When the Sky Falls
Chapter 1
Ironically, she saved herself.
They found her lying in the snow on an icy moon, the sheer cold turning her lips blue and cheeks pale. She was unconscious, blood frozen along her scalp, one arm fractured in multiple places and dislocated at the shoulder, the opposite leg also broken and dislocated at the hip. Her ribs were broken and stabbed toward her lungs and heart, and she was naked, her emaciated body covered with brutal welts and burns, as if someone had repeatedly sliced at her with a lightsaber. Blood caked the insides of her thighs and along her buttocks, almost brown like dirt.
It had been T3 who had found her, the little droid relying on means sentients could not share. She was curled up a good mile away from the Sith stronghold, and it was anyone's guess how she got there and when. Any one of the women could have picked her up, but they commed the men to help move her without injuring her further. It was likely that point was moot, however. There had been no way to maneuver her without jarring one of her wounds or fractures. Time had been of essence too, because at any point the Sith could discover them, and the Ebon Hawk was docked far enough away that any delay would lessen her chances of survival.
The others watched as Mical barked orders to an unusually complaint Kreia, the only member of the crew who was level-headed enough to assist him without panicking. T3 rolled back and forth to bring supplies, chirping and tweeting in worry. Mira, Visas, and Brianna held each other tightly as they watched him set her bones, dress her welts and burns with cloth soaked in kolto, inject medicine into her heart to start pumping, attach a breathing apparatus, feed drips of solution for dehydration, and heated packs to warm her. "Don't die on me, Exile," The man cried at one point, scrambling at his many equipment because he could not press her broken chest to reboot her heart. "Sith!"
She had died, had been dead, at least, when they brought her in, but the cold that took her also served to preserve her, and she was regaining the faint red color of flowing blood as Mical examined her between her legs, his face stricken at the sight. Kreia was professional all throughout, except when she broke off to smooth the Exile's hair, her wrinkled lips thinning with displeasure and disgust.
"She's strong," Bao-Dur said, as the doctor finally finished and covered the frail form with a thick blanket, "She'll pull through. It takes more than a couple of Sith to down someone like the General."
"Would you please shut up," Atton hissed, "You don't know anything about what Sith do with their prisoners."
"And you do?" Mira challenged, eyes glassy with tears.
Atton remained silent. Next to him, Mandalore watched and waited in grim silence.
Mical came out with Kreia.
"She's stable," He announced, intoning the sentence with a touch of irony, "I have no idea when she'll wake up, but her head injury is not severe. There are…other ways to go into a coma though." He rubbed his face, exhausted after hours upon hours of work. "Right now the problem really is that she's been frozen once, and then thawed really quickly. I've given her some drugs to combat any complications from that, but she's also been starved and dehydrated, and all of that…her recovery will be very slow. She has a lot of injuries."
Atton thought Mical sounded like an imbecile and told him so. "No kidding, 'she has a lot of injuries'. What, I thought she only had a few injuries. Just a scratch here and there, a bruise and a broken fingernail. Nice going, Mical."
Like every other time, Mical did not rise to the bait. They had both failed the Exile; Kreia spared no effort to remind them of this. They had left her at the caves, at her bidding, yes, but against their better judgment, and allowed her to face the darkness of the tomb on her own after slaying their way through a line of Sith assassins. You didn't think there were more waiting behind those doors? You allowed her to go in alone?
She was not ready to face Darth Sion, and this ill-turn proved costly for them all.
"She is here now," Said Visas, "That is all that matters for now. She will heal because it is the only thing she can do. The Force still has plans for her, and she will follow them through."
"I am really sick of your Force-gibberish," Atton huffed. "The Force came in real handy for her when she was in the hands of that corpse."
They expected Kreia to say something, but for once the old woman kept her peace. She was blind, but she seemed to regard the young woman in the medbay, and what part of her face was exposed under her hood was as close to grieving as any of them had ever seen.
You will know pain as I do, Exile. It is the only way you can stand beside me.
Yiding shuddered. Pain did run through her, through the marrow of her bones and along every agonized nerve. She was sick with it, and the Force provided no release, no matter how she reached to it for strength. Fingers dug into her thighs and hot breath puffed over her face. Open wide, Exile…maniacal laughter followed as she felt herself being impaled.
No no no no no no no leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone…!
"Whoa!"
The sound was jarring in its reality, and Yiding's eyes shot open as she jerked. Her gasp of pain choked back as her ribs flared, white hot, and something inside her tugged and stabbed like hundreds of thin, sharp needles. Unable to bear it, she released a soft cry. They liked it when she screamed, so she tried not to, but it was so hard—
"Easy, sweetie," Hands pressed her upper arms, and at the contact Yiding screeched and thrashed. One of her arms was encased in something and agony fired into her. She swallowed a mouthful of bile, trying to breath past the terrible pain in her chest.
"Whoa, it's okay, it's just me, Mira," The bounty hunter had moved back, giving her space, "You're safe, honey. It's just me. You're safe now."
Something clattered to the floor, causing Yiding to jump. Footsteps raced to the door.
"What happened here?" Mical demanded. "What—she's awake!" He started to approach.
"No!" Yiding cried out, reinforcing this command with a strong Force push, one that sent Mical stumbling back and crashing against the wall. Her mouth felt horribly dry and she tried to swallow any bit of saliva, but she was producing none.
"Well, at least her Force abilities seem to be intact," Mical rubbed the back of his head as more footsteps sounded.
"I sensed something," Visas murmured, "Exile."
Stay back, Yiding wanted to say, but her tongue was too stiff. She coughed and pushed at everyone through the Force. She inhaled deeply, stretching out into the Force. Right. Friends. Her friends were here. They were all staring at her now, and she was all bundled up, and please stop staring at me, stop staring at me for Force's sake—
"Exile," Kreia's voice was a rude interruption to the growing panic. Yiding pushed her back the same way she did all the others. She was getting dizzy, and black spots danced in her vision as she fought to raise her head.
"She's passing out…" She heard Mical remark, before all went dark.
The next time she woke was no less violent than the first. The glass of water near her cot shattered as it hit the floor, spilling liquid under the bed. She heard screaming, and her vision spun as she struggled to focus her eyes. It took her a while to realize she was the one screaming.
Then Kreia was in front of her, blind eyes staring sightlessly into hers, as the old woman's mental presence bore down on her mind. Exile, peace. Stop this nonsense.
Move away!
She had pushed Kreia away already before her mind cleared and it no longer seemed like the dark clad Sith assassins were surrounding her, holding her struggling body down. She had…she had gotten out. She had crawled, stifling her cries of pain. It had been cold. She was cold. She shuddered under the blankets, blinking hot tears. Her arms and legs were not tied down, but they were bandaged and splinted. She hurt, everywhere, and she felt dizzy and profoundly ill.
"Yiding?" Mira was keeping to the doorway, "Yiding are you alright? Do you need help? Can I come near you?"
"No." Odd that her mouth was no longer dry. She did not remember drinking anything. "No. No no no no no."
"Okay," Mira said in a placating tone, "I won't come near. Just tell us what you need. Are you in pain?"
Mical shifted, capturing Yiding's attention, and her focus zeroed in on him. "No, stay away,"
He raised his hands, "I'm staying right here, Exile," He said soothingly.
Kreia's presence loomed in her mind, and she suddenly heard screaming again. It took a long time for her to realize she was sobbing, and that Kreia's mental signature had retreated.
"What are we going to do?" Mira asked Mical plaintively.
You need to calm down, Yiding told herself, You need to calm down. You're safe, these are friends, you're being ridiculous. She gulped in breaths, trying to release her anxiety.
"Yiding?"
Calm, serenity, Yiding thought, You are Jedi. Her breathing slowed. Mical, sensing her relax, began to approach, and panic flared up. She sent something crashing to the floor and shrieked at the loud sound. Breathing frantically, she began sobbing.
"I'm sorry," She bit her lip, as more hot tears streamed from her eyes, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm sorry, I—"
"Shhhh," Mical hushed her, "It's okay, we understand, you have nothing to be sorry for. Just take it easy, alright? I promise none of us will come near you without permission, alright? You have your space. It's okay."
What utter rot, Yiding thought miserably, lifting her better arm to cover her mouth. She was pathetic. She had escaped from Darth Sion, and she was still a wreck. It was like he was torturing her remotely now. "Oh Force, oh Force…" It hurt, it hurt, all of her hurt, and it still felt like millions of tiny thorns were pricking into her in that deep place inside her oh Force oh Force oh Force make it stop make it stop make it stop—
"It's okay," Mical said soothingly. Kreia moved, startling her, but the old woman was merely moving to the door. Yiding could not help but be relieved. "Are you in pain, Exile?" The healer asked.
She hurt, but she would be damned if she let him near her. "No. Stay away."
"Okay," He said softly, keeping his place.
"Don't come here," Yiding reinforced, breathing quickly.
"I'm keeping back, I promise."
"Don't…" And just like that, her strength gave out. The adrenaline brought on by panic faded away like smoke, leaving her exhausted and depleted. "Don't touch me…"
The next time she was awake, the splints were gone. She still hurt everywhere, but it was a monotonous, continuous hurt that obviously did not impede her mobility, because one moment she had woken up and the next moment she was in the corner of the room, huddled, with her knees drawn up and arms wrapped tightly around them. She was vaguely aware of Mical pausing at the other side of the bed, but most of her was struggling to calm herself down.
You're safe, this is the medbay of the Ebon Hawk. Pull yourself together. You're out. You're being ridiculous. There is no one here. Do you want people to think you're crazy?
"Exile?" Mical called softly, "Do you want some water?"
Water sounded good. Water sounded…very good. She nodded, but somehow let out a whimper without realizing it when Mical moved to pour her a glass. Her chest felt a little tight as he stopped.
"I'm sorry." Why am I like this? Jedi were not supposed to be like this. Granted, she was not really a Jedi anymore, but she had learned all the values of a Jedi, at least she thought she did…Serenity, serenity, serenity, serenity…
"Don't be sorry," Mical said quietly, moving on to pour her glass, "It's not your fault. Here, I'm going to hover the glass over to you. Can you drink it on your own?"
She was drinking the glass on her own whether or not she could, because she was not letting Mical come near her. The glass was cold in her hands and when she drank the water was cool against her throat. Cool, not hot. She fought down another wave of panic, but only managed to succeed for long enough to finish the glass before throwing it away from her. The shattering noise further startled her and she raised her hands to cover her ears.
I have to hide. No. You're safe. Have to get away, somewhere dark, where no one can see me…no you're being absurd. You're among friends, there is no danger here. Phantom fingers ran up her legs and she jerked, gritting her teeth to fight against the hands that locked on her jaw. No. In the present. Pull yourself together. Stand up. Stand up. Stand, damn it!
Safe safe safe safe safe safe safe…
"Well what do you want me to do?" Atton sounded wry. "If she's freaking out over goody-two-shoes Mical, what makes you think I can help her at all?"
Yiding took her hands off. "I'm alright!" She stated. No, shouted. Damn it. There were more people gathered outside the medbay. I'm alright…I'm alright…you have to say it out loud you imbecile—"I'm alright."
"Yeah, sure you are," Atton sneered, and Yiding suddenly could not take it anymore.
"I said I'm alright!" She cried out, throwing something at him. He ducked and it crashed into the wall. Some monitor.
There was a chirp and a beep followed by a crooning sound from T3.
"She'll be alright," Mandalore's voice cut in.
Thank you. Trust the one person who believed her to be Mandalore. She looked up at their faces. Mandalore was behind his mask. Atton was a little in the room, leaning against the wall and looking dubious and yet unconcerned. Brianna and Visas were in the back, with Mira slightly in the front behind Mandalore, all three with identical expressions of pity and compassion. It made her sick.
"Do you need help?" Mira asked cautiously.
"No I don't need help!" Yiding exploded, "Just give me a minute!"
"Okay," The huntress said softly.
Yiding covered her head with her hands. They were watching her. They're watching me. Oh Force they're staring at me…Go away go away go away go away go away…it took her a moment to realize she was saying the words out loud. She has been doing that a lot lately, not paying attention to her surroundings, hurting, it hurt, she hurt, she was so tired she was going crazy…her nose felt stuffed and she could not stop sobbing, nor could she hold back the torrent of tears. Force, she had not even cried so much when everyone had died on Malachor, or when the Jedi turned their back on her, and for crying out loud why was she even…crying? What was wrong with her? She escaped from the Sith. She was no longer in their clutches. She should not be acting so irrationally.
"I'm sorry," She moaned despondently, "I—I can't stop it."
"You have nothing to be sorry for." It was Kreia who spoke. "You are safe now. Take your time. The worst is over."
Kreia rarely voiced comforting words, so it made them more meaningful. She felt herself calm down considerably, but her lungs still shook with spasms and her hands trembled.
"Tell the tiny Jedi what ails you," The old woman went on, "I can sense your pain, but you are shielding very tightly."
"No." Yiding could not take it. She sniffled. "I can handle it. It's nothing."
"You will tell him," Kreia reiterated, in a tone that broke for no argument, "And he will record this so we know how you are faring. Perhaps we will attempt to treat you once you are ready."
She will never be ready. No. No, I just have to try harder. I will overcome this. The thought of Mical touching her, anyone touching her, was too much to bear, even if it was a year, ten years, a lifetime from now. It will never be enough. Pull yourself together.
"Come," Kreia said, "She needs room to breathe, and we are stifling her." It was ridiculous, because except for Mical, and Atton, who was leaning by the exit, no one was actually in the room. Not for the first time, Yiding wondered when he life became so messed up.
Stop. Self-pity serves no one. But what else could she do? The terror clung to her heart like a leech, draining blood from it. She felt like she was enthralled by her own fear, and her panic simply refused to ease, no matter what breathing exercises, mental disciplining, or rationalizations she was trying. Darkness was clouding her vision, and she blinked desperately to clear it. Focus on the now. You're here now. She huddled tighter as she felt phantom fingers grip her ankle. Why was she feeling them? They seemed so real.
"Come along," Kreia said sharply when no one reacted to her words, "All of you. The Exile has better things to do than serve as an object for you to gawk at."
Pretty thing, pretty pretty thing, so milky white and shapely—you're a looker aren't you?
Yiding squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears even though she was supposed to talk to Mical. Not listening not listening not listening not listening not listening…
"She's still severely malnourished," Mical rubbed his eyes, "She kept saying that she hurt, but not where. Apparently everywhere. That was all I could get out of her. She hasn't stopped crying."
The rest of the crew were solemn. Everyone kept expecting Mandalore to utter something derisive, but he had been silent all this time. Kreia was similarly so; she had been irate when Atton and Mical first returned without the Exile, but ever since they found her, the old woman had seemed to deflate. She kept mostly to her chambers, meditating and ignoring everyone, while the Exile cried in her sleep as she recovered. From Mical's findings, they had a good idea of what had happened to her during the long five months in Sion's hold. Even Visas had been ill—Darth Nihilus had not committed nearly the same atrocities on the Miraluka as Sion had on Yiding.
"I suppose we should be glad that Sion didn't just kill her," Mira said bitterly. It had puzzled everyone, why the Dark Lord chose to torture her instead of straight-out kill her. Then again, they were not too concerned with this. It was a stroke of luck, however small, and no one questioned luck in these times.
"Is there nothing you can do?" Bao-Dur asked, "No pain relievers you can give her?"
"She won't let me touch her," Mical's shoulders sagged, "She'd rather bear the pain then tolerate my proximity, or anyone else's, as you can tell. And her Force control is haphazard. It's…as wounded as she is. She can't use the Force to help herself either."
"Seemed pretty okay to me," Brianna remarked, "She threw stuff and pushed people just fine."
"Those don't require the same mental calm healing does, obviously." The Disciple rubbed his eyes again.
"Will she get better?" Visas asked softly.
"Of course she will," Kreia snapped, breaking her silence, "She is eager to try. Some things take time. It will take more than the likes of Sion, Lord of Pain or no, to break the Exile."
"I pray you are right," Said the Miraluka, "And I pray it happens soon. The galaxy needs her."
Surprisingly, Kreia replied, "The galaxy can wait for her, for a change. She is no such fool, to be strung along by the currents of the Force and abandoned at will. She will fulfill her destiny once she is recovered and ready, and no sooner. You will not push her nor pressure her."
The rest of the crew remained silent. They were all aware how significant these words were. Kreia had always been pushing the Exile herself, anxious to see a fate fulfilled. That she was willing to wait for the Exile spoke volumes of both her regard and for the situation.
Mandalore turned. "She'll be fine," He said as he walked away, "She's done more impossible things than this."
Still, it was hard to be optimistic, with Yiding weeping in the corner of the medbay behind closed doors.
