He knew what that meant. In all honesty he had no intention of leaving anything behind, but the gift that was necessary had been brought with him, just in case. The Tak'cha had advised him that forgetting it would not be a good idea.
The door did not open. There did not seem to be any hinges, or any mechanism for opening. It was simply that one minute it was there, and the next minute it wasn't. Breathing deeply, Kozorr crossed the threshold and stepped into the Well of Souls.
All the breath left his body at his first sight of that ancient place. He could not feel anything, smell anything, hear anything. It was as if all his normal senses had shut down, and new ones had sprung up in their place.
There was one thing he did know, one thing he had learned from the Tak'cha. This was a place where the dead did not rest. It was a place where they lived.
It was a vast chamber, impossibly vast, larger than the Temple of Varenni which housed the Starfire Wheel, larger even it seemed than the library at Yedor, or the Temple of Remembrance at Tuzanor.
It seemed to be made out of stone, but a type he had never seen before. Dotted everywhere in the walls were tiny specks of light. There were millions of them. Each one, he knew, was a captured soul. He also knew that they were speaking somehow, although not by words or sounds or telepathy.... but by.... something else.
He walked forward, lost in a dream. He dared to look up, and found himself staring into space. The stars were above him, but none he recognised. No constellations he knew could be seen, nothing familiar. Were they even stars, or just more souls?
He was snapped back to something resembling reality when he found himself in front of a small shrine. It was a pathetically humble thing, but he knew what it represented, what made it one of the holiest places in Minbari history.
A small altar of stone, marked by two words, and a small white flower, perfectly preserved despite the hundreds of years it had been there. Valen himself had laid it there, speaking the words that were now marked on the shrine. He had come here to this very spot, a thousand years before. The histories did not speak of that moment at all, and of those who knew of it — the Shagh Toth themselves, the Tak'cha — none of them would say why.
He pulled the small flower from his belt. The offering to this place. Struck dumb by the sheer majesty of his surroundings, Kozorr laid the flower on the altar, next to Valen's.
The offering has been made, said the voice. Seek your wisdom.
"Who are you?" he asked, tentatively.
We are Cathedral. We are the Hunters, the Preservers, the Past and the Future. We are Cathedral.
"How long...? How old...?"
Since before time had meaning. When there was but one race born of the galaxy, created in the shifting sands and timeless seas. Since the creation of death itself, we have been here.
"You have always been here?"
Always has no meaning for us.
"What do you know?" he asked, another idea suddenly coming to him. "Can you answer my questions?" This was not why he had come here, but then he had never believed he would see this place. He had never believed....
We know every answer to every riddle that has ever been asked since the galaxy was born. Every question, save one.
"Will she ever love me?"
There was no answer. The pricks of light seemed to be mocking him with their very presence.
"Answer me. Will she ever love me?"
Leave this place, traitor knight. That question is not for us to answer, or for you to know.
"Damn you. Damn you all!" He drew his pike and extended it, the full memory of why he had come returning to him.
He had come here to destroy this place, to destroy the Well of Souls and every soul trapped within it and this whole ship of fools.
And then Sinoval would be free of their enchantments, and Kats would be free to love him.
And he would be damned.
The Centauri were by nature a race inclined to gossip. Rumour and innuendo were meat and drink to the nobles of the Court, and it was a foolish courtier indeed who did not pay attention to whispers and suspicions. Most of them even had their own private networks of 'eyes and ears' to provide them with information.
Accurate information had been very scarce in the months since the massacre in the Court and the ascension of Emperor Mollari. It was known that he had been in rebellion against his Government for many months beforehand, had been wanted — falsely, as it was now believed — for the assassination of Emperor Refa, and had been believed dead for over a year before that.
It was known that he had a small group of trusted advisors and councillors. Foremost amongst these was Lord-General Marrago, which was no surprise to anyone who remembered that the two had been good friends many years before. Minister Durano was also a trusted aide, as his skill, intellect and — most valuable of all — discretion were well known. He was too valuable an ally for anyone to ignore. Minister Virini was understood to be respected by the Emperor, in spite of his reputation for clumsiness and general uselessness. Vir Cotto was frequently seen in negotiations with the Emperor, as were certain lower class individuals from Selini.
After that, matters became a little vague. Some believed that the Emperor took counsel not only from his near-invisible Minbari bodyguard, but from his wife Timov as well. This was patently absurd, as no Emperor would ever give a woman such a position of authority, but the rumours persisted.
About one person however, all the rumours were silent. Despite his very public assistance in saving the Emperor from an assassination attempt, and his frequent presence at Court, Mr. Morden had managed to pass virtually unnoticed by the cream of Centauri society. Everyone seemed just to.... forget he was there, and if reminded they replied with something like, "Oh yes, that human fellow," and then absently changed the subject.
The true extent of the influence wielded by Mr. Morden was known to absolutely no one.
"Have you had a chance to consider my offer, Majesty?" he asked.
Londo looked harassed and tired. Unsurprising, as he had hardly slept in days. The Narns were coming. They could be driven off and Centauri Prime saved, but at a truly terrible cost. More bloodshed, more death, and could it be avoided?
Had there been another way? Could he have acted sooner, done a little more? Done anything that could have averted this battle?
"Mr. Morden," he said slowly. "I have spoken with my advisors. Some argue to accept your offer, some to refuse, others to wait. Their arguments are all valid. We cannot go to races on bended knees, binding ourselves to agreements that may cripple us later. We should be wary of accepting offers from races we hardly know. Can we trust you? Do we even need your help?
"I have heard them all, Mr. Morden, and there was not one word spoken in that chamber that I disagreed with."
Morden began to speak, but Londo raised his hand and the human fell silent.
"But today, I wandered around the barracks of the soldiers who will be defending this world from the Narns. I spoke with the captains of the ships in orbit above us now. I even visited some of their families.
"Mr. Morden, if your allies can help save the lives of my people, then yes, I accept your offer."
Londo noticed the slightly guilty look on the human's face.
"I'm very glad to hear that, Majesty, but I'm afraid matters are a little more complicated than I had first believed. You know, of course of the race called the Shadows?" Londo nodded, a puzzled expression spreading across his face. "The Vorlons have opposed the Shadows for centuries, trying to destroy their evil. Somehow, the Shadows have influenced people here.... these Shadow Criers are touched by the Darkness."