All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War, I.18-20
Ashara ran easily through the Tarisian swamp. At first, the rakghouls around the abandoned medical center came after her, but Ashara submerged herself in the Force, letting it guide her blows. Still, she couldn't help but feel a bit of enjoyment in her actions as her blue lightsabers sliced through her enemies. The thought of enjoying slaughtering rakghouls, which could turn any human - she wasn't sure if this included near-humans such as her own Togruta species - into one of them with a bite or scratch didn't disturb her; on reflection, however, she found herself slightly unnerved by the fact that the enjoyment didn't disturb her the way she was taught it should have.
Eventually, however, she came to the location indicated, a metal bridge which had recently been rebuilt across a ravine. There were no rakghouls in this area, Ashara reflected on the area as she approached it warily; she'd spent more than a few weeks here during her training helping to hunt down a set of Jedi medical holocrons that had been lost in the ravine a year earlier. Sadly, she reflected that she had not been permitted near the holocrons, but she remembered them: small cubes glowing with an inner white light.
As she waited, she saw a male Zabrak approaching her, no doubt the one who had contacted her earlier, accompanied by two others. Then it hit her: he was the same one from her vision! Her heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't decide whether it was fear or anticipation. Instead, she focused on him, studying him as he and his companions approached. He stood a few centimeters taller than her, she estimated, and looked fit. She guessed that he was about her age, roughly twenty galactic standard years. His black facial tattoos formed an intricate pattern, and a number of small bone horns surrounded his head, and his close-cropped brown hair. He wore lightweight black armor, over which he wore a long-sleeved black woolen robe. Clipped to his belt was a lightsaber with a slightly curved hilt. She felt the swirl of the Dark Side surrounding him; in many ways, she figured, he looked like the stereotypical Sith, save for his ancestry. What is it with Sith and the color black?! she thought.
One of the Zabrak's companions looked human, but with an intricate facial tattoo on his olive skin. A pair of blasters sat in holsters strapped to his legs, easily where he could draw them and shoot in the same action. He had a relaxed-yet-alert look to him; Ashara could tell he was constantly scanning the area. She could sense that while he was not Force-Sensitive, the Force was not blind to him. He did not use the Force, but were his actions entirely his or did the Force guide him without him knowing? Ashara was certain it was the latter.
The Zabrak's other companion was a hulking gray-skinned brute in a loincloth and little else. His? Her (maybe?)? Its? ... Ashara decided on 'Its' for now ... Its face was that of a serious predator, a mouth full of teeth that looked like it could become unhinged. The Force was nearly silent around it . . . no, not silent, more like the Force around it was being sucked towards it! Realization struck as she recognized its species - a Dashade, a legendary species that fed on Force-Sensitives! The stronger a being was in the Force - Light or Dark - the bigger the meal for a Dashade. Other than the loincloth, the Dashade wore a bandolier across its chest, with the handle of a vibroblade sticking up over his shoulder. She sensed a connection between the Dashade and the Zabrak; the Dashade was somehow bound to the Zabrak as a slave! She marveled at the connection; how had someone managed to bind a Dashade to him?
Still, a Dashade could mean only one thing:
"Sith!" she called out, stepping forward. "I should have known this was a trap! You won't take me so easily! Even Master Ocera can't beat me with a lightsaber!" She didn't know why she let slip that last bit, but she wrote it off as an attempt to intimidate him . . . or maybe impress him? Her heart skipped another beat; she wasn't sure what she felt for this Zabrak Sith.
To her surprise, the Zabrak held up his hands in a gesture of peace, or possibly surrender. The Dashade grumbled something which sounded disparaging.
"I'm not here for a fight, Ashara," the Zabrak told her. Still, she felt ill at ease; the Force was trying to tell her something, but what?
"Fine, you know my name," she growled. "Do you have a name, Sith, or should I just keep calling you that?"
"My, such fire, such passion," he replied to her with a chuckle. "Those are Sith qualities." He smiled at her with warmth. "If you must, call me Kal. Lord Kallig, actually, but I prefer Kal among my friends."
"We're not friends, Lord Kallig!" she growled at him. A Lord! she thought to herself. At his age? While I'm still a Padawan? It's not fair!
"Not yet, my fiery Padawan," he told her with a disarming smile.
Of course, the human to his right couldn't help but butt in. "Smooth, Kal. Real smooth." Ashara immediately placed the accent: Corellian. That explained at least part of the Force's interest, she reflected. Still, his comment made her blush slightly.
"Of course, I did agree to deliver something," Kal told her, reaching into his robe and pulling out a small pyramid which glowed red. "The holocron."
"That doesn't look like any holocrons I've seen," she told him warily.
"Well, that's because it's a Sith holocron," he explained. "They look different, but they operate the same way." He levitated it towards her. Reaching out with the Force, Ashara grabbed it in mid-air and set it down in the palm of her hand.
"It's so light," she remarked as she studied the holocron. "I expected it to be heavier." A sudden wary thought struck her, which she felt compelled to give voice to. "How do I know it's not a fake?"
"Why don't you take a look inside?" Kal replied. "Go on, activate it. I can wait."
Realizing he was calling her bluff, while at the same time curious about what a Sith holocron could teach, she reached out with the Force and activated the holocron. From the small capstone on top a fifteen centimeter tall hologram of a Sith Lord appeared. "Behold the teachings of Darth Angral, Lord of the Sith!" the hologram proclaimed. It then seemed to focus on her. "Ah, another alien acolyte. Tell me, young one, what is it you wish to know? History of the Sith? Secrets of the Force? Lightsaber techniques?"
"Everything!" she breathed, not quite knowing where to begin with Sith holocrons. "I mean, I've had Jedi training, but..." The holocron scoffed at this.
"Jedi training! Pfft! Then you've only scratched the surface." The hologram seemed to consider somthing, then continued. "Listen closely, acolyte, for the first thing to learn is to forget most of the Jedi Code! (The line about knowledge is true; the Jedi did get that part right.) Repeat the Sith Code with me: Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I achive victory. Through victory my chains are broken! The Force shall free me!"
Ashara felt something move through her as she began to recite and reflect on the Sith Code. She had never fully agreed with the idea that to be a Jedi should mean detaching themselves from emotion; she also knew that the Sith used the Dark Side, but to learn the Dark Side was tied to emotions and passions was an eye-opener. She mulled the Sith Code through her head a few times, not realizing that she was muttering the opening phrase aloud over and over: "Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Peace is a lie, there is only passion." She shook her head, her lekku twitching. "No! What am I saying?" She felt her inner fire, the one the Jedi Masters kept warning her about, begin to rise and smoulder. Instead of stamping it down, however, she hesitated, pondering whether to accept it. That was all it took. "Is this what the Dark Side feels like?" she asked as the fire filled her.
"You'll never learn!" a new voice called out. She looked up towards the voice; out of the corner of her eye she saw Kallig and his companions turning toward it as well, their hands reaching for their weapons. A red blade ignited in the shadows, followed by a half dozen others. A young man stepped forward. "My master wants that holocron, Jedi. Hand it over."
"Or what, you'll kill her?" the Corellian remarked dryly.
"Oh no," the new Sith replied. "She'll die anyway."
"Don't count on that, sleemo," she growled, igniting her lightsabers. Anger and hate filled her; the words of the Sith Code flashed in her mind: Through passion I gain strength; through strength I gain power; through power I achieve victory. The words resonated with her readings of Master Sun's ancient warfare treatise.
Use your anger, but don't be blinded by it, came Kallig's voice in her head. She slowly nodded, as she used the Force to swiftly close the distance to the newcomer, a shout escaping her lips.
The fight was short and brutal. Ashara leapt forward, as the Dashade drew his sword and charged. Kallig and the Corellian gunslinger stood back, assaulting the new Sith with highly accurate blaster fire and Force-generated lightning.
Ashara let the Force guide her actions, but the anger of the interruption and the simmering resentment she now acknowledged was directed at the Masters at the enclave fueled her blows. Her lightsaber strikes were stronger, more accurate, and - as she had to admit when one attacker's head went flying as it disconnected from his shoulders - more deadly. Each death created fear in her enemies; she could feel the Dark Side inside her feeding off the fear, granting her even more power. The feeling was, she had to admit, intoxicating.
Finally there was only one Sith - other than Kal - left. The others could not approach him or hit him, as Ashara's savage attack kept her in close combat with him. She kicked him in the stomach, causing the Sith to bend over. Deactivating her one lightsaber, she slipped behind the Sith and wrapped her arm around his neck. She sensed rather than saw his next attack, and moved her still active lightsaber up to intercept it, removing both his hands and cauterizing the stumps. She let go of him as he collapsed in pain to his knees.
"Please, Jedi, fellow Sith, don't kill me," the wounded Sith begged. Something in the man's voice broke through to Ashara's Jedi teachings.
"Of course," she told him. "The Jedi way is mercy."
"That is unwise," Kal chided her. "His master will kill him - or worse - for his failure." He turned to the wounded Sith. "Just who is your master?"
"Lord Deceptus," came the pained reply.
"I know of him," the Dashade said, in a surprisingly feminine and human-sounding voice, though distorted by the Dashade's gravelly vocal cords. "He's loyal to Darth Thanaton. His people have probably been following us since we got off the shuttle."
"Zash..." Kal sighed, then turned to the Dashade. "When I want your opinion, I'll tell you!" Kal raised his hands and released a torrent of lightning into the Dashade's body, until it growled and said something in the deeper voice from earlier, something Ashara couldn't translate. "We'll discuss that later, Khem."
Fascinating, Ashara thought, though not sure what she was seeing. Were there two personalities, perhaps two minds inside the beast? She turned to Kal. "Master Ryen says mercy has risk," she told him, attempting to steer the conversation back to the wounded Sith at their feet. "It wouldn't be mercy otherwise."
"What do you care?" Kal countered. "He's just another worthless Sith. Defeated by a Jedi Padawan, he's clearly weak."
"Weak, perhaps," she admitted. "But..."
"If you let him live, he'll only kill again, maybe even make another attempt at your life," Kal explained. "Do you really want that?"
Ashara thought through the options. There was no way she could carry him to any Republic outpost, not with rakghouls around. He would probably be killed - or worse, turned into one of the beasts - en route. The enclave also was out of bounds. Letting him walk away would result in exactly what Kal had said: the Sith would be tortured or killed - probably both - and if he didn't die would go on to kill again. Before she realized what had happened, she'd re-ignited her lightsaber.
"Forgive me," she whispered. There is no death, there is the Force, she silently told herself, raising her lightsaber for the killing blow. She lowered it, and the blade sliced off the Sith's head. It rolled onto the ground, looking up at her with a defeated look on his lifeless face.
"Those who beg for mercy generally don't deserve it," Kal stated to no one in particular. He turned to Ashara. "How did that feel?"
How do I feel? she thought. She examined her handiwork. The knowledge that she had killed a defenseless man in cold blood didn't horrify her the way she'd been taught it should have. "That felt ... right." She could sense a bit of pride inside him. "Powerful," she continued. Emotions swirled around her. "It shouldn't, but it does." She sighed. "The Jedi won't have me back now, after what I've done. If word of this gets out..."
"I won't tell if you won't," Kal said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You have the potential to be a very powerful Sith. Let me teach you to harness that power, to use the Dark Side. Leave the Jedi behind."
"I..." She closed her eyes. Her vision from before flashed through her head. "What is it you want from me?"
"Your ancestor," Kal told her. "The ghost in the Jedi enclave. I need to speak with him." Ashara could sense that there was more to it than that; that he had greater plans that included the ghost. But... Yes, Kal was a Sith, and had proven to have something of a temper, but ... she'd always been told Sith were liars, but running every conversation through her mind she could find no hint of a lie.
"The ghost. Yes, of course." She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Whatever he had planned could be beneficial to the enclave, assuming his plans included removing the ghost, but could also be less benevolent. Better, she thought, to minimize the potential damage. "I'll go on ahead, make sure there are no Jedi around." Seeing his curious look, she added, "You won't want them interfering."
"Beautiful and intelligent," he told her. She felt another flush rising through her cheeks. "I'll meet you there."
What have I gotten myself into? she asked herself as she turned and started running back through the swamps. I'll make sure the other Padawans are elsewhere, she determined, but Masters Ryen and Ocera need to be told to expect a guest... As she ran, an image entered her mind of standing next to Kal gazing down at Ocera's corpse, and she shuddered . . . but in fear, or excitement? She couldn't be certain.
Either way, she decided, better to not let them sense my use of the Dark Side. That was one thing she knew in her heart they'd never forgive her for.
Sorry about the wait for this chapter.
As you can see, I combined the two ways to convert Ashara, though changing the reason the assassins were after her from being hired to do so to tracking Darth Angral's holocron for their own master.
Feedback is appreciated!