Chapter Two

The soft song of a Trelili bird filled Keth's ears as he entered the Gardens. A medium sized alcove in the middle of the Jedi Temple, it's roofless top granted much needed sunlight to the topiary growing within. Moisture from the humid air already began to cling to him, his woolen Jedi robes not helping in the slightest.

After searching in the Jedi dormitory for his recently made ex-Master, Keth found his suspicions were correct.

Amaranda's violet hair brushed the stone tile beneath her as she stood on one hand, bare feet pointed upward. Eyes closed, she was lost in deep meditation. Her face, normally a light shade of pink, was flushed a darker magenta. Been here quite a while, he mused. It was to her credit that she remained perfectly still, as though her bright colored skin and odd stance was perfectly at home in her surrounding environment.

She came here often to meditate, frequently choosing poses and exercises such as this to push her physical limits as she got lost in the flow of the Force. More than once did she encourage Keth to join her in these exercises, but he preferred the more traditional cushions of the much cooler meditation rooms inside.

Not wanting to disturb her, Keth glided to a nearby bench and seated himself, the hints of a smile growing on his face. Seeing her like this, holding a perfect balance of grace, form, and determination, brought back pleasant memories of his training. Now fresh in her thirties, Amaranda had taken him on as his trainer while she herself had just recently graduated into Knight of the Order. She was known for being uncommonly talented among her peers, and that talent, to his Padawan eyes, only grew from there as they both aged.

"You're staring."

Her voice startled him from his recollections. With a blush, he stood up and gave a respectful bow. "My apologies, Master. It was not my intention to gawk."

"I am also no longer your Master," she chided flatly.

His blush deepened. Keth wasn't sure how she would have taken his graduation. Zeltrons had their moods, of course, which he had grown quite accustomed to over the years. Leading up to the knighting, she had grown quiet. Supportive, yes, but distant.

She laughed suddenly, her voice lilting in cheerful tones. Opening her eyes, Amaranda smiled at him. Though her face was upside-down, he could clearly see her amusement.

"I'm teasing you, Keth."

"Oh," he sighed as he sat back down, his embarrassment shifting from one reason to another. This wasn't the first time her playful nature caught the best of him.

She flexed forward, bringing her feet to the ground in a seemingly effortless motion, then stood upright. Sweat beaded on her skin as she stretched her limbs one by one. After her routine, she dried herself off, swept up her Jedi robes - left in a neat pile nearby - and promptly sat next to him.

Jedi Knight Amaranda was never one to be considered imposing. She was taller than most, even among other Zeltrons, and stood at least a hand higher than Keth himself. Even so, she did her best to remain modest and unassuming toward others, diffusing early on any sense of intimidation.

Her hand ran up the back of his head, feeling the spot his braid had been. Clucking in disapproval, she eyed his hair, "Qw'sh's work, I assume?"

Keth chuckled and nodded, "He said you might notice."

"Notice? I'm surprised no one else has openly mocked you for it!" Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, hand going to her lightsaber. "Or have they?"

She brought him to laughter, in which she soon joined. To Keth, it felt good to relax this way after these last few weeks of distance, especially with one who understood the trials he went through in these past few weeks almost as much as he. Amaranda had always been open with him regarding her own training, making his own that much more bearable. Without her guidance, he wasn't sure where he'd be.

As their laughter died, Keth found himself staring at the braid, realizing he had been holding onto it ever since Master Qw'sh handed it to him.

"It will be different now, you know," Amaranda said, a serious note in her tone. "You get to make your own decisions now. That means the responsibility of your mission lies with you. Just be sure and-."

"Trust the Force," he finished, finding her statement. He was rewarded with a knock to the head.

"Just be sure and not do anything stupid," she chided, crossing her arms and staring at him disapprovingly. While Keth rubbed his head, she cracked a smile and nudged him with her elbow, "Ah, but I guess that's good advice, too. Always trust in the Force, Keth."

"I know," he sighed. "I thought I was prepared for this. Thought I was excited. I mean, I am excited, just... not in the way I had thought."

"Dreams of glory running through your head, maybe?" Amaranda sniffed, "Not very Jedi of you, Keth."

"No!" he protested, "No, nothing like that!"

"I'm teasing you again, Keth. You really ought to lighten up today. You're usually better than this."

"Sorry," he muttered, "It's just been a bit weird."

"Yeah," she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. The sunlight fell on her face, and Keth could feel contentment radiating from her. Whether that was the Force or her Zeltronian telepathy, he wasn't sure.

"Look, Keth, I know what you mean. It was like that for me too."

He was actually surprised, "Really?"

"Of course. I was excited to get out in the galaxy and do some good for people. Save planets, rescue innocents, beat the bad guys. The whole Jedi trope. But once I knelt in front of the Council... no, even before that, I realized that wasn't for me. When I announced that I wanted to train a Padawan, I was afraid the Council would say no. I was surprised how quickly they approved. Seemed like everyone but me was in on knowing my path before I did." She paused for a moment, then let out a light chuckle, "Even my Master."

"And do you?" he asked.

Amaranda opened her eyes to look at him inquisitively, "Do I what?"

"Do you know my path?" Before she could respond, he pressed on, "I've been getting this nagging feeling, whether it's the Force or no, that others are trying to warn me of something. Like they're all in on this big joke and dropping big hints about it before I trip on the prank. Maybe worse. I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders.

She sat upright, clasping her hands around her knee. Brown eyes assessed him inquisitively. "Oh? Who's 'they'?"

When he hesitated, she tapped his leg encouragingly with her foot. "Go on."

"Well... mostly, it was Master Qw'sh. He seemed to-"

"Qw'sh?" Amaranda said, leaning back in relief, "Qw'sh had dire forebodings for me too at my Knighthood, you know."

That gave Keth reason to pause. "He did?"

"He practically implied that I would be fighting off the entire Sith order single-handedly, though I suppose he never mentioned them by name..."

"I... wow."

"I know!" she exclaimed with a grin. "And considering that the Sith are extinct, I suppose I can take credit for that, hmm?"

She spoke in jest, but he shuffled uncomfortably.

"Now what?" she asked, nudging with her foot again.

Keth blushed again and sighed, looking away. Once Amaranda dug in, there wasn't any letting go. He was an easy read to her; something she enjoyed pointing out from time to time. Of course, he was fairly certain he was an easy read for most. Self-expression was one of his weaker traits.

Best get it over with, he thought, cringing.

"I've felt it from you, too. You've been keeping your distance from me lately. It's led me to think that there was something wrong. Whether it was me or something else-"

The vice grip of her hand on his arm startled him. Amaranda leaned in with such intensity that he recoiled instinctively. Her eyes burned with a seriousness he rarely saw in them.

"Listen well, Keth Qol'mar, Jedi Knight of the Order. I am witness to the growing of the ranks as another entered our fold. He has proven himself with rigorous training, mastered the understanding of the Force, and knows when to properly blush at a woman."

Her hands rose to his face and cupped his cheeks in a surprisingly tender fashion; she had never been this physical with him. The heat that rose to his face embarrassed him, and he tried to look into the eyes of his old Master. Were those tears?

"I could not be any more proud of you, my padawan. There is nothing wrong with you."

With that, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead. Keth could smell the mint on her breath and closed his eyes, riding in the wave of peace that flowed into him from such a tender gesture. Feeling her cheek lay against his, he could hear a choked whisper fall into his ear, "I do not know your path, Keth, but I know it is not here."

She left without another word.

Run.

It was a command simple enough. Leaves brushed against Rend's face as she raced through the dense underbrush. Shadows danced in the corners of her vision.

They were closing in.

Run.

She could hear his laughter, echoing within her thoughts. He knew she would die. Master always knew.

The forest blocked out all moonlight, leaving her only instinct to rely on in where to place her quick-paced footing. She had yet to trip, but if she was not careful, her enemies might catch her. That would be the end.

Rend heard the screams. Screams of her younger self, the nameless girl. Pain. Agony. Fear. Master laughed again, cruel and mirthless. Her breath quickened.

Get out, she told herself. The emotions were unbearable. Burning filled her chest, memories of the boot placed there. Get. Out. The harder she pushed it all down, the stronger it became; the darker the shadows around her; the louder the laughter.

The hiss of a lightsaber.

Run!

Rend gasped as she bolted upright, breaths shallow and fast. Sweat matted her face and exposed arms. Her hand was immediately at her side from instinct drilled into her, only for her to realize what she reached for wasn't there.

That's right, she thought, awareness slowly settling her nerves.

The cushioned seat of the carriage was damp sweat. How long had she been sleeping?

She closed her eyes. Get out. The mental command was easy enough nowadays, stilling the tempest that would occasionally grow from within. It wasn't long before she had regained control of herself, feelings of anger and rage mere smolders of the raging infernos they wished to be.

In her meditations, Rend noticed something else amiss. Something external.

The carriage wasn't moving.

And there was something else. Reaching out with the Force, she felt her surroundings.

She sensed the approach before she actually heard it. Whomever it was, she could soon hear them speaking as they drew closer.

"...think he has inside, anyway?"

"Lords if I know. Probably some quibbling mess of a passenger too afraid to come out," came a reply. Two men, from the heavy foot falls and rough gravel in their voices.

Continuing her meditation, Rend's hand slipped to the left and into her satchel.

"Well, if dere is," continued the first, "We gotta make sure there we get the valuables offa dem."

Deftly and quietly, she pulled out her favored weapons. Hilts of obsidian, the daggers were long and thin; their points' edges so much so they were barely visible.

"Quick an' easy like?" asked the second. They were just outside the door.

With practiced movement, they slipped into her sleeves, well hidden.

"Yeah. You first."

Taking a final, slow breath, she opened her eyes.

The door swung open.

"Please don't hurt me!" Rend screamed, flinging her arms around the ruffian as he lurched into the carriage. Dropping her full weight on him, he grunted in surprise as they both spilled out onto the road beneath them.

"I don't want to die!" she cried, using her weight to pin the blaster he held to his stomach. "Please!"

"Oof! Gerroff me!" he boomed.

Rend struggled further, flopping and kicking, until she felt herself yanked off of him by the strong grip of his partner.

Her flopping intensified.

"You're going to kill me!" she moaned, tears dripping off her face from her sobbing. "Oh Lords of Eight, please! I didn't do anything! Spare me! Take all of my belongings, just don't hurt me!"

Keeping her body loose didn't make things any easier for the second man holding her. Grumbling, he shook her a few times, attempting to get her to stand straight to no avail. The first man, now getting back to his own feet, rubbed the back of his head.

"Alright, that's enough o'that. Cut it out and stand straight. Yer giving my mate her a helluva time." He paused, aiming his blaster at her. "You gonna stay still?"

Sniffing back snot, she meekly nodded and put weight on her own legs. The first man nodded to the second, who muttered to himself as he let her go. The blaster was still aimed straight at her chest.

"Don't do nuttin' funny, hear?"

She nodded again, hiccuping.

He kept her in his sights as the second man looked into the carriage. After a moment, he pulled out holding her satchel and tossing it to the first. "Looks like that's all she has, right there."

"No kiddin'?" The first caught it with his free hand and looked back at Rend incredulously. Shaking his head, he sighed and gestured forward with his blaster. "Well, alright. Get her up to Mavin."

Pushed from behind by the second man, Rend was lead to the front of the carriage. She kept to a whimper, her eyes puffy and red. A quick scan ahead showed a total of seven men, including the two behind her. The other five were convened together in discussion. All were quite armed with some slinging laser rifles, others with crossbows, and one with a pike staff.

The beasts that pulled the carriage snorted nervously as she passed, which alerted the man with the staff. The conversation halted as he turned to face the three of them while they approached.

"Who is this and why isn't she dead?" Pike Man asked, resting on his staff as though bored. The others behind him remained stoically quiet. So, he's the leader, she thought.

The first man - the one with the blaster - gestured back to the carriage, "Found 'er in the cart, I did. Thought you might know what to do with 'er."

Rend was pulled to a halt about six paces away from Pike Man, who must be Mavin. The other four slowly fanned out around them, casually holding their weapons at ease. Rend sniffed, then lowered her eyes to the dirt beneath her sandaled feet, shrinking in on herself.

"Of course I know what to do with her, Sed. You shoot her."

The others behind Mavin chuckled. He appraised her as she kept her eyes down.

"Well, on second thought," he continued, rubbing his stubbled chin, "Someone with a frame like hers could fetch us a pretty mark or two in the right markets. Slap some boy clothes and she'd probably even fetch more. What do we think, gentlemen?"

More chuckles. Rend noted the hints of hunger from some of them. Typical. This was all typical.

"And you, my darling?" Mavin cooed. "What do you think? Better than a blaster hole to the chest, yeah?"

Rend muttered a response to the ground.

He leaned in with exaggerated effort, "Sorry, miss, what was that?"

"I said," she cooed in response, "Your mistake was to delay my trip."

The others oohed and muttered their surprise at her icy reply. It was obvious no one in their coterie spoke to Mavin in such a manner. Mavin, to his credit, kept his cool demeanor, leaning back in interest.

"Oh, is that so? Not the meek little thing that Sed and Vando took you for, eh? And just who is this girl that can't spare time for us in what must be a very important journey?"

So very typical.

"I'll tell you the moment before your death," she promised in nothing but ice. "After I've played with your toys."

Her eyes darted up to met his, and she kindled the smolders of fury toward him. True surprise took hold of his face, and he failed to fully mask the hints of fear and uncertainty he was surely feeling.

Before he could react further, Vando grunted in surprise and pain as one of her daggers found itself in his stomach. A flick of her wrist drug it effortlessly across, leaving him to catch whatever may fall out. One of Sed's eyes met itself with her other dagger. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Sliding her blades free, Rend ducked and tumbled to Mavin's side, who desperately began calling for the others to shoot her. He himself backed away, clutching his pike staff against his chest.

The man on the far left, raising his rifle to aim at her rolling body, found his Achilles tendon severed instead. A second knife slashed across his neck as he fell.

Laser bolts flew past her as she dashed to the next victim. He actually cried out as he aimed another shot of his crossbow at her. There was no smile on Rend as her knife went up through his jaw and into his skull. Just rage. Channeled rage fueling her every movement with precision and control. It was what Master had shaped within her. Do not explode your anger upon your enemies, he would say. Funnel it instead. So much more effective.

She burned with hatred in admitting it, but he was right.

Three remaining.

Bringing up the flat of a bloodied dagger to her face, she deflected a blast aimed for it. Vibrations from the recoil shook her wrist, but the weapon was designed for such a strike. Tempered songsteel for a blade, light and silvery, was surprisingly resistant to heavy force. Not to mention deathly sharp. The obsidian hilt, longer than usual daggers, kept the ends heavy to balance out the shocks and blows from repetitious use. It took much, much practice from many years of training to use them. Deathsong, she called them. And Deathsong they were.

They whistled in the air as Rend flung them to the two remaining of Mavin's men. One landed in the heart. The other through the skull.

One left...

Panting, she ceased her mad dashing, slowly standing upright. Bringing her hands to her sides, Rend turned to face Malvin, who had taken up a full defensive position. Though he was far inferior to Rend, he was no fool to combat. Seeing six of his men fall before her in the span of seconds had spooked him, and he was completely on guard.

"Who are you?" he whispered, choking back anger and fear.

Rend cocked her head at him. "Did you not hear it in the final sounds of your men?"

He lunged. A quick sidestep let her slip behind him as he tumbled past her. She brought a foot up and kicked him hard in the back, using his momentum to send him toppling to the ground. He quickly spun around, bringing his pike staff up to protect himself, only to find her standing over him. Her face remained passive, though the burning yellow in her eyes sent chills up his spine.

Her wrists flicked, and the daggers quivered in the bodies of his men. Rising on their own, they then flung into her open hands. Her eyes never left his. Not even when she flicked the sides of the hilts, the blades splitting open down their centers, red beams hissing to life. Not even when they lined up to his neck, flesh reflecting their sickly glow.

"I am Death."

Deathsong sang.