn shook her head, then continued,  “According to legend, as he lay dying, Sha’khat 
who united the Heart following the Battle of  Yedor and then conquered the F’Tach 
Islands and the Southern Continent, Sha’Tach’Na, to unite all of  Southern Minbar, called 
his children together and told them that he would leave them soon.  Before he left, he 
wished to be sure that his people and his kingdom would be cared for. ‘What can you give 
me, he asked, that is worthy of my gift.’

Den’bok, the greatest of his father’s warriors,  presented his father with the fighting pike 
which was named in his honor.  Lanimer who had designed his father’s capital Yedor 
began work on the crystal pyramid.   Falenn whose prophesy and wisdom had long guided 
Sha’khat gave her father knowledge of the future. 

Sha’khat was greatly pleased with all the gifts and decreed that Den‘bok should become 
the father of all warriors.  ‘You will fight,’ he told Den’bok ‘for the good of my people.  
Nothing survives unless those who believe are willing to fight to preserve it.’  Lanimer 
would be given power over all who toil for a living.  To him he said ‘You will build for 
that which is built endures and will be a reminder to all who see it of what we have 
accomplished here.’  Falenn he decreed would become the heart and soul of her people.  
‘You will teach us to understand that we may save that which we love and our civilization 
endure.’ And so it was.”

Thus, the three castes were founded.  From the offspring of these three, the principle clans 
of each caste are descended.  Falenn, the founder of our caste, was a wise and gifted 
prophet who believed that we were all children of  the stars.”

“My grandmother is named Falenn,” Delenn said, smiling, “She teaches me to understand, 
but there are some things even she does not know.  She does not know why the smaller 
moon sometime goes away or why the Centauri have this...What do you call it again, 
Branmer?  The thing that grows on their head and sticks up.”

“Hair, Delenn.  It is called hair,” Branmer smiled indulgently.  “What else does your 
grandmother not understand?”

“She does not understand why Mama went away or why Daddy is so sad.”

“She understands Delenn, but it is difficult to explain,” Branmer said, laying a hand on 
Delenn’s shoulder and hoping that she would not address that question to him.  Carenn 
and Veroon should be enjoying the answer to their prayers, Delenn, not struggling to 
begin again.  The path they had chosen long ago had not been an easy one, but they had 
always had each other.  Now, they stood alone.

“Do you know,” Delenn asked.  “I am big enough now.  Can you tell me?”

Before he could answer, Turval replied  “Have you ever done something that you did not 
want to do because you knew it was right?”

Delenn nodded, “My new gok got into Daddy’s room yesterday and messed up his special 
papers.  I had to tell Daddy.”

“You were afraid that he would be angry.”

“Yes, and then Tach would have to go away like Mama.”

“I do not think that your mother wished to go away,”  Turval said gently. “ but she was 
called to do what was right for her clan and her people.  Her actions have brought great 
honor to your family, and, in time, she may come to understand many things that the rest 
of us do not.  Then, it will be her time to teach and ours to learn.”

“But if I believe hard enough, if I pray long enough, she will come.” Delenn said with the 
certainty of a child.

“Belief is important, as is prayer, but you must remember that while all prayers are 
answered, sometime the answer is no.”

If she were dissatisfied with his answer, Delenn did not say so.  It would not be polite to 
contradict ones elder, but  the usually talkative Delenn said nothing else until they arrived 
home and she saw that Dulann and his son Lenann were visiting.  Rushing through the 
door, Delenn caught Lenann’s hand and headed off to find Tach.

“Branmer,” Veroon began, “thank you for walking Delenn home.  Is this the friend you 
spoke of earlier.”  Veroon turned, offering the traditional greeting to Turval before 
introducing Dulann who had withdrawn some paces away, uncertain of the new arrival.

“If I am not mistaken Dulann, you are currently working at the Scientific Academy in 
Yedor.  I recently heard someone speaking of your work on unstable energy fields.”

Surprised, Dulann returned Turval’s greeting and acknowledged his questions saying, “I 
am pleased that my work has provoked some comment.  It is all theory for now, but 
someday I hope that it will allow us to produce smaller, more efficient ships.  
Unfortunately, there has been little interest outside some of the Merchant class who see it 
as a way to reduce travel time and cost on long trips.”

It was, in fact, Dukhat who had called Turval’s attention to Dulann’s work.  The more 
Dukhat read of the shadow ships from the last great war, the more concerned he had 
become that the Minbari were not prepared to face them.  While Minbari technology was 
superior to all the known races around them, and more than sufficient to strike fear into 
any would be enemies, it had not progressed greatly in the last several centuries.  They had 
achieved only incremental improvements, not like the radical paradigm shifts that occurred 
after they first went into space or after the last great war.  True, the Vorlons and the gift 
of Valen had been instrumental in producing many of the improvement, but Dukhat 
worried that the Minbari had not done enough to build on what had been given.  He 
worried that they would not be ready to lead the coming battle.  Turval, who claimed no 
expertise in these areas, said to Dulann “Every journey must begin somewhere.  I have 
heard it said that your ideas are too radical and unproven, but so were those of Valen 
when he first came to us.  Then, however, we had little choice but to embrace the new or 
risk losing all.  There is no such challenge now, so it is not surprising that many will prefer 
to keep to the well traveled path.  As Branmer has always been fond of reminding me, 
Minbari do not like too much risk or change to quickly.  We do not reward the one who 
challenges us to think too much about other ways.”

“And all these years, I thought that you had ignored me,” Branmer laughed and with that 
the four men settled into the courtyard to discuss the changes that challenge.

Turval waited for a lull in the conversation before suggesting his own changes.  “My visit 
is not without reason,” he began,  “There is concern among many that the quality of the 
Tuzanor Competitions has declined significantly and we are being urged to take a more 
proactive role in encouraging talent among the religious caste.  So you see,”  Turval 
smiled, “change is possible.”

“What changes?” Branmer asked.

“First, we are considering changes in the curriculum at both the Temple and Academy 
level to encourage more integration of subjects, less reliance on rote tasks, more 
originality and creativity.”

“A truly radical concept,” Branmer teased.  “And what has provoked this revolution.”

“There are some who fear that we have become complacent, allowing our technical 
superiority and unchallenged status as one of the oldest spacefaring races to lead us to 
underestimate new foes.  According to Turhan,  we are in danger of stagnating because 
we lack the necessity or desire to strive for more than we are.  He is admittedly a minority, 
but we can not ignore the fact that the Time of Prophesy is at hand.  As far as we know, 
the Ancients are gone and we may be called on the face the darkness alone.  Valen, surely 
one of our greatest strategists, was able to lead us, with the help of the Vorlons, to 
victory,  but who now can compare to him.  We forget that in his own time many 
considered him a radical, but once the war began to turn in our favor so to did popular 
opinion.”

“And how will you encourage this creativity,”  Branmer asked.  “It had been my 
observation that all living things exhibit those behaviors that are rewarded in their 
environment.  Minbari do not generally reward nonconformity.”

“I did not say that it would be easy,” Turval replied.  “There must be some balance 
between the needs of the individual and that of society.  Valen was far more of an 
individualist than most Minbari, but he understood that there are times when we all must 
act for the greater good.”

“You mentioned changes...What else is being considered?,” Veroon asked.

“We have been asked to become more proactive in identifying talented teachers and pupils 
and nurturing them.  In that regard Branmer, I would like for you to consider an 
appointment to the Yedor Temple.  I would also like Veroon to consider allowing Delenn 
to attend the Temple as well.  She shows great promise in meditation for one so young. 
While many may worry about what we have not achieved, I sometimes worry about what 
we may be losing.  All Minbari are introduced to the art of meditation, but few seem to 
truly master it.  For many, it is a brief morning ritual, easily performed, quickly forgotten.”

“You are a demanding taskmaster, Turval,” Branmer remarked when Turval did not 
continue.  “I think that too often my students expect meditation to lead to some great 
revelation.  When it does not, they become disillusioned, lower their expectations, and 
settle for a few moments of peace.  Unfortunately, a few moments of peace are all some 
have to spare.” 

“Yes, I sense disillusionment as well, but, perhaps even worse, I think that we are losing 
our way.  There is no great cause, no calling, to unite us,”  replied Turval.

“The prophesies...’  Branmer began.

“do not unite us because many do not believe or even know of them,” Turval sighed.  “Do 
not assume that because you have studied them others have as well.  What little many 
Minbari learn in temple is easily forgotten.  We say we believe in Valen and the prophesies 
but we do so as a matter of tradition.  After all, if we admitted to disbelief, we would be 
forced to find something new to believe in, and that would require too much effort.”

Branmer studied his friend for some minutes before saying, “I did not know that you had 
become so disillusioned, Turval. What has caused this discontentment?” 

Shaking head, a crooked smile on his face, Turval replied, “One of my old teachers once 
told me that there is nothing more likely to disillusion the believer than to become involved 
in the ‘business end’ of religion.  I think I have served on too many committees, listened to 
too many arguments, and watched too many decisions being made for all the wrong 
reasons.  I think that many of the Shan Committee expected me to visit the lesser temples 
and return with a report that the system was working well and no changes were necessary, 
but...”

“But you disagree,” Veroon prompted.
“Valen has said that to live is too risk, and I think the time for risk is coming.  I think there 
would be a place for you as well, Veroon.  Corann has recently convinced the Yedor 
Academy to include several classes on alien culture in the curriculum,” Turval paused to 
allow the others to absorb his words, then continued “I realize that this seems sudden so I 
do not expect an immediate response but I would like your reply before the next cycle 
begins.  We have much to do, I think.”

Turval’s offers were surprising to say the least, but equally hard to refute.  If nothing else, 
the study of other cultures had confirmed much of what Turval had said for Veroon and 
Branmer.  Stability and tradition were important, and Minbar could boast of almost 1000 
years of harmony among their people, but evolution had shown that when the environment 
changes and the species within it do not, they are doomed to failure.  The prophesies of 
Valen promised a great change.  Minbar must be ready.  The invitation to Yedor would 
also bring great honor to all the families and clans involved and give them a chance to 
serve their people.

What Dulann thought of the matter was likely colored by other concerns.  As one of the 
worker caste, such great decisions were rarely left in their hands.  They followed along to 
build, fight, die.  He lamented their lack of input, but did nothing to change it.  In recent 
years, however, he too had become dissatisfied with society and his own role in it.

“You honor me and Delenn with your invitation,” Veroon began.  “I will discuss the 
matter with the family, but I do not see how we can decline the opportunity that you 
present.  Thank you for the chance to serve.”

The change, in fact, did Veroon and Delenn a great deal of good.  The future beckoned 
them away from many sad memories, bringing them into one of the most vibrant and 
cosmopolitan cities on Minbar.  It also brought them closer to Dulann and his family as 
well as Zaka, who was the newly elected head of the physic department of the Science 
Academy.  Branmer was less enthusiastic about the move since it brought him closer to 
the warrior side of his family, but he had his friends and his work.  He was also able to see 
more of Dukhat.  Although the Grey Council resided on a cruiser out in space as was 
tradition, Dukhat frequently returned to Yedor where his family lived.  His wisdom now 
matched his stature.  Already, Branmer had heard some of his colleagues quoting Dukhat.  
While all change is difficult, even painful, it can also be rewarding.

Chapter 4

Delenn was certainly finding her most recent assignment rewarding, if difficult.  The 
remains of an ancient temple had been uncovered in the mountains outside of Yedor and 
Delenn and several of the older students from the Yedor Temple had come to spend 
several weeks exploring the ruins and helping with the excavation.  It was a wonderful 
opportunity and one for which many felt that Delenn at age seven was too young to be 
given, but Turval had recommended her, and Rathenn, one of their tutors from the Yedor 
Academy, had agreed to keep a close eye on her.

Delenn had amazed even some of the senior archeologists with her knowledge of history 
and her patience with the craft.  Attention to detail was the hallmark of their trade.  Each 
layer of debris must be carefully uncovered, it’s contents noted and catalogued before 
continuing.  No item was too small or insignificant.  Delenn, who had been given the 
chose of several small areas well away from the main dig site to keep her out of trouble, 
had discovered an archeologists dream - garbage dump.  Nothing tells more about a 
people than the things they throw away.  Delenn had spent hours uncovering broken bits 
of pottery, cooking utensils, and even fragments of several ancient texts, their brittle pages 
preserved in what was left of ancient clay vessels.  Rathenn and Dennier, one of the senior 
archeologists, had been overseeing her progress, increasingly astonished by the artifacts 
that emerged.

“I believe that this may well prove to be some of the most interesting findings of the entire 
dig,” Dennier remarked.  Galenni still hoped to uncover a burial mound beneath what they 
believed was the central temple, but Dennier did not hold out much hope.  The site did 
indeed appear to date back to almost ten thousand years ago, but there was little 
indication that it had been a major site of the ancient Shamek culture, named for what 
historians believed to be their principle god, Sha the great sun.  It also did not appear to 
have been occupied for very long, less than 40 cycles.  It was possible that an earthquake, 
common in this part of the Grey Mountains, had led the inhabitants to leave.  It had after 
all been an earthquake that had led them to discover it on a routine aerial survey.

Intact Shamek sites were rare, most having been appropriated by the culture that came 
after them.  Although that culture, the Sha’Tach, claimed descent from the Shamek and 
worshipped many of the same gods, including Sha, it was a very different civilization.  
Sha’khat, it’s greatest ruler, united all the lands of southern Minbar and founded a dynasty 
that ruled for over 600 years.  While this site appeared to have been left untouched since 
it’s abandonment, it did not seem likely to rival the few intact sites found around Lake 
Minbar.  

When several more weeks of digging failed to uncover any additional artifacts or 
structures from the main site,  the decision was made to conclude the dig for the season to 
allow the research team to examine the recovered artifacts in more detail.  Most of the 
group had already been evacuated, leaving only Rathenn, Dennier, and the students from 
the Yedor Temple to await the next shuttle.  When a sudden rain shower appeared, they 
had taken refuge in one of the caves in the face of the nearby cliffs.  This proved to be an 
unfortunate choice for the quake that followed completely covered the mouth of the cave, 
leaving them huddled around two small lights in the rear of the main cavern.

“How long do you think it will be for they others return and begin looking for us?” 
Rathenn asked.

“I do not know,” Dennier replied.  “It will depend on how widespread the quake was.  
There is a Domo Temple an hours ride from here that houses a number of priests and 
acolytes.  If it was affected, they may become one of the first priorities.  Still, Galenni will 
see that help gets here as soon as possible.  I only hope it does not take them too long to 
realize where we are. At least. the children are taking it well so far.”  Glancing in their 
direction, Dennier suddenly realized that Delenn was not with them.  Rising, he began to 
call her name.  After several minutes, he heard a faint reply which he followed to find 
Delenn, a small pocket light in hand, standing in front of an elaborately carved stone door.

“It is beautiful,” she said when he had drawn up next to her.

Running his hands over relief, Dennier pointed to several symbols surrounded by a 
triangle.  “This is the name of Dukhat the Great.  He was one of the most powerful rulers 
of the Shamek, believed to be descended from the God Sha himself.  According to the 
legends recorded on tablets found in a site on the southern shore of Lake Minbar, he drove 
the darkness from Minbar with the help of the Starriders. But some have suggested that he 
was a myth himself, symbolizing the triumph of good over evil.”

“Can we go in,” Delenn asked already making her way through the broken door.  Dennier 
realized that he should stop her, but he too was drawn inside.  It was difficult to make out 
many details in the darkness, but after walking several feet through a small corridor, they 
suddenly found themselves in a large cavern.  Dennier estimated that the ceiling was some 
forty feet high at it’s center.  Closer inspection led Dennier to conclude that the ceiling 
was artificial, carved in a dome shape.  Once Rathenn had brought the other lights and the 
remaining students, they sat and marveled at the scene overhead.  It appeared to depict a 
great battle, but not on land.  This battle was taking place in space between strange ships 
that Dennier did not recognize.

The walls contained pictures and writing as well, but these were more consistent with 
Shamek culture.  There were scenes of everyday life, scenes of religious ritual, scenes of 
great battles between armored Minbari.  Everywhere the name of Dukhat could be found.  
Dennier was almost certain that this was his tomb.  The site outside had likely belonged to 
the workers and artists who had built this place.  The temple which was a small and 
ordinary affair by Shamek standards had been for their use here.  Once the tomb was 
finished, the site had been abandoned, which would account for the lack of artifacts in the 
main site.  All that was left outside was their garbage.

“I can’t believe this,” Rathenn said after some moments.  “How did you find it, Dennier”

“I didn’t,” Dennier replied.  “I was merely looking for Delenn whom I found standing in 
front of the door.  How she found it I have no idea?”

Delenn for her part was examining a large stone box in the center of the room.  Catching 
Dennier’s eye she asked, “Is this a death box?  I read about one that was found in a burial 
site along the Lakimer River.”

“Yes, it is,” Dennier replied moving to join her by the box.  “I have never before heard of 
the Shamek using caves to bury their dead, but perhaps they feared grave robbers.  I doubt 
that anyone would think to look here in this out of the way place.  Legend has it that after 
Dukhat drove the soldiers of darkness away from Minbar, he was killed while trying to 
make an alliance with the Tumek who lived on the Yedor peninsula, but why they would 
have chosen to bury him here so far Lake Minbar, the site of their power, I do not know.”

Dennier had been pondering that mystery for five days now.  It helped to take his mind off 
the fact that as yet no help had arrived.  The group had moved into the tomb when it 
became apparent that the air was far better here than in the cavern.  Why that was Dennier 
did not know, but he did know that time was running out for them.

“I am afraid that we do not have much more time,” Rathenn said, echoing Dennier’s 
thought.  “I have explored as far back in the cavern as I can, but so far I have found no 
other way out.”

“What about that shaft,” Delenn said pointing to the far wall.  “Maybe it leads out.  I once 
read that the Shamek cut air shafts in some of the tombs to aid in construction.  That may 
be why the air is so much better in here.”

Rising, Dennier and Rathenn went over to examine the place Delenn had indicated.  
Neither of them had noticed it before.  It had be artfully concealed in the carvings, 
approximately eight feet up on the wall.  Dennier boosted Rathenn up on his shoulders to 
allow him a closer inspection of the opening.

“I can tell that the air is much fresher up here, so it must open to the outside, but it is too 
narrow for me to climb into,” Rathenn explained as he climbed off Dennier’s shoulders.  
“It was a nice idea, Delenn but...”

“I could fit inside,”  Delenn replied after several moments of silence.  “I am the smallest.  
If I can get outside, I can find help and bring them back here.”

“It is too dangerous Delenn.  We have no way of knowing where the shaft leads or what 
you will find at the end,” Dennier said, shaking his head.  “We appreciate the offer though.  
It is very brave of you.”

“I am not afraid, but it makes me very sad to think of my father.  If I do not return he will 
be alone.  I can, at least, try.”

Dennier could not imagine sending his own child into the shaft, but then Delenn was not 
his child.  At times, she did not seem a child at all, except when something new, unknown 
crossed her path.  Then, the childlike wonder in her eyes could not be disguised.  She was 
also right that if they did nothing they would likely die.  Still, it did not seem right to allow 
a child to risk so much.  In the end, however, there was little choice.  It had been far easier 
to lift Delenn into the opening.  The hard part had been watching her disappear down the 
shaft, unable to help her with the task ahead, except by praying, Dennier found himself 
doing more of that than he ever had ever done before.

Delenn too was praying.  It had not seemed like such a frightening thing when she was on 
the ground looking up, but now, crawling in the narrow tunnel with a light that barely 
illuminated three feet in front of her, it did indeed seem frightening.  The tunnel slanted 
upward slightly and began to narrow even further.  Delenn was now practically crawling 
on her stomach and considering turning back when she detected a light up ahead.

Delenn emerged from the shaft to look down a steep cliff.  Turning to look over her head 
she saw that she was about thirty feet from the top, thirty very long feet.  Delenn decided 
that she had two choices: return to the tomb or climb up the cliff.  Delenn lay there for 
some time studying the cliff above her.  It was, in fact, not quite as sheer as she had first 
thought.  It was possible that she could make it up to the top, but there was no room for 
mistakes.

Gathering all her courage, Delenn reached up and wrapped her hand around a rocky 
protrusion above her, then hauling her way up hand over hand managed to work her way 
out of the shaft.  Carefully, she began to pick a path sideways along a large crack in the 
cliff face.  It would add distance to the climb, but there appeared to be more handholds 
along the way.  Halfway up, Delenn’s leg began to shake from the strain.  Jamming her 
foot into a small notch in the rocks, she stopped for a few seconds to calm it.  When the 
shaking finally subsided, Delenn reached for a small knob of rock above her and 
continued. It took over an hour for Delenn to make her way up the remaining cliff and pull 
herself over.  By the time she reached the top, her muscles were shaking so badly from 
fatigue that it was several minutes before she could rise.

When the ground finally steadied beneath her, she began to make her way down the path 
toward the dig site.  It was obvious that someone had been there since the quake.  Debris 
had been moved and stacked in several places, but there was no sign of anyone now.  
Perhaps when they failed to find them at the site they assumed that they must have 
attempted to walk down in search of help.  Delenn remembered the Temple they had 
passed over on the way up here and began to make her way in that direction.  She had 
been walking for what seemed like hours when she was shaken out of her meditation by 
the sound of voices.  Rounding a corner, she found herself face to face with several 
acolytes working to remove debris from a small doorway.

“Where did you come from,” one of the asked when they finally noticed her presence.  
Motioning up the mountains toward the dig site, she began to explain.  Before she was 
halfway through, one of the acolytes raced off in the direction of the main temple.  He 
returned several minutes later with Galenni, Turval, and Veroon.

“Delenn, I was so worried about you.  Where have you been all this time?  We went to the 
dig site but found nothing.” Veroon said after giving Delenn a bonecrushing hug.

Delenn began to explain about the rain, the cave, the quake.  When she got to the part 
about the tomb and the shaft, she looked up to find the others staring at her in a most 
peculiar way.  Before she could ask what was wrong, one of the acolytes came to inform 
them that the shuttle was ready.  It took only a few minutes to make the trip that had 
taken Delenn several hours.  When they arrived, she led them to the mouth of the cave.  
They had had to call for additional equipment to excavate the debris, but after several 
hours they had been able to get Dennier and the others out.  Before they left the site, 
Delenn had asked to go back into the tomb.  Accompanied by Dennier, Galenni, Turval 
and her father, they reentered the tomb to gaze up at the dome again.

“I told you it was beautiful,” Delenn said, taking Veroon’s hand.  “Even more beautiful 
than the pictures we looked at in your book.”

“How did you find it,” Veroon asked, turning to Dennier.

“Ask Delenn,” Dennier smiled.  “This is her find.  We just followed where she pointed.  
She was also the one who spotted the air shaft.  Was it a difficult climb, Delenn?  We were 
afraid that something had happened to you.”

“The shaft was not very hard, but climbing up the cliff outside was.  I do not understand 
why anyone would think that it was fun, but a long time ago people used to do it all the 
time.”

“Cliff...” Dennier began.  “Where did the shaft lead?”

While Delenn explained the climb up the shaft, the cliff face, and the climb upward, the 
group sat in silence trying to reconcile the image of this small child with the feats she was 
describing.  Few of them would have dared as much or have seemed so totally unfazed by 
the magnitude of their accomplishment.

“We are in your debt, Delenn,”  Dennier said offering the formal bow that was normally 
reserved for honored adults.  “I would be pleased to have you on my next dig.  You would 
make an excellent archeologist, but I hope that your next great discovery does not involve 
quite this much danger.”


In the end, Delenn’s discovery had shaken far more than the quake that preceded it, 
though Dukhat as he gazed around at the tomb of his namesake.  Archeologist had been at 
work for months now uncovering the secrets of this site.  Several things were clear.  First, 
Dukhat was a real individual whose remains had been recovered and dated back to the 
presumed time of the great darkness.  Second,  while many of the ships depicted overhead 
had not been identified, there was no mistaking the black spiked outline of the shadow 
vessels they were fighting.  Preliminary translations had revealed that these ships had been 
based in an area several hundred miles south of Lake Minbar.  They were the darkness of 
legend and, according to the inscriptions, other beings, the Starriders, had come to Minbar 
to drive them off with the help of the priests of Sha.  What help they could have provided 
was not clear, but...Third, the shaft through which Delenn had climbed to get help was 
more than simply an air shaft.  It was designed to be a window pointing into the eyes of 
the long dead Dukhat.  Even in death, he watched for the return of the darkness for on the 
anniversary of the day that the darkness had been driven off light from a distant star shone 
through that shaft.  Around that star circled a planet long dead, it would seem, devastated 
by some disaster, Za’ha’dum.

“It is amazing,” Turval said, breaking Dukhat’s reverie.  “No matter how many times I 
have seen it, I am still awestruck.”

“Yes,” Dukhat replied.  “Even more amazing to contemplate it’s implications.  I have 
followed the dig closely and there can be no doubt, the Shadows were here, Turval, nine 
thousand years before Valen.  Those ships must be the First Ones, the ones they called 
Starriders.  The inscriptions give names, but whether they are the names of individuals or 
their race is unknown.  But I have read a description of one of these ships before.  That 
one,”  Dukhat pointed up to one of the ships at the center of the fight.  The top was a 
large dome and underneath a number of protrusions like tentacles trailed from it.  The 
surface also sparkled with lights of various colors.  “One of our ships encountered it some 
three hundred years ago and barely escaped.  Apparently, contact caused some sort of 
power drain that very nearly caused them to crash into the planet below, but as suddenly 
as it appeared, it disappeared.  And that,”  Dukhat continued, pointing to another ship off 
to the left of the one they had been discussing, “that is unmistakably a Vorlon vessel.”

Neither man spoke for some time.  Each lost in their own thoughts.  Finally Turval said, “I 
flew by the opening to the shaft on the way in and still can not believe that the child was 
able to climb up that cliff.  Of course, I will confess that I prefer to have my feet firmly 
planted on the ground.”

“Yes,” Dukhat smiled.  “You were not one to dream of great adventures, daring struggles 
against the darkness.”

“No,” Turval began, “but we all have our part to play and mine for now is coming to an 
end, Dukhat.  Delenn has completed all the coursework for temple, almost a half of a cycle 
early.  I understand that she and her father will be taking a ‘Grand Tour’ I think they 
called it, visiting a number of the worlds they find so fascinating.”

Do you know where they intend to go,” Dukhat asked with interest.

Laughing Turval replied, “How could I not.  Delenn had talked of little else for days.  
They intend to stop at the Narn homeworld, the Drazi Freehold, and the Marcab 
homeworld in addition to several of the smaller colonies.  Dulann’s wife is of the 
Merchant class and they will travel on one of her families ships.”  Sighing Turval 
continued,  “It occurred to me recently that I have never left my own homeworld.  I have 
spent most of my life in temples of one sort or another.  I find the thought of continuing 
my teaching at the temple, uh, uninspiring.  I am considering a change.”

“A change to what, old friend,” Dukhat asked quietly.

“I have decided to join the Anla’Shok,” Turval replied, enjoying the surprise he saw in 
Dukhat’s face.

“That is very dangerous,” Dukhat began.  “Valen created the Anla’Shok to watch the 
borders for the return of the shadows.  They are trained to fight, to uncover secrets and 
report.  What can you do?”

“I am not entirely helpless, but you forget that meditation is important for the warrior as 
well.  I have spoken to Lenann who recently became the head of the Anla’Shok, he was 
quite pleased by my interest.  I gather that they do not have many recruits these days.”

“No.  Unfortunately, they do not.  Valen created them long ago to be our first line of 
defense against the Shadows.  Once, they were honored and membership greatly sought 
after, but as the years passed their membership has declined.  The warrior caste would 
even like to see them disbanded, although what threat they pose to the warrior caste I do 
not know.  Valen promised that the Anla’Shok would be ready for the coming war, but I 
do not see how, unless we help them.  If this is the Calling of Your Heart, Turval, I wish 
you well.”

“I hope to help in whatever modest way I can.  I can not look up at this battle and doubt 
that the darkness is coming,” Turval said, turning to leave with one last backward glance 
up at the dome.

Dukhat did not follow immediately.  Turning he walked to place his hand on the deathbox, 
now empty, and say a silent prayer that like his ancient namesake he would find what was 
needed to drive out the darkness.  Some had considered it presumptuous of his parents to 
name him Dukhat.  This one had been the first but not the last Dukhat to lead his people in 
a great battle.  On the other hand, the present Dukhat had come from a small subclan and 
an unremarkable family.  He was the first ever to serve the Grey Council and soon he 
would be called to lead that same Council.  Their time of mourning was over and he had 
been chosen.  No one in the history of the Council had ever refused the call.  It was a great 
honor, but in many ways Dukhat dreaded it.  The Council traveled among the stars, rarely 
setting foot on land.  Still, Dukhat had found the time to visit Minbar often.  As the leader 
of the Council, those visits would become fewer and fewer.  He would have to count on 
others to be his eyes and ears.

The sacrifice would be worth it, however, if he could use that position to prepare his 
people.  Time was short and growing shorter, and still he had not found the ‘unknown 
race’ or been able to contact the Vorlons.  All messages went unanswered and no ships 
ever returned.  Some on the Grey Council had vowed to act only when the Vorlon 
appeared, admitting through their inaction what they would not in their words, that they 
no longer believed.  But Dukhat believed, and so he alone prepared for that day, for his 
moment with destiny.

Dukhat’s hand stopped when it came to the carving at the top of the deathbox.  It depicted 
two figures kneeling in front of another.  The standing figure was easily identified as 
Valeria, although the inscription below the scene named him Sha.  The kneeling figures 
were Dukhat and a young priestess of Sha named Delenn.  The name was not a common 
one.  It seemed a most unlikely coincidence to Dukhat.  This tomb still had many secrets 
to reveal, but Dukhat could wait for a time.
l