Thank you very much for reading and reviewing this, and an extra thank you with pineapple on top to my regular reviewers –hugs-! I had a lot of fun posting this!

On to the final installment – enjoy!

Epilogue

It was evening on Vulcan.

The sun hadn't set yet behind the rugged silhouette of the Llangon Mountains, but it had retreated far enough to take the scorching mid-day heat with it. Cautiously, the creatures of the desert were coming out of their hiding places, still lingering in the shadows, distrustful of the sudden relief from the swelter. Under sun-bleached rocks and inside thorny g'teth bushes, life was stirring, preparing for another night of scrambling, scrabbling and scuttling for what little nourishment this world granted its inhabitants.

Inside the sanctuary of Mount Seleya, preparations were also made, but not for the struggle for survival in a merciless environment. The Shakhu of Seleya no longer had to worry about such things, although, in a not-too-distant past, they too had suffered if the e'shua spirits decided to send a heat wave or dry up the sanctuary's well. Today, technology, though well-concealed, provided water and energy for the desert dwellers, and allowed visitors to arrive in a transport rather than taking the long, stone-strewn footpath to the top of the mountain.

They had been the only human passengers on the transport, and when Malcolm had stepped out of the aircraft, he had understood why. This was no place for tourists, and it was only Mevak's written statement that had secured for them the permission to come here. Few humans had seen the sanctuary, and most of those had been dignitaries who had come here to show their respect for Vulcan tradition.

An elderly Vulcan, presumably a guide of sorts, had led the little group of four Vulcans and two humans into the entrance hall where he asked them to wait until the Shakhu had finished their evening ritual. Malcolm snuck a look around the place, but all he saw were walls and pillars made of polished red stone, and several unobtrusive alcoves where flames flickered in the twilight. Obviously, the ritual was held in a secluded area, sheltered from the eyes of outsiders. The Vulcans who had arrived with them stood like living statues, waiting as they had been instructed to do. Next to him, Trip shifted his feet, and Malcolm suppressed a smile. He knew Trip, and knew that a Vulcan temple in the middle of the desert wasn't exactly a place where the other man would feel comfortable. Nor was he himself quite at ease. Here, in the atrium of a building older than most of Earth's existing civilizations, on a mountain that had cast the same shadow even thousands of years ago, the presence of the ancient "powers" T'Pol had spoken of was almost palpable. With a little imagination – and Malcolm possessed quite a bit of it, even if most people wouldn't have thought so – you could feel them watching you, brushing past you in the dry desert breeze. Probing, albeit tentatively. Malcolm had never been prone to superstition, but this wasn't a question of believing or not. There was something there, and he had to take only one look at Trip's face to know that the other man felt it, too.

A curtain rustled, and the old Vulcan guide reappeared, carrying a nervously flickering torch. The entrance hall was filled with an orange glow from the setting sun, and there was no need for an additional source of light, so Malcolm assumed that the torch was part of a ritual, as so many of the things were in this place.

"Sanoi," the Vulcan said in his brittle, ancient voice. "Zahaltora'e, dorli be'hai'la'u."

Malcolm activated his UT earpiece, and saw Trip doing the same. He might understand the Vulcan even without it, but he would have to concentrate entirely on what was being said, and that wasn't why he had come here.

"If the distinguished guests will kindly proceed this way."

Slowly, the old man began to shuffle across the atrium, the flame of his torch almost translucent in the sunlight. The Vulcans kept their eyes straight ahead, as if they had seen the place hundreds of times before, and Malcolm refrained from staring at the strange reliefs and statuettes they passed.

Their guide walked at a pace universal of the frail and elderly, and it took their small procession the better part of five minutes to cross the hall. On the far wall, there was an opening cut into the red stone, hung with a simple cloth curtain. The guide stepped in front of it.

"The Hall of C'thia," he announced. "Surak and his Shakhu assembled in there for their evening meditations."

He pulled the curtain aside with a wrinkled hand, and silently invited his guests to follow him. The Hall of C'thia surprised Malcolm. He had expected something spacious, intimidating by its sheer size, but the room behind the curtain was hardly larger than the messhall back on Enterprise. To their right, a panorama window opened to the desert, and a brush of warm wind on his face told him that there was no glass pane separating the room from the world outside.

"Wow," Trip said quietly, and Malcolm had to agree. Seleya was a high mountain, and the window looked out over kilometers of desert landscape, sharply silhouetted mountain ranges alternating with wide stretches of red sand.

"The Forge," the old guide said from behind. "One of the most barren areas on Vulcan. Nothing can survive there for more than a few days."

Malcolm didn't doubt it. There was something forbidding about the landscape, as if something out there warned the onlooker not to come too close. Surak and his followers had come here every day, maybe to remind themselves of the cruelty their world was capable of. Malcolm was sure that the presence he felt in here, the gentle tugging at the periphery of his mind, would be gone in an instant if he ventured out there. There might be other... things, out there in the Forge, but none of them would be gentle. And they would make short work of a defenseless human mind.

"Look," Trip said, and Malcolm turned around. The engineer was standing in front of a faded fresco on the wall next to the window. It showed a Vulcan who seemed deep in contemplation, his eyes focused on a meditation flame in front of him. Behind him, another man was approaching, almost hidden in the shadows, and Malcolm's trained eye immediately recognized the scenario of an assassination. Between the two men, an animal was crouched on the ground, ears erect and lips peeled back to reveal a row of sharp teeth.

"Surak and one of his followers," the old guide said. He had stepped up next to them, his torch casting a halo of light on the picture. "There is a legend that S'task, the first of Surak's Shakhu, began to doubt the teachings of C'thia. He believed that power and force would bring glory to Vulcan, not logic and the embracing of diversity. Surak rejected his ideas, so S'task decided to murder him and lead the Shakhu himself."

Malcolm stood very still. The guide's story took him back to the dark cell in Silak's holding pen, where Jackson had told him that there was no such thing as a human starship.

"S'task, their great philosopher. Killed his peace-loving teacher, Surak or something, and led all Vulcans to wealth and glory. They've been the terror of the quadrant ever since."

"What happened?" Trip asked.

The guide raised a knotty finger and pointed at the animal on the floor. "Surak had a sehlat that he held in high esteem. His name was Krintu."

The old Vulcan must have noticed something on Malcolm's face which he mistook for incomprehension.

"A sehlat is a highly dangerous predator, but it can be gentled when it is treated with kindness. The legend has it that Krintu saved Surak's life. He saw S'task and sensed that he had come to do harm to the Teacher, so he sprang at him and threw him to the ground. The other Shakhu arrived in time to take away S'task's lirpa and free him from Krintu's fangs. It is said that Surak stopped them when they wanted to kill their fellow Shakhu for what he had done. "Offer them peace, then you will have peace." He helped S'task up and asked him what he intended to do now. S'task went to the Forge, and did not return. Four days later, Surak found his follower's lifeless body on the Plains of Blood. Some believe that S'task gave up his katra to the desert winds. The sehlat never left the Teacher's side until he died, and ever since, "Krintu" has meant "protector" in our language."

Malcolm looked at the sehlat on the fresco. It was in the center of the picture, and the artist had painted it with great attention to detail – the coiled muscles under the thick fur, the sharp claws, the alert eyes. Krintu. Somehow, it sounded different in here.

"They picked the right name, after all," Trip said softly, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Malcolm said nothing, but he found that something had lifted from his mind, something he didn't miss at all.

The guide gave them a curious look, but he didn't ask when no explanation was forthcoming. Instead, he turned to the Vulcan visitors, who were contemplating the other frescos.

"If the distinguished guests will follow me."

There was another curtained door on the other side of the room, and the old man paused before it.

"The Hall of Ancient Thought," he said. "The decision to go in there must not be made lightly. Young humans..." He turned to Malcolm and Trip. "You may find it an unsettling place. If you wish to remain outside..."

Malcolm shook his head. "It's why we have come here." He didn't mention the promise, but it seemed that he didn't have to. The guide gave him a long look, then inclined his head and pulled the curtain aside.

"Please, follow me."

Unlike the Hall of C'thia, the room was windowless, lit only by the restless flames of the torches mounted on the walls. There were no pictures here and no statuettes, only the smooth stone floor and a huge pillar in the middle of the room. Shadows flitted across the walls and floor, chasing each other, and at times, there was something so strange about their movements that it seemed hard to believe that shadows was all they were.

Something brushed against his mind, and he drew a sharp breath. The touch had been gentle, almost soothing, as if they, whatever they were, knew that he would be startled at first.

A hand reached for his, and Malcolm knew that Trip had felt them, too. It helped, not having to face them alone, and he took a deep breath before he opened his mind to their presence.

I have come here because of a promise I made.

You are welcome, child. Their voices were calm, but far from cold. Do not fear. You will not come to harm in here.

Malcolm felt Trip relax a little, and found some of his own anxiety lifting. They were telling the truth, he knew that.

There is pain in you.

Let us help.

He hesitated. I have made a promise...

Yes. We know. You have come here to bring us an istaya, and we will honor it. T'Var is fortunate to have a friend such as you.

How...?

Gentle amusement drifted through his mind. You are not required to do anything. We have seen her wish in your mind, and we shall not forget.

They reached out to him, and at first he shrank away. They waited, patiently, and finally, he opened his mind again, allowed their touch. And it didn't hurt. Far from it.

We cannot change what has been done. But you are strong, both of you. You will find strength in each other.

There was a feeling like a feather brushing against his mind as they pulled back. Before they left, however, one of the voices spoke again, almost like an afterthought.

T'Var is not the only one who is fortunate.

With that, they were gone. Malcolm glanced at Trip, who was looking rather dazed.

"Wow."

Malcolm smiled briefly, then smoothed his face back into a blank expression. They were in a Vulcan sacred shrine, after all.

"Wow indeed."

They didn't stay long after that, as the guide was insistent that they leave in time to receive the Stone of J'kah from the Shakhu Elder.

Before they left, however, Malcolm once more turned his mind back to the voices, and discovered that they were still there, listening.

Thank you.

There was a brush of kindness, a glimpse of welcome and acceptance, and then they were gone.

The desert wind felt warm on his skin as they left, heading home.

--

The End

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