Two Technomages square off, energy blazing
from their fingertips and their personal objects of choice.
One is male and wields a baton-- really an
overgrown magic wand-- with which he directs his attacks. The
other, a female, wears a thick, leathery black glove, which seems to
accumulate and focus the release of her energies.
The two circle one another, launching
lightning bolts and fireballs and many other devastating forms of
attack at one another. Blood trickles from numerous wounds each
has suffered already.
Beyond the flat, grassy area upon which they
fight, many other Technomages are gathered, observing the proceedings
with interest.
After several minutes of circling, attacking,
feinting, and counter-punching, the final assault comes. The
female Mage unleashes a barrage of fury at her opponent, who counters
most of it with his baton before releasing his own power and
rage. The area flares with light; the grass bursts into flame.
When the smoke clears, and the other mages
have somehow extinguished the flames, only one Mage remains. The
female slowly pulls herself to her feet, blood streaming from her nose
and a wound in her shoulder, and glares at the others. Then she
staggers away, toward her quarters.
The other Mages, each in his or her own way,
says a quick prayer or curse or remembrance of the destroyed
Mage. And then they all return to their homes, their
duties. And each knows that, with regard to the challenges and
the combat to the death, he or she could be next.
* * *
Galen sits back in his chair and ponders the
battle he has just witnessed between Wikken and the late Darga, and
thinks over what he has observed since returning to the Technomage
world of refuge. The duels are happening with greater
frequency. The situation has grown intolerable. Soon, very
soon, something would have to give. Galen fears thinking of just
what that something could be.
The Technomages have never much trusted one
another, even spread across half the galaxy. Confined as they
are now to one tiny, remote world, waiting, waiting for... something
to happen, to signal a change in their monotonous status quo-- it was
simply intolerable. Each knew that the current arrangement could
not survive much longer. Or else, none of the Mages themselves
would survive much longer. Danger from the outside was one
thing-- but they were very close to turning with rage and fury upon
one another. To killing one another.
But all of the alternatives were bad.
Stay here, and see their small society dissolve into mass
murder. Return to the inhabited areas of the galaxy--no, the
situation on Minbar and with the Humans was bad and growing
worse. Go out into the beyond-- few currently supported that,
and it would remove much chance of their order surviving in the long
run. Surely they would simply scatter to the four winds and
eventually all die out, away from anyone else. Certainly there
would never be another generation of Technomages. And thus, no
consensus could be reached by the members of the Circle. The
only thing they seemed to agree on was that Galen was not welcome.
He didn't care. He'd come back to try
to help them-- to sort out their crisis-- whether they liked it or
not. And he'd come for another reason, as well. Now he
looks up from his brooding and meets the eyes of that other reason,
seated across from him.
Dureena Nafeel looks back at him, her alien
eyes sparkling.
"And you trust these people?" she
asks. "You expect me to?"
He purses his lips, then replies,
"No. Not in the least. But they should be able to
help you."
"Help me? I don't need any
help. I feel better than I've ever felt in my life."
"Yes, I'm sure you do. But, be
that as it may, you do need help. If for no other reason
than because you are now, for all intents and purposes, a Technomage
yourself. And when the others found that fact out, they would
come looking for you. That... would not be desirable. And,
trust me, they would have found out."
Dureena frowns, then nods.
"Fine. So why are we here, then?"
"To convince them to accept you... and
not to skin you alive."
* * *
On Minbar, Alisa Beldon continues to see
Tannier quite often, and finally demands of him, "Have you been
ordered to keep track of me?"
"...Yes," he admits. Given
her abilities, and her past connections to Earth, and to Babylon 5,
Forrell has taken a personal interest in her, and has directed Tannier
to watch her. But, he admits, he likes her a great deal, and
watching her is more a pleasure for him than a duty.
Alisa is not heartened by this at all, and
resolves privately to leave Minbar as soon as she can
* * *
Returning from Beta 9, the Excalibur docks at Babylon
5 to resupply. The Excalibur has not yet been openly declared an
outlaw ship, but Gideon has no doubt that the senior commanders of
every EA installation know all about what is happening, and he knows
that the station is the only place he can safely go, at the moment,
thanks to Ivanova being in command there.
While on the station, Gideon arranges dinner
with Ivanova, ostensibly to discuss the situation he and his ship find
themselves in. During dinner at the Fresh Aire Restaurant,
Ivanova laughs that Gideon and his people are in a similar situation
to the one she and Captain Sheridan were in, years earlier. She
jokingly asks him when he plans on declaring independence. He
does not laugh.
The two spend the night together in Ivanova's
quarters.
Later, during the night, Gideon thinks he
hears something-- a voice-- softly calling to him. He gets up
from the bed and follows the sound into Ivanova's large closet.
The voice is stronger. He bends down, finds a wooden box hidden
there among her clothing. He opens the lid. An orange glow
radiates out.
"Separated... too long..."
"What are you doing?"
Gideon jumps, whirls, is confronted by
Ivanova, wearing a robe, a PPG pointed at him.
"How did you know that was there?"
she demands.
"It told me," he replies.
And, in response to her confused reaction, he adds, "I have one,
too."
Ivanova's eyes widen, and she lowers the PPG.
"I'll make some coffee," she says.
"Yeah."
* * *
The Technomage refuge world:
Some hours before the convening of the
Circle, Galen instructs Dureena to work through a series of exercises
designed to improve her concentration and skill with her new
powers. Then, leaving her in his quarters, Galen walks outside,
across the thick grass of the compound, and to a secluded
hillside. There, under the overhanging limbs of a huge tree, he
kneels down, finding the spot where he has left a small marker in
memory of Isabelle.
"I did what you would have wanted,"
he whispers. "I took your ashes to the Well of
Forever. I hope that you may rest easy there." He
sighs heavily, all the weight of the world pressing down on his
black-clad shoulders.
Galen thinks then about his late mentor, and smiles to
himself. Elric, during his conversation with Captain Sheridan on
Babylon 5, and in a typical moment of
Technomage deception, had reversed the order of the words of power the
Mages could wield. Unlike what
Sheridan had been told, it was actually "seven
words to make someone fall in love with you forever, and fourteen
words to make them leave without pain."
And thus does Galen whisper seven words. The same seven words he
has whispered to her memory every day since the day she died:
"I love you, Isabelle. I always
will."
And as always, there is no reply.
He stands to leave.
But then, for the first time, he thinks he
almost hears a voice, a tiny voice, whispering to him. He
pauses, frowns, turns his head slightly. The wind in the trees
and the sounds from the compound are too much, though. He
dismisses the thought entirely and makes his way back to the compound.
* * *
That evening, the Circle convenes in the
grassy field outside their compound. Galen brings Dureena along
with him, and at first opportunity, presents her to the Circle.
"This is Dureena Nafeel. She
has... become one of us."
A murmur arises among the gathered
Mages.
"How can this be?" demands the
leader.
"Show them."
Dureena unsheathes her sword, the sword she
acquired at the Well of Forever. There is a hue and cry from the
collected Mages.
"Avelar! The sword of Avelar!"
"Where did you get that?"
"Thief!"
"Grave robber!"
"How dare you?"
"Hand that over immediately!"
"No!" shouts Dureena.
"It's mine, now. It works for me!"
As two Mages start towards her, she swings
the sword in a broad arc-- and flames flare forth from it, sweeping
the Mages back in shock.
A split second's stunned silence, then:
"A wild Mage! She is a wild Mage!"
"Flay her!"
"Flay her now!"
"She must be flayed!"
Dureena looks at Galen, wild-eyed.
He sighs. "This... is what I was
hoping to avoid."
* * *
After things have settled down, Galen leads
Dureena before the Circle once more.
"We have examined you and spoken with
Galen at length on these matters, since he knows you and we do
not. While Galen is currently viewed with some disfavor by the
Circle, we do respect his judgment and that of his late mentor, Elric,
who taught him well. Therefore, we offer you three choices of
judgment, Dureena Nafeel. You will choose one, and if you
succeed at it, you will be recognized by the Circle and by all the
Technomages as a legitimate sister of our order."
"And if I fail?"
He does not hesitate. "You will be
flayed."
Dureena looks at Galen, wide-eyed.
"You have no other choice," he
tells her. "And, as I said before, if we had not come here,
they would have sought you out, eventually found you, and not offered
you any choices whatsoever."
Dureena summons up her strength and her
courage and nods once. "Fine. What are the
options?"
The chief nods. "Trial by
Judgment. Trial by Works. Trial by Combat."
"Meaning?"
Galen explains: "Trial by Judgment
means you leave it to the decision of
the Circle. Trial by Works bases your worthiness on their evaluation of what you can create, using your new
skills and powers. Trial by Combat-- you must defeat an appointed champion of the Circle,
who will battle you to the death."
Dureena shrugs. "That's easy
enough. There's no way I'm leaving it in their hands, and I
can't create squat, besides a whole lot of fire. So: Whom
do I fight?"
Galen grits his teeth. "Dureena--
no. They will select someone powerful. Someone
quite...formidable. I was thinking of Trial by Works-- if we
could be allowed a few days to prepare, I could instruct you in how
to--"
"Enough!" From outside the
Circle, a Mage rushes in, lightning flaring like a halo about
her. It is Wikken, the victor in the earlier duel, in which she
had obliterated her opponent. "The false Mage has chosen
combat! So be it! She is a blasphemy to us all, and I will
dispatch her with ease!"
Galen starts to interpose himself between the
two, but the chairman of the Circle booms out, "No! She did
choose Combat, and so it will be!"
Galen reluctantly withdraws to the Circle,
while the two women square off.
Wikken unleashes barrage after barrage of
lightning at Dureena, and she barely manages to parry the blasts with
her sword. Minutes tick by, and Dureena is pushed further and
further back, her energy rapidly depleting. She knows that she
is only fighting a defensive struggle, and that, sooner or later,
Wikken's attacks will get through to her.
Desperately, Dureena summons up what strength
she has remaining, and forces a counter-attack upon the arrogant
Mage. Flames roar out, pushing Wikken back, and the Mage cries
out, but then she redoubles her own efforts, blasting away at Dureena.
For what seems like time unending, the two women smash at one another
with lightning and flame.
Then, suddenly, the sword springs to new life
in Dureena's hand, as if with a mind of its own. She parries and
attacks with a skill she has never possessed before. Wikken
cries out again and falls to one knee, and Dureena seems poised to
deliver a death blow. And then....
...And then, an image swirls about like fog,
seeming to emanate from the sword itself. It quickly solidifies
into the three-dimensional likeness of a wizened old man in black
robes,
and the gathered Mages gasp.
"Avelar! It is Avelar!"
The voice of the long-dead Technomage, Avelar,
booms out across the compound. "Not Avelar! I am
Aveling, the sword of Avelar, carried by him for many years and imbued
with some part of his consciousness, his mind. Long did I lie in
his grave at the Well of Forever, and then in the clutches of the
renegade Genius Loci... until I was found by this woman,
Dureena Nafeel. And this woman... this woman is truly a
thief!"
A cry goes up from the assembled Mages.
Dureena tries to cast the sword aside, but finds she cannot.
"But," the sword Aveling continues,
"I find that I like her. From what I have experienced of
her actions, and of her thoughts, I believe that she has only the best
of intentions. Better than most of you, my old colleagues!
She is, in truth, worthy. And so-- I will be staying with
her. And you: You will leave her alone!"
And with that, the image of Avelar fades and
disappears. Dureena stumbles backward, overcome with weariness,
and collapses to the ground, sitting upon the grass, a stunned look on
her face.
Galen helps her back up, then faces the
chairman and the Circle. "So? What say you,
Circle? You have heard the words of the sword, and of its former
master. He has given Dureena his blessing. Can you do any
less?"
The members of the Circle lean in toward
one another, murmuring quietly, plainly agitated and unhappy but
uncertain what to do.
And then Wikken is on her feet once more,
approaching Dureena. Galen moves again to stop her, but she
pauses, pulls her black glove from her hand, and raises her now-bare
hand in a gesture of peace. She turns then and faces the Circle
leaders. "This woman is indeed a Mage," she proclaims
loudly. "I will welcome her into the order, and challenge
any who do not."
More murmuring from the Circle, then,
"We concur in Wikken's decision. Dureena Nafeel, we...
provisionally... welcome you into our order, and place you under the
tutelage of Galen." He pauses, looking at his cohorts
within the ruling Circle. Then he continues, "While we respect both of you... perhaps it
would be better if neither of you were here with us."
"Agreed. I thank the Circle for
their wise decision." Galen grabs Dureena by the
arm. "Come on," he whispered, pulling her away.
"Before they change their minds."
* * *
That evening, as they are packing to leave,
Dureena approaches Galen. He turns to her, questioningly.
"I... I wanted to thank you for all
you've done for me," she tells him. "I know there was
no real reason for you to get so involved. I've never given you
much reason to want to help me. You could have stayed out of it, and
just let one of the others come for me later."
"No," he replies. "I...
never. I could never have done that."
She smiles slightly, reaches out, grasps his
hand, squeezes it. She looks up into his blue eyes, and smiles
again.
He opens his mouth, has no idea whatsoever of
what to say, and closes it again.
Wordlessly, she releases his hand and returns
to her packing.
* * *
Flying back through hyperspace, toward a
planned rendezvous with Excalibur, Galen lies back aboard his
autopilot-controlled ship and closes his eyes. There is no sound
but the soft humming of the ship's systems. He thinks of all
he's seen and done this day, and of the way things went with Dureena
prior to their departure. He finds he is torn with conflicting
feelings and emotions-- more so even than usual.
After a while, a sense of peace descends over
him, and he welcomes it. Before sleep can claim him, he once
again whispers the same seven words he's whispered every day since the
day she died:
"I love you, Isabelle. I always
will."
And as sleep claims him, it seems that he
hears words whispered in reply... fourteen words... fourteen words
meant to let him go without pain:
"But now you must go on with life.
Remember me, but find new love..."
His eyes snap wide open and he sits bolt
upright with a gasp. Across from him, Dureena reacts with a
start.
"What's wrong?"
Galen gathers himself, already in a cold
sweat, his mind racing now, trying desperately to ascertain whether he
dreamed the words... or...
"Nothing. Nothing. A
dream. My apologies."
He settles back down, and Dureena relaxes
back into her own seat. A sense of sadness pervades her once
again, as she looks at him lying there. She thinks of what could
be, of what the two of them might share... if only he could rejoin the
living... and allow the dead to rest in peace.
For she has heard his seven whispered words,
but not the fourteen in reply.
* * *
And on a world once bright but now swallowed
in darkness, another man breathes his own seven words:
"I love you, Delenn. I'll find
you."
Annotations
for "Seven Words."
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