Then the tunnel ended, leaving Vance in the open once more. How would he find an exit before the beast was on him? He turned, ready to face the baleful eyes as they rushed from the tunnel, but nothing attacked. The growling stopped. Slowly he stepped backward, his hand held out to find something to brace himself against. As he moved his foot, something crunched beneath it, something metallic. Vance reached down and picked up the rusted metal bracket he had flung so many hours ago.
Vance’s first inclination was to throw himself against the wall where he imagined the door was, screaming for Turval to let him out. He’d spent too many hours, or possibly days, trapped down in this forsaken tunnel system with himself and his own nightmares. Things that he couldn’t escape. Like the human who had quit earlier. Broken not by a physical activity, but by the stress of being alone with himself. Unable to take the pressure of sitting still with his own thoughts. One’s own mind often proved to be a bigger threat than anything an enemy could confront you with.
Everything suddenly became clear to Vance. This was no test of spelunking or orienteering. At best it was a test of endurance, maybe even wisdom. He sat on the uneven rock floor of the cave and closed his eyes, adopting his meditative position. Everything around him disappeared: the hunger, the thirst, the footsteps, the growling, the nagging panic, the beating of his own heart in his ears. Everything went away. Within seconds he heard the telltale grating of the cave door opening.
‘Well done,’ said Turval. ‘The Mark of Darkness is yours.’
Harsh Lessons
Despite the dimness of the light spilling into the underground tunnel, several seconds passed before Vance’s eyes adjusted. When he could eventually open his eyes fully and without pain, the smiling face of Turval greeted him. A tall Minbari Ranger draped a black blanket across his shoulders, and Vance pulled it tighter when he realised he was shivering. ‘You have done well,’ said Turval in a fatherly manner. Vance was grateful for the comment; congratulations and commendations were something he never received from his own father as a child. ‘I am sorry your trial had to be so much harder than the rest. But you will come to understand why in due course.’
Vance had no idea what Turval meant by this comment, but he was too fatigued to ask right now. Turval held out an ornate crystal flask, and Vance eagerly grasped it and pressed it to his lips. Cool water ran down his throat without a trace of the sickly metallic taste he had endured for God knew how long. When the flask was emptied, Turval led him out of the tunnel. Vance followed like a sheep, unable to do anything else. ‘So what was the point in that?’ he asked, surprising himself with the candid nature of his question.
Turval paused as he carefully weighed an answer. ‘What do you think the point was?’ he said finally.
Vance hadn’t expected that. Surely Turval was supposed to be the teacher. ‘I don’t know. At first I thought it might be endurance, survival, sensory and physical depravation. They’re both used in all kinds of military training. But what was the point of the test? There didn’t seem to be any kind of test to it. Survive or die, until you work out that there is no exit? Then give up. I don’t know--you’re the expert.’
‘There is no way out of the maze, yet you did not cry out for help or beg for mercy,’ said Turval, stopping. The tall Minbari turned to face Vance, who still shivered uncontrollably in the chill tunnel. ‘Even when you knew there was some kind of creature in there with you, and possibly a hostile one at that, you still did not break. And when you finally realised there was nothing to be done, you sought strength through meditation. The Anla’shok could not ask for more from an initiate.’ With another smile, Turval turned to continue along the tunnel.
‘So that’s the answer? Sit down in the entryway and meditate? That would have got me out at the beginning?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Turval, stopping once more. His back turned, he stood silently as though awaiting Vance’s next round of questions. Vance could tell Turval was growing impatient, but he felt anger rising within him at the thought of suffering for what seemed like days, just for some kind of philosophical lesson. He thought better of questioning Turval further on the reasons for the test. Something else now bothered him though.
‘So what kind of beast did you set on me down there?’
Turval turned once more, revealing a smirk on his usually serious face. The grin looked out of place, as though mischievousness was something the Minbari was ill suited to. ‘At no point were you in any danger. Trust me.’
‘It didn’t sound like it,’ said Vance, growing annoyed again. The more he thought about the test, the more foolish he felt. EarthForce used humiliation as part of their training as well, but he had already gone through basic, already been broken down and built back up again. He already knew he was a capable, disciplined soldier, and he was not about to go through it again.
‘How did you know your creature wouldn’t attack?’ A sudden low rumble rose from behind Vance’s back. He recognised it immediately, the low resonant sound making the hairs on his neck stand up. Vance turned quickly, raising his arms defensively, half expecting to see the slavering jaws of some alien creature bearing down on him. All he could see was shadow. Slowly, a black-swathed figure peeled itself from the dark. It moved enough into the light that Vance could see the grim face of his tutor, Kattak.
‘As I said, you were never in danger. Sech Kattak was shadowing you the whole time. Quite literally at certain points. Had you succumbed, he would have ensured you came to no harm.’
Stunned, Vance turned, his eyes low to the ground, waiting for Turval to lead him out of the tunnels. He was beaten.
He thought himself a good soldier, but these Minbari proved at every turn he was wholly inadequate. At no time had he sensed Kattak, and the old Minbari had been with him every step of the way.
Turval led them through the darkness. As they went, a conciliatory hand patted Vance’s shoulder. Glancing back, no one was there. He told himself that from now on he would make it his mission to learn everything about the Code of Tuvor.
Back at the dorm, he collapsed on his bunk, which was still at the forty-five- degree angle. The other faces wore a bewildered sense of relief, and Vance wondered if he bore the same look.
As he drifted off to sleep, Merreck entered, his head held high as though he was returning from a gentle evening stroll. He lay on his bed and regarded Vance, a smile slowly crossing his face. Another victory for the Minbari, thought Vance, irritated at how unaffected his rival looked.
In his fitful dreams, something was coming after him in the dark, something fast and silent that stank like hell. Every time he turned, he expected to see Kattak, but he saw only the terrible darkness. As he turned back, he was pursued again, but his legs failed to carry him away from the danger.
The morning chimes woke him once more. The prospect of food allowed him to drag his still-fatigued body into what resembled a standing position. The other recruits took several seconds to rouse themselves--all but Merreck, who stood proud and to attention, regarding the other recruits with self-satisfied disdain.
As Vance stood in line, he felt someone behind him stumble and press hands into his back. ‘Apologies,’ said a female voice.
‘It’s OK,’ he replied. Jerklenn stood bleary eyed, attempting a smile, but Vance could tell it took all her strength. ‘Tough few days we’ve had.’ Vance smiled. ‘Feel free to lean on me.’
Jerklenn stiffened at the suggestion. Vance realised he had overstepped the mark. Seems the rumours about the Minbari’s sense of humour, or lack of it, were more than myth. Without the energy to make an apology or explain the intricacies of Earth sarcasm, he turned and followed the long line of recruits.
Vance mouthed a silent prayer that they would skip their morning praise of Valen and head straight for the canteen. He had almost forgotten what it was like to eat. Unfortunately he was disappointed, his stomach grumbling as they knelt before the ancient statue. Then panic rippled through his gut when he realised his
tutors could just as easily demand more meditation rather than provide a meal.
His nerves calmed when they eventually entered the food hall, and the hearty breakfast of gruel could not come quick enough. Vance began to trough it down, finding his spoon far too small to hold a satisfactory amount for each mouthful. He thought it was the best breakfast he’d had in a long time, then stifled a laugh when he realised it was the only breakfast he’d had in a long time. The gruel went down like honey down a starving bear’s throat, refreshing his aching body. He came up for air after several seconds to find the rest of his table staring at him as though he were a zoo exhibit. ‘Er, a little hungry are we, Vance?’ asked William.
Vance returned their looks, gruel dripping from the side of his mouth. A couple of the male recruits were smiling, and Vance noticed Jerklenn was still eating, obviously trying to ignore him. ‘Don’t tell me you guys aren’t starving,’ said Vance.
‘We’re a little hungry, sure, but anyone would think you hadn’t eaten for days.’
Vance frowned. Was this some kind of joke? ‘I haven’t eaten for days. Did you guys not go through the same thing I did? The tunnel, the darkness, the wild growly monster thing?’
‘Dark and definitely subterranean, sure, but we all got fed. Only once a day though. And what growly thing?’ Vance could tell from his tone that William was not kidding.
‘You guys don’t mean the blue lichen stuff do you?’ It was a tentative question, but deep down Vance already knew the answer.
‘No. Dry Minbari bread, water and some kind of meat sausage type stuff.’
‘Kaer’vas,’ said Jerklenn, as if suddenly intrigued by their conversation.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ William looked suddenly enthused, ‘kaer’vas. It was quite nice actually. Don’t tell me you actually ate the lichen. That stuff smelled disgusting. Didn’t you find the rations?’
Vance began to think back, unsure of whether to be angry or flattered. He remembered Turval’s words that the trial was much harder for him than for the rest. Well, it would appear it was. Then it made sense. Vance had more military training than any of the other recruits, with the possible exception of Merreck, and three days underground with food and water would not be much of a trial for him. To raw recruits, however, he could imagine how disconcerting it could be, especially when surrounded by the unknown and the darkness.
Without a word he finished his breakfast gruel, now feeling no embarrassment at the gusto with which he wolfed it down. He then looked at other half-eaten bowls with a hungry, expectant look. To Vance’s surprise, William spooned a little of his own watery gloop into the bowl. One by one, the other recruits at his table did the same until finally Jerklenn spooned in her portion.
Vance watched them all, at first unsure of what to say. ‘Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starting to feel a little misty,’ he said, reaching up and wiping away an imaginary tear. Jerklenn’s expression changed to one of sympathy but quickly became stern once more as Vance laughed. The other humans at the table chuckled as Jerklenn frowned into her bowl.
One by one, the recruits finished their breakfasts and exited until Jerklenn and Vance were the only two left at the table. People milled around the exits like lost sheep, as they had no instruction as to what was on the agenda for today. Vance became aware of Jerklenn’s eyes burrowing into him. ‘Why must you always make fun?’ she asked. Vance was sure he could sense a slight trembling in her voice.
‘It’s just what we’re like,’ he replied.
‘By “we”, I assume you mean humans. Because if that is the case, then your statement is not true. I have met many humans who do not make fun in the same way. In such a deceiving manner.’
Vance wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for this yet. ‘Look, it’s just an icebreaker. It alleviates the tension from stressful situations. Are you telling me the Minbari don’t do that?’
‘If we have such a situation, then we confront it. We deal with the problems in a sensible way.’
Vance let out a long sigh. A dialogue on manners with a woman from a humourless alien culture might prove to be more difficult than the test of the Mark of Darkness. It would be a while before she could appreciate the subtle nuances of Earth, and more particularly military, humour and horseplay.
‘Look,’ Vance stood, picking up his bowl, ‘we’ll talk about this later. Thanks for the breakfast.’ He walked away from the table and tried to ignore the hurt look on her face.
No classes took place during the day, so Vance spent his time familiarising himself with the academy.
The building itself seemed a hub of circular corridors, organised around the central temple to Valen, which the human recruits had begun to call “the Chapel”. Everything seemed to radiate inward--or outward, Vance wasn’t really sure--from this central sanctum.
Several training locations housed areas for instruction in most forms of armed and unarmed combat. Vance found it curious none of the Anla’shok he’d encountered carried a weapon. They either felt very safe here, or their weapons were cunningly concealed.
A library, housing its fair share of dusty tomes, rolled parchments and data crystals, dominated the southern side of the academy. The entire building seemed a perfect combination of aesthetics and functionality. Furniture--with the strangely angled beds as an exception--was functional yet beautiful to look at. The walls, windows and ceilings seemed dour and unremarkable at first glance, but on closer inspection they were made of carved obsidian, each piece carefully cut and shaped to fill its space and fulfil its ultimate purpose. Vance noted the striking difference from his usual barracks. The rigid uniformity of the EarthForce architecture seemed dull and somewhat primitive in comparison. Despite Vance’s loyalty to EarthForce, the Minbari style seemed much better.
At midday Vance found himself in the Chapel. The sun shone directly into the high, spacious room, an eerie light illuminating the statue of Valen and imbuing it with a semblance of life. As Vance studied it, he couldn’t help think the statue looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite identify whom it reminded him of.
‘Vance.’ The words echoed around the chamber. The stern face of Durhan made Vance wonder if he had done something wrong.
‘Yes, Sech Durhan,’ said Vance, bowing respectfully. He wanted to do nothing to get on Durhan’s bad side, and by complying with all the required airs and graces, Vance hoped he might ingratiate himself.
‘I have selected several of you to begin denn’bok training. It begins now, in the training circle.’ He began to walk out of the Chapel. ‘You are already late,’ he said over one shoulder. ‘Do not elevate my displeasure by tarrying.’
Vance hustled after the bulky form of the combat tutor, at once nervous and excited at the prospect of handling a Minbari fighting pike. When they reached the hall of combat, five other initiates waited patiently. All were Minbari. He wasn’t surprised to see Merreck standing amongst them.
Durhan strode to the centre of the fighting circle, and Vance joined the row of initiates. Vance recognised one of them as a regular at his table at mealtimes, but he did not acknowledge him, instantly feeling the seriousness and solemnity of this particular class. He had been singled out for denn’bok training, deemed worthy over several other Minbari candidates. If it was the last thing he ever did, he had to show Durhan he was worthy.
‘You are all here because, for one reason or another, you have been deemed skilful enough to begin learning the ways of the denn’bok.’ Durhan’s voice echoed within the combat hall. ‘This session will give me an opportunity to assess your potential. I doubt all of you will still be considered good enough by the time this session ends.’ As Durhan finished his sentence, Vance met the Minbari’s levelled gaze. His expression was still neutral, but Vance was sure he knew Durhan’s subtext. The odds were against him; he was fatigued and he had never handled a fighting pike before, but this just made him even more determined to prove his mettle.
The past few days showed him the Minbari
used many enigmatic, and ultimately challenging, methods of weeding out the weak and unsuitable. Vance had to keep his wits about him if he was to stay in this seemingly exclusive class.
‘Some of you may already be familiar with the denn’bok.’ At that he moved his wrist. The subtle gesture was noticeable only to those focusing their full attention. Five feet of metallic alloy suddenly appeared in Durhan’s palm. ‘It is a rare and ancient weapon. Though I will teach you how to use the denn’bok, you will not be guaranteed ownership of one until you prove yourselves in combat.’
A door at the side of the combat hall opened and a white-robed figure entered bearing a wooden tray. As he drew closer, Vance could see the tray bore small metal tubes, around six inches long.
‘These are training pikes,’ said Durhan, ‘not as heavy or lethal as the real thing but weighted similarly, and they will suffice for training purposes.’
For the first time Vance noticed a change in the expression on Merreck’s face. He looked suddenly annoyed and could not hide his displeasure. ‘As long as you are being trained in the denn’bok, you will wield these weapons and keep them with you at all times.’
One by one the trainees were offered the tray. Once they all held their training pikes, the white-robed figure left. Durhan flicked his wrist once more and his denn’bok collapsed back into his palm. He stood to attention before the row of trainees, and they stiffened in unison.
Once again, a point of Minbari tradition presented itself that Vance did not understand. Would he always be the last to show the proper respect? Despite this, Durhan carried on. Gripping the fist containing the denn’bok, he bowed before his students.
‘Vakash’tuli,’ he said in the guttural Warrior Caste dialect.
The rest of the students bowed before him and repeated the Minbari phrase. Vance remained silent to avoid any possible embarrassment from mispronunciation. He could always find out the correct meaning and inflection later.