by Elizabeth Johnson

Michael Garibaldi brought the tray of datacrystals to the reader on the table, deciding it was time to go through them. He probably didn't need to take half of them to Mars-- hell, he didn't even know what most of them were.

The first three, though unmarked, had indexes when he held them over the reader and he knew instantly that they were junk. The fourth, though, had no index, and he held it up to the light as if he could divine the contents in the crystal lattices just by looking at it.

With a shrug, he popped it in the player and a pleasant voice told him, "Access requires password."

And he knew. As if God had whispered in his ear, he knew. Sudden pain clenched his heart. He had actually forgotten.

His voice hoarse, he said, "Password: "Hello old friend.""

The screen flared to life with the somber face of Jeffrey Sinclair.

"Hello, Michael--"

"Computer, freeze," Garibaldi ordered in a strangled voice and stared at the image of his friend. It had been two years since Michael had lost his friend to destiny, to fate, to... whatever.

Had that been the moment it had all started to go wrong?

"Damn it, Jeff. Why the hell did you have to leave?" Michael seized the tray of datacrystals, intending to hurl it at the wall.

But remembrances of other words spoken in that velvety, kind voice held his arm back: I believe in you, Michael. You can get through this.

That voice had been his lifeline twice, once on Mars and once before here on the station. Jeff Sinclair had broken through the alcoholic haze and offered his hand to lift Michael back in the light.

How had he done it alone, when it took Sheridan, Lochley, Zack, Stephen and Lise all together?

Michael set the tray very gently back on the table.

"Jeff," he murmured to the image on the screen. "Why did you have to go? Everything was so clear when you were around."

As soon as the petulant, selfish words were out of his mouth, he winced. Sure, condemn the Minbari people, not to mention the whole damn galaxy to extinction, just to keep his friend here?

He shook his head. Delenn had explained it to him, but he still didn't understand. Maybe he never would, unless he went there and saw it.

Would Jeff expect any less?

Abruptly he shut off the system and pocketed the crystal.

He was throwing a change of clothes into a satchel when Lise entered.

She stopped, frozen in the middle of the room. "What are you doing?"

"Packing," he answered obviously and went to her to kiss her. "If I hurry, I can just make the transport ship."

She caught his sleeve when he would've turned to go back to the satchel. "To where?"

"Minbar."

"Minbar," she repeated blankly. "Why are you going to Minbar, Michael?" Then, very carefully she asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he answered, then reconsidered, "No, I'm not. We both know it. But I'm not drunk, if that's what you're asking."

"Okay..." He could feel her concerned gaze on him as he closed the carryall. "Are you doing a job for Sheridan or something?"

"No, this is personal. Look, Lise, before I can commit to you, before we can start a family, there's something I gotta do."

"On Minbar?"

He grasped her hands between his own. "Yes. I-- I think I can find something there. Something I lost, and I have to get it back before I'd be willing to let you attach yourself to somebody who's not whole."

She shook her head in confusion. "You know, I'll take you just as you are. We can work out the problems, together."

He kissed her fingers and laid her hands aside. Tried to, anyway, but she gripped him tightly, unwilling to let him go. "No. I have to do this. But believe me, I think it'll help. Help me, and help us."

"Do what?" she demanded in frustration. "What can you do on Minbar that you can't do here? What's there that you need?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and glanced away, reluctant to tell her. Finally he said softly, "Jeff."

"Jeff? Jeff, as if Jeff Sinclair?" She yanked her hands free and folded her arms. She'd never forgotten that he'd chosen Jeff over her. "Michael, he's dead. Been dead for two years. Why would you go to Minbar for him anyway?"

He stayed calm under the hurled words and the unvoiced accusation which she hadn't spoken on Mars either for fear that he would agree-- _You love him more than you love me_.

"No, he's not here anymore, Lise, but he was there. On Minbar. That's where his... his spirit is, if it's anywhere. Not Earth, not Mars, not this station. Minbar-- that's what he died for. That's why I have to go." He moved, restless, and stared at the Daffy Duck poster. He had to make the words right, but how could he explain, when he didn't understand it himself?

"For so long, I pretended it didn't matter. It worked for awhile. I had the cause." He nearly sneered the word. "It kept me busy, but it didn't really help. That's what Bester exploited in my fucked up head, and everything went to hell. Found you again, that was great, but everything else was sucked into a black hole, and the person who'd given me strength wasn't there anymore. I couldn't seem to find any of my own." He turned to her earnestly, hoping to see understanding, "That's what I gotta to find, Lise."

She shook her head sadly. "You're not going to find it on some alien planet, Michael. It's not something you can pick up like a crystal. It's inside you. You just have to open your eyes. And Jeff Sinclair would tell you the same thing."

He nodded, smiling a little twisted half-grin, half-grimace. "Yeah, he probably would. And then he'd beat the crap out of me to make sure I got the lesson. He did on Mars, anyway." His smile slid away and he held out his hands toward her. "Look, I know this is strange. But I have to do it. If nothing else, I've got to say... goodbye." When she still hesitated, he cajoled, "C'mon, Lise, if it weren't for him, we wouldn't be together. I'd be dead in some Martian back alley."

"I know," she admitted and eased herself into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "And I'm sorry for being such a shrew. I wish I had met him. He was a good man."

"Yeah, he was. The best."

She gave him another kiss then pulled back. "All right, go, but come back to me, okay?"

"I promise." He grabbed the satchel and headed for the door.

*** * ***

At immigration on the orbital station, the Minbari guard took Michael's identification. "Purpose of visit?"

Michael hesitated and his gaze slid to the viewport behind the guard where the blue, green, and white planet of Minbar was visible. "I want to learn more about Valen," he answered softly.

That attracted the guard's attention. He froze and looked at Michael curiously. "But you are Human."

Michael answered dryly, "Thanks, I knew that much." But his sarcasm was reflexive and he gave the guard something of an explanation, "I used to know Jeff Sinclair-- Ambassador Sinclair, I should say."

The guard nodded as if Garibaldi made perfect sense. "A wise man."

The comment startled Garibaldi, who turned his gaze back to the Minbari's. "You met him?"

"No, I did not have that honor," the guard answered. "But I heard him speak twice. He was much missed during the war, I believe." At first Garibaldi thought he meant the Shadow war, but then realized he meant the Minbari civil war.

The guard slid the identicard into the system. "Michael Garibaldi," he pronounced the name carefully then his expression lit with surprise. "Interesting. Entil'Zha Sinclair entered a request that you be granted access at whatever time you wish for unlimited stay. Very well. You are cleared to Minbar, Mr. Garibaldi. I pray you find the answers you seek."

Michael took his i.d. back. "Thank you."

On the way down to the surface in the transfer shuttle, Michael watched the monitors. He had researched the planet on his way here, but now he wanted to orient himself to the reality.

It was obvious the city had suffered extensive damage in the civil war. Some buildings were partially collapsed or cracked, but it was still a beautiful city of crystalline structures, flowing water and light, on several wide terraced plateaus like giant steps to snow-covered mountains behind it. The large city gave way to gently rolling farmland and wide rivers to a barely visible secondary city on the coast.

The shuttle landed at the main spaceport outside Yedor. Armed with his direction finder and carryall, he joined the crowd waiting for the ground transport into the city.

He was the only human and one of only four aliens in the compartment, but none of the Minbari gave him a second look. Apparently Yedor was cosmopolitan enough that a single human was unremarkable, even though it had only been a half-dozen years since humans had been permitted on the surface at all.

He left the car on the edge of the tourist section where there was a small but thriving community that serviced off-worlders. More than a handful of Rangers were wandering the shops, and he grimaced. It wouldn't be long until Delenn found out he was here, if she didn't know already. He had almost put off his mission when he had discovered she would be on-planet inspecting the new Alliance building, but he had figured he would be able to keep out of her notice for awhile. That was looking less likely, but with any luck she would leave him alone for awhile.

He found a prefab hotel and used his credit chit to access the cubicle. It wasn't much bigger than a cell back on the station, but it was enough.

When the craving for a drink hit him, he decided to go for a walk. If he got out of the tourist section, there would be no alcohol to tempt him.

He didn't really have to consult his finder. The main boulevard, which was only two blocks away, went directly to the main plaza at the summit of the city. Like the others, both tourists and natives, he slowed his steps as he entered, to look around. A large fountain sprayed water twenty meters in the air, in the center of an immense esplanade restricted to pedestrians. One side of the plaza overlooked a dramatic view of the city with its crystal towers and water bridges, but no one saw the view once the eye was caught by the solitary building on the mountain side of the plaza.

The Temple of Valen.

Other sites on Minbar were considered more sacred, but the Temple of Valen in Yedor was the largest temple in Minbari space. So, naturally, it was imposing as hell.

Garibaldi knew the temple had suffered damage in the war-- he remembered images of cracks and a shattered tower-- but none of that remained. It was perfect and brilliant and towering, soaring into the sky as if it might fly on crystalline wings into the sun. A steady stream of visitors disappeared into the three entrances at the base, but they were so far away and the temple so large, they looked like ants.

The temple had no true shadows. It was late afternoon, and the sun was mostly behind the building, making every part of it glow. Michael knew that at night, the structure could be seen for miles away.

Still looking at it, he walked across the plaza. Not much in his life had impressed him as this did. Not just because it was so huge yet looked delicate, but because he realized suddenly that he knew-- had known-- the person for whom this had been built. This beautiful thing had been built for his friend.

There were no guards on the doors and after a moment of observation, he slipped inside. He'd only been inside a cathedral once, and that hadn't been for worship, so he had no idea of any kind of ritual to follow, except to be quiet.

The first area was a large vestibule with a high, sharply angled roof with multi-colored glass patterns running through it. Except for the colors and the light there were no other decorations. There were three more open doorways, each about five meters high, leading deeper into the temple.

He hesitated in the vestibule. He didn't belong here. He felt uneasy, maybe a little afraid. He nearly turned to leave but paused again. What, exactly, was he afraid of? No one was stopping him; the Minbari were flowing around him into the temple without a word. Was he more afraid of finding the truth or a lie?

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Jeff Sinclair wouldn't expect ceremony; if anything, he'd want Garibaldi to feel welcome.

Michael felt a few more curious looks from the Minbari near him, but he ignored them as best he could as he stepped under the doors.

The second chamber was about the size of the cathedral Michael had once been in with a towering ceiling. One wall was bright with the afternoon sunlight entering through the windows above and seemed to glow until Michael realized that it was reflecting from a thin fall of water running down the wall into a pool at the base. The pool then split into narrow channels crossing the chamber beneath crystal bridges. The soft whispering rush of the water melded with the brushing of Minbari clothes on the smooth grey tiled floor. The opposite wall from the waterfall held a large altar, lit by several candelabra, before which many Minbari knelt silently.

But Garibaldi continued through a second set of archways into the sanctum. The chamber was round and domed. In the center, lit from overhead, was a twice-life sized statue of Valen carved from white stone, standing on a two meter tall pedestal. He was wearing ceremonial robes and held one hand out in welcome while the other hand held several thin tablets. A hundred candles left in offering burned on a wide ledge encircling the pedestal and their smoke curled among the incense creating a heady scent.

Garibaldi looked up into the Minbari face and frowned, trying to see it. But there was nothing of Sinclair in the figure. Nothing at all. Valen's expression had been carved into someone's idea of noble wisdom, in an expression which Garibaldi had never seen on Sinclair's face.

He let out a sigh. Lise had been right. What was he doing here?

"Pardon me," a diffident Minbari voice murmured at his elbow. "We do not often have Human visitors. You seem troubled. Perhaps I could help?"

Garibaldi turned and saw an older Minbari female dressed in pale green, religious caste robes. Her blue eyes were compassionate. Garibaldi had an instinct about people that was seldom wrong, and he knew she was genuinely concerned.

He opened his mouth to politely demur, but instead, what he said was, "Are there any statues of Valen as he truly was?"

She considered her words carefully. "All statues of Valen in his shrines and temples are believed to be reflections of his true nature."

"But it's so... stylized," he objected. "Aren't there any from when he lived that would be more life-like?"

She regarded him with her head cocked to the side. "During his life time, Valen forbid any image of him to be created. The Rangers destroyed any that were found until he passed beyond. This statue is from approximately one hundred cycles after that time. Only two others are known to be older-- the statue in the shrine at Tuzanor and another in the Chador temple. The two show different aspects, but both are equally stylized. Physical accuracy, we feel, is not so important as his spirit and what he taught us."

"No, I guess not." But he still felt disappointed. He'd hoped to find a connection, but any connection was long since gone. "Thanks." He cast one last look up to the statue's face, in preparation to leave.

"I am called Thelimer," she introduced.

He looked down at her. "Michael."

"Come with me, Michael. I believe you should see something."

She brought him back through the temple and outside to the plaza. He followed curiously, wondering what she wanted to show him.

She paused mid-way between the fountain and the temple, and turned back to look at the temple. Garibaldi turned with her to look at it again.

Her voice was a soft, but potent murmur at his side. "After the Great War had ended, the clans re-started their ancient feuds, yet the people were tired of death. Many called to Valen to return-- the same people who had spurned him and forced him into exile. His closest advisors urged him to turn his back on them, that they were not worthy of his wisdom."

"But he went back," Garibaldi guessed, knowing it was so. Jeff had never turned his back on anyone who needed him.

She nodded once. "This temple was built on the site where Valen returned to Minbar and gathered the clan leaders. Records vary but we know that all spent several weeks here, agreements were made, blood was shed, but at the end, the feuds were ended. Valen issued his most enduring command that no Minbari may kill another on the very spot his statue stands." She must have sensed his skepticism, for she added with a faint smile, "Or so it is believed."

"You said and I've heard before," Garibaldi began, "that Valen "went beyond." What does that mean? It doesn't seem to mean "die"."

"You are correct. But I cannot answer your question, not in the way you wish. We believe that Valen remains with us. He was the greatest of us, and he is with us still, continuing to guide our footsteps toward understanding his teachings." She turned away from the temple to look up at him with a curious look. "But why are you so interested in Valen? You are Human, and not a Ranger to have learned about our beliefs."

He obviously couldn't tell her the whole truth, so he settled on part of it. "I know some Rangers. And I know Delenn."

"Delenn." Thelimer's voice was not obviously inflected, but Michael had known Minbari for too long not to know disapproval.

"What?"

"You are her friend," Thelimer observed. "I meant no criticism."

"But?" Garibaldi prompted.

"For a thousand years, the Minbari lived by the covenant of Valen. Now we do not. We are children, who refuse to hear the wisdom of their elders, and consequently we have lost our way." Her eyes were sad as she looked on the temple. "Even Delenn, as powerful as she is, is not fully of us anymore."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Garibaldi wondered.

"Good, bad-- it simply is. Valen warned that to deny that the universe moves is to close one's eyes to the inevitable. Yet, Michael, I would prefer changes that are small and absorbed gently. The civil war has been a great sorrow to my people."

"I know," was all he could say.

"You have a sorrow of your own," her blue eyes were shrewd yet tender.

He bristled reflexively. "What makes you think that?"

"Your eyes are very like our eyes. Wounded."

It took him a moment then he admitted, "Yeah. Some things... happened to me. It hasn't been easy, the last few years."

"And this difficulty brought you to Minbar."

It wasn't a question, but he nodded, then shrugged. "I dunno. I'm not even sure why I'm here."

"You seek peace," she suggested gently. "Yedor is not the best place for that. Tuzanor is better. It is a place of healing."

"That's ... Ranger headquarters, isn't it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Their base lies in the hills above. The city remains as it was under Valen. His presence is most strongly felt in his shrine there."

He wasn't sure he was up to confronting Valen's presence in his shrine. He wasn't sure he was ready to go to the place where Jeff had spent the last two years of his life.

But Michael let out a sigh. If not now, when?

*** * ***

The shrine of Valen in Tuzanor, the Valley of Sorrows, was the most sacred on Minbar. Not as large as the temple in Yedor nor as well lit, it was the focus of pilgrimage from the entire Minbari Federation.

Here in the valley, more than a millennia ago the largest and deadliest battle between Minbari had taken place, and here, Valen had made his home. The crystalline structures were smaller and older, preserving the small city as it had been for centuries. There was little modern about it-- workers repaired the buildings damaged in the civil war by hand, in traditional ways.

The shrine of Valeria had nearly collapsed altogether from bombing, but Valen's shrine had suffered only a broken spire. It had been used as a headquarters and hospital for the religious caste.

Michael knelt on the floor, as many Minbari did, and looked up to the statue. Unlike the temple in Yedor, this statue showed a small Minbari child at Valen's side, his left hand on the child's shoulder while his right hand was held up in blessing or greeting. At his feet, someone had put candles and a few slim, white flowers.

Michael blinked rapidly, wondering if the incense was getting to him or if there really was something of Jeff's face in the figure, maybe the cheekbones or the jaw... He shook it off. Just wishful thinking.

He heard soft footsteps approaching and then someone knelt beside him. He was only a little surprised to see Delenn. She wore a hood over her head, but a coil of hair hung in front of one shoulder.

She smiled at him in greeting, touching his arm with one graceful hand. Then she turned to look up at the statue and bowed her head in reverence.

Michael knew perfectly well that her coming here was no accident.

When she started to rise, he got up first, quickly, and helped her up. She kept a hold of his arm as they left the shrine and walked out to the wide boulevard into the sunlight. The large waterfall at the east end of the valley could be heard as a faint, constant rushing noise in the background, but there was no sound of aircars to break the peace.

"Were you coming to visit me at all?" Delenn asked, drawing back her hood to shake free her hair.

She was smiling, so Michael answered in kind, "I thought I'd drop in for dinner some night." He glanced back over his shoulder at the shrine, and added more softly, "But I wanted to .. uh... I dunno..."

He trailed off, unable to tell her why he had come.

"I go to the shrine quite often, when I return to Minbar," Delenn murmured. "I find it a ... forgiving place."

Michael shot her a quizzical look. "Forgiving?"

She too cast a glance back at the shrine. "I destroyed what he had built, Michael. When I broke the Grey Council, I did so in fulfillment of his prophecy. But I did not know the consequences of my action, the fire and death that would follow. And I cannot help but believe that if he had been here, he could have found a better way..." Her voice was quiet but strong, and Garibaldi glimpsed the core of faith that made this woman so formidable. He envied her that, for a moment.

"How do you do it?" he asked abruptly, stopping in the middle of the path under the draping branches of a great flowering tree.

She regarded him, with her head cocked to the side. "Do what?" she prompted when he didn't speak further.

He shook his head in frustration as the words wouldn't come. He jerked a hand back toward the shrine. "Blend that, him, with Jeff? How is it so easy for you?"

"Easy?" she repeated softly, clasping her hands together. "No, Michael. It is not easy. I was taught from infancy to revere Valen as the greatest of my people. I studied what he had written, and what others wrote about him. When I was a child, he spoke to me once, soothing my fears when I was lost and alone. I felt... special, because of that moment. Chosen.

"And I was. For it was my hand that pointed at the Battle of the Line and chose Jeffrey Sinclair." She fell silent and Garibaldi let her speak, amazed by the revelation. She continued, more softly, "The truth points to itself, the Vorlon told me. I had no true choice, any more than Jeffrey did. All of us who observed his interrogation knew he had a Minbari soul -- but I believed he held Valen's. His voice was the same as the one who had spoken to me as a child. For a very long time, I could not reconcile how this ... human could have Valen's soul, but I believed it was true. Valen had returned to us.

"I could not guess that he would become Valen." One slim hand took a hold of the flexible branch hanging down and she pulled it lower to reach a small, trumpet-shaped blossom. "This tree has stood here since Valen's time. It blooms every three cycles," she commented softly. Garibaldi waited patiently, knowing the apparent non sequitor would have a meaning.

She sniffed the fragrance of the flower and then let the branch go so it gently sprang back into position. "Jeffrey saw its flowers only once," she continued. "But Valen named the tree, Shi'tharra -- "tree of memory." The story is that Valen wanted them planted in Tuzanor because they look as if they are weeping, in memory of the lives lost here in the Valley of Sorrows. But I believe he named the tree Shi'tharra because it reminded him of his time with us. Jeffrey was our friend, and though I miss him, I know that his friendship with us, his love for us, did not disappear."

"I see what you're saying, " Michael turned to look at the tree again. He ran a finger down the soft, papery bark, thinking that maybe, long ago, Valen had stood here and done the same. Michael dropped his hand, with an abrupt shake of his head. "But I can't picture him, Delenn. I've seen the statues, but I can't connect him to the man I knew. I still don't understand how this happened. Why him?"

Then he winced, realizing he had invited a Vorlon-like incomprehensible answer. Delenn merely smiled at him. "You know the answer, Michael. Or you would not have come here."

He couldn't find a response to that. She took his arm again and they continued walking slowly through the park. At a railing overlooking a series of waterfalls and pools, they stopped again.

He heard a squeal of a child's laughter and turned to look. A Minbari male, tall and severely dressed in warrior caste robes, swung a child over his head, making the little girl laugh.

"Did Valen have any children?" he asked Delenn as soon as the father and daughter had passed by.

She smiled and her hand came to rest over her belly. "At least two," she answered. "Possibly as many as six."

"You don't know?" he asked in disbelief.

"There is a problem in the documents which come down to us-- four names are either his children or his children's children. Remember, for a time, because of their mixed heritage, the children hid with the Rangers off-Minbar."

"I thought Jeff transformed completely," he answered, in confusion. "Was it more like yours? A blending?"

"No, by accounts he was physically Minbari. But he retained some human genes obviously. Have you never wondered how it is that a hairless race such as we are, how a few males grow beards? That is a trait which can be traced to him. Apparently, his children were more obviously mixed."

"And they were exiled for this?" he demanded in outrage. "The greatest of your people, and they exiled his children?"

"Valen was not revered until after he was gone," she reminded him. "Most of his writings were not published in his lifetime, with the exception of his poetry, which was, even at the time, acknowledged as some of the greatest Minbari literature ever produced."

"Jeff always did have a thing for poetry," Garibaldi acknowledged with a quick half-smile. "He used to read Shakespeare for fun. But I don't think he wrote much."

"Perhaps," Delenn suggested softly, "he was waiting for an appropriate language."

"Yeah."

Silence fell and they continued to walk along the river peaceably for several minutes. "Delenn, tell me, what really happened to him? What does "go beyond" mean? Why won't your people admit that he's dead?"

"You do not ask simple questions," she murmured and stopped moving, to look at the towering falls at the end of the valley.

"We do not believe Valen is ... dead." It was difficult for her to even speak the word. "Not just because we do not wish to believe it, but there was no proof he went to the sea."

"A thousand years after he lived?" Garibaldi persisted, "Isn't that pretty conclusive? He was mortal, so by now, he's gotta be dead."

"At the time Valen passed beyond, he simply vanished. There was no body."

"That's not exactly evidence," Garibaldi pointed out. "As far as most Minbari know these days, so did Branmer."

She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his point, but shook her head. "But no one has seen Branmer, Michael. Many of my people have seen Valen since he went beyond. Children describing a kind stranger who guided them home and then vanished, warriors helped by another who disappears before he can be thanked, couples in a bonding who see a phantom giving his blessing... A thousand stories of Valen's presence."

"But how can that be?" Michael asked in frustration. "How is that possible? That's like being a god. Jeff was a lot of things -- but god wasn't one of them."

"Not a god," Delenn agreed and smiled softly, laying a hand over his to soothe. "But someone more than human or Minbari, Michael. I cannot explain how it can be true, I simply know that it is. When I am quiet, still, most open to the universe, I sense his presence. It is the great strength of my life, to know that Valen is there. My dear friend is still here for me, for all of us."

It sounded so wonderful... his heart ached for her faith. To believe that if he closed his eyes, he would know that Jeff was still there. Somewhere. Somehow.

But...

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I ... can't, Delenn. I just can't."

Her hand tightened on his, but she said nothing until he looked up again to face her.

"Jeffrey would not mind if you do not believe in Valen. Valen is a Minbari belief. But do not let Valen shake your faith in Jeffrey," she advised. "He was, is, and always will be your friend. He believed in you."

He couldn't meet her eyes anymore. "I failed him," he whispered. "I failed him so badly. All of you, but Jeff most of all. And I wish..." Everything -- the past, his shame-- rose up in his throat, choking his voice.

Delenn waited patiently then prompted, "What do you wish?"

Miserably, he turned to look out over the water, fixing his eyes on the rainbows created in the mist surrounding the falls, blinking rapidly to keep away the threatening tears. "I wish -- damn it -- I wish I could tell him I'm sorry."

"Perhaps you can."

Something pricked inside him at her words and he turned his head quickly. "What do you mean?"

"There is a ritual," the corners of her mouth lifted in rueful acknowledgment of the many rituals of Minbari life. "The rite of zi'soza. Brother Theo told me the closest translation would be "confession." The one in need inscribes his heart in a letter to Valen. This letter is then set afire in the temple and burned. We believe that this communicates to Valen directly."

"He reads them?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Perhaps. But it is not the burning of the letter which is important, it is the writing of it. Like the ceremony of rebirth, it is a ritual to set down burdens and relinquish the past."

"Did he think this up?"

She shook her head. "No. The zi'soza developed from a letter Shai Alyt Hozikiri wrote to Valen after a disastrous battle in which thousands of Minbari were killed. Stricken with remorse, Hozikiri believed he was incompetent and unworthy, and begged to be removed from command. Valen went to his ship and Hozikiri knelt at his feet. Valen burned the letter in front of Hozikiri, saying that the contents were forgotten and confirming his faith in his war leader. The Shai Alyt returned to his place and led the assault on Z'Ha'Dum. He later became one of the first Grey Council."

The message was clear. Valen forgave his great general his failure and gave him a second chance, and he would do the same for anyone writing him a letter.

She put a hand on his arm and he met her eyes. Soft, warm, gentle, and wise -- in her eyes he could see the reflection of a thousand years of philosophy and religion that all boiled down to one simple belief -- everyone deserved another chance.

And for the first time he felt the connection. From himself, to Jeff, to Valen, to Delenn.

She must have seen the moment of understanding in his expression because she smiled, with a deep, reverential joy.

"And Valen said," she murmured softly, "'Be not afraid, for I am with you until the end of time.'"

The words proved to be the key, unlocking a memory of her speaking the same words, when Jeff had been sitting at his side.

In the next moment, she embraced him tightly, with her small hands pressed against his back as a torrent of grief suddenly poured from him. The long festering wound drained with his tears, as her surprisingly strong arms held him while he shook.

For a moment they remained that way, until he lifted his head, blotting his eyes with his sleeve. He felt scoured clean, fragile but restored. He couldn't find it within himself to be embarrassed.

She released him with one last soothing touch. "I remember your eyes when I told you everything," she murmured faintly, barely audible. "I only understood what he had meant to you after it was too late to change my words. I am sorry, Michael."

His voice was hoarse as if he'd been screaming for hours. "I would've followed him anywhere. But he wouldn't let me." He leaned against the stone and crystal barrier that guarded the walkway from the plunge into the river, weary to the bone.

"You would have died, Michael. He loved you too much to allow that."

Michael's head jerked up in surprise, a betraying reaction that Delenn read in detail without his needing to speak a word.

"Yes," she confirmed. "He loved you. How could you think otherwise?"

He turned back to look at the river, and admitted, "I barely know what to think anymore."

"You need time, I understand. I will leave you to your thoughts. But, Michael, write a letter," she encouraged. "Tell him what you want him to know, the words you never were able to say. You need to tell him."

"Yes," he agreed, with a sharp exhalation. "I do."

"Good. I will see you before you go back to Babylon Five?" It was barely a question, more a command. He nodded, and with one final squeeze of his arm, she took her leave.

Michael felt the cool breeze against his cheek like a soft caress and closed his eyes. His hands rested on the top of the railing loosely, as he absorbed the peace of Tuzanor into the shredded parts of his heart.

*** * ***

Night had nearly become morning when Michael entered the shrine. A few candles burned, not enough to light the dome or cast more than flickering shadows along the folds of the statue's cloak.

Only two Minbari knelt in prayer in the shrine, and after a moment, Michael deliberately shut them out of his awareness so they no longer existed.

In a small shop in Tuzanor he had bought a sheet of paper that was nearly eight hundred years old. He had written his letter on it as Delenn had said, and now he held it rolled up in his hand.

He looked up at the statue. In the dim, wavering light the face looked more like Jeff's, gentle but with a hint of the fiercely protective spirit inside it.

"I came," he said softly. "I wanted to understand. This isn't what you left for, I know that. This isn't what you wanted. You tried to stop them, but you knew it would happen. That they would worship you, revere you, hold you up as the impossible standard of greatness. You stood here and looked at this statue before you left for B5, I know you did, and you wanted to resist what was coming.

"But you know what, old friend? They're right. You were the best of them. You became someone much more than the Jeff Sinclair I knew. I hope that Delenn's right, and wherever you are, you'll know what this says. Somehow." His lips twisted wryly. "I guess it's a matter of faith, and you know I was never much good at that."

He opened the scroll and carefully lit the corner of it with one of the candles that burned at the statue's feet.

He laid the burning letter on the altar and glanced up one final time at the statue's face.

"Good bye, Jeff."

The fire quietly consumed the paper and the pure emotion written on the surface:

"Dear Jeff-- I will always remember. I swear, I'll never forget you. I understand a little better now why you had to leave, and why you couldn't take me with you. You know, I would've died for you, if you had let me. But you never did-- you did everything you could to keep me alive. I guess I'll assume that you had a reason for it, so I'm moving on. Lise and I are getting married, and we're going back to Mars. I may not be back here for a long time.

"As the Rangers say-- "Entil'Zha veni." And sleep in peace, my friend."

Garibaldi was long gone when the breath of a breeze stirred the pale grey ashes and made the flames of the candles dance.

A third Minbari, with a worn, yet ageless face and vibrant bronze eyes, stood near the statue. He cast no shadows on the crystal inlay floor, and neither of the two meditating Minbari noticed him. He looked at the paper he held in his hand, and pale lips creased into a soft smile.

"It's never too late, old friend."