"Some people realised a lot of things," Corwin said. Smith's directions had been perfect. He should be here soon.
"She's dead. This is a.... shrine."
"She's not dead. I've been telling you that for a while."
"But this place?"
"If what I've been told is correct.... and I don't pretend to understand a word of it, you know.... she died here.... and then got better."
"But...."
He fell silent and looked behind Corwin at the figure who came slowly into view, a mirage, an illusion, a creation of light and mirrors. She walked slowly, her eyes filled with life, a soft, gentle smile on her face. Sheridan swayed, and almost fell against the wall.
"Told you," Corwin said, but his words were not heard.
Sheridan moved towards her, still unable to believe what his eyes told him. Only when his fingers touched hers did he realise at last that she was here. She was alive.
Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly, in the sure and certain knowledge that he would never let her go again.
Gareth D. Williams
Part 6
The Disassembly of Shadows.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Proxima there is a brief moment of respite - a chance to rest, to heal, to forgive, and to remember. A dying man's confession speaks of the past to one who looks to the future; and for two old friends there is a reconciliation, and a night dedicated to facing unpleasant news and dark choices.
Surrounded by machinery, trapped by tubes and wires, the dying man is content to wait. All his life he has been at the mercy of time, a prisoner of the vagaries of events taking place in other rooms, in other cities, on other worlds. All his life he has been the watcher, never the actor.
Except once. On one occasion, he acted. It cost him a lot. It cost him almost everything, but had he not acted, it would have cost him his soul.
Now he is content neither to watch nor to act, but to wait. Around him the world is turning, a continuing cycle of change and rebirth. New leaders, new rulers, new policies, new wars to fight. None of those things has anything to do with him any more. Let them revolve. He is content here, alone in his single room.
Except he is not truly alone. Of course there are the guards outside, people set to watch him, to ensure he remains here, until.... the time is right. People set to prevent him escaping, or being rescued.
He smiles through a broken mouth. Those guards are his men. He knows their names, their children's names, their dates of birth, their favourite foods. If he chose he could be out of this room in a heartbeat, but let those above him believe they are in charge. Let them dream their little dreams. He is done with dreaming now, and he is happy here, in a room he is content to die in.
That does not mean he is not averse to calling in a few favours.
The nurse arrives. He knows her name too. In fact, he helped her out with a little matter a few years ago. She was never actually a friend, but someone who owed him a favour. It is good to have people owe you favours. It is just a pity he will never be able to call them all in before the end, but, well.... such is life.
He has previously asked two things of her, with suitable promises that she will be blamed for neither. She accepted.
"She is coming here now," she says, and he smiles.
"Good. Thank you." The words hurt the back of his throat, but he ignores the pain. It is a transitory thing after all, and he will be doing a lot of talking soon. "And the.... other matter? There are still no problems there?"
"No. Just.... just call me when you're ready. Are.... are you sure this is...?"
"I'm sure. Trust me. It's all for the best. So much.... easier this way."
There is the sound of footsteps, and he looks up past the nurse to see the figure who has appeared at the door. A slow, sad smile crosses his features. The nurse, recognising that she is no longer necessary, nods and leaves.
He looks at the new arrival, remembering back to the first time he saw her, over three years ago. She had looked very different then, obviously. But he was different now as well. She had changed him, awakening something that had been dead for many years.
"I wasn't sure if you'd come," he says. She would have plenty of reason not to, after all. She owes him no favours, nothing of kindness, certainly.
"Of course I would," she replies, moving towards the bed. Her motion is.... slow, and a little awkward, but that is hardly surprising. Few people would even be walking after what she has been through. Most people, if he has heard everything right, would not even be moving. He does not try to pretend he understands what truly saved her, but a part of him long silent chalks it up to a miracle, which is as good an explanation as any.
"How are you?" he asks on instinct, and then an ironic chuckle escapes him. The laugh hurts, but there is no other reaction possible. "'How are you?'" he repeats, mocking himself. "I don't believe I just asked that. I'm sorry."
"Do not apologise," she says, in her strange, welcoming accent. "I am.... better. The doctors here wish to keep me longer to.... observe me, but I do not think there is much more they can do for me. They had no idea how my system worked even before I.... died. I think they have even less idea now."
"What about...?"
"Ah. They do not think I will ever be able to have children again. They may be wrong, of course. They said as much.... but they said the damage was too severe. There are some things Lorien could not heal."
The dying man closes his eyes, and something dies all the sooner within him. "I.... Sorry is just such a worthless thing to say. I could say it for a thousand years, and it still wouldn't undo...."
"It is done. I came here of my own will, knowing there would be a price to pay, and knowing that my sacrifice would bring about a reward. It has done so. This world is saved, and on the road to salvation. There were some here who listened to me, not many, it is true.... but even one would be enough."
"Then it was worth it? All you went through?"
"Oh, yes. Definitely. And you?"
"Me? I went through hardly anything." A sigh leaves his mouth. "Anyway, that's not why I asked you to come here. I have.... I need to ask you to do something. I know you have every right to say no and walk out of here, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I thought.... this would be.... appropriate."
"I will not leave here. What do you wish of me?"
"You are a religious leader of sorts, aren't you?"
"I am.... was.... am.... of the religious caste of my people. And I was highly placed in my caste, yes."
"I.... used to be religious. I belonged to an order called the Roman Catholics, a very old one by our standards. I'm.... extremely lapsed now. I really stopped believing in anything a long time ago.... but there's one practice I want to bring back.
"It was called a confession. We would go before a priest, and confess our sins, and we would be forgiven, and granted absolution. I want to.... confess all the things I did wrong, and.... remember the things I did that were right. It won't be a standard confession, not at all.... but if I could talk to someone....
"And you're the only real religious figure I know. It's a different religion, yes.... but aren't all faces of God the same in the end?"
"I.... I would be honoured," she whispers, sincerity shining in her eyes.
"Then bless me, Fath.... Bless me, Mother, for I have sinned. It has been.... years since my last confession." He looks at her. "There's a chair around here somewhere. You might want to sit down. This could take a while."
She finds it and pulls it to the side of his bed, sitting down beside him, waiting patiently.