The weeks that followed were harsh. Everyone seemed a little lost with a crew member missing, but it was plain to see that Rhian was suffering the most. Carth hated to see it, but after she'd asked that question, he couldn't help it.
"How do you think I feel?"
He watched her all through that first week after the Leviathan, when she stopped wearing Jedi robes and went back to wearing the combat suits he'd first seen her in on Taris. Seeing her in those skin-tight meshweave black pants did sometimes remind him of those nights in Javyar's cantina after a duelling match … but the sadness that would flicker across her face as she reached to adjust a fold that wasn't there jarred him from those memories. If he was being honest, she looked odd to him without robes, now. Like something was missing.
He watched her as she struggled to bring herself to even touch her lightsabers for three days. The first time she used them, it was against bandits threatening Suvam Tan in that station over Yavin. She fought defensively, more so than Carth had ever seen, blocking blaster bolts and destroying weapons. When a Trandoshan thug threatened Mission, Rhian cut off his hand, but let him and the others live as they fled, beaten. She was shaking as she deactivated her sabers and hooked them back on her belt.
He watched as Juhani, though still loyal, grew colder and colder towards Rhian, then finally exploded at her, hissing rage and fury. He watched as Canderous grew more and more deferential, recounting old battles with "her" like they were yesterday. He watched as she turned to Mission and Jolee for support, and felt a sharp pang that she didn't turn to him.
He watched as she continued her daily meditations in the cargo hold alone, where before the three Jedi women had trained together. He watched as she would sometimes drift away from what she was doing, face blank, only to return to herself with a look like she was admonishing her own mind.
But he could not just watch when, while they were skirting around each other in the tiny kitchen, Rhian suddenly dropped her plate and screamed. Carth whipped around and caught her in his arms as she fell, eyes squeezed shut, body tense with pain. It passed quickly. She opened her eyes and looked into his. She looked haunted.
"Bastila," she whispered hoarsely, as though answering a question. She struggled upright, out of Carth's hold.
"Did you see something?"
"No … not really. I just felt…" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Doesn't matter. She's still alive."
"Are … are you alright?" Carth asked hesitantly. She opened her eyes and glanced at him.
"No. Not at all." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "But thank you for asking."
Sometimes he could see the Dark Lord in her face. When he'd fought in the Mandalorian Wars, descriptions of her had been everywhere, though she'd hated having her holo taken. When the Civil War started years later, Revan was mostly seen wearing the mask, but a few holos of her face could be found. Carth had studied both in the grim days after Telos, alone in the dark with bottles of cheap juma juice and his own grief. Sometimes he could see the reckless tilt of the eyebrows that the hero Revan was so known for, and sometimes he could see the calculating gaze and set jaw of the Sith Revan. He didn't know why he'd never seen those things before. Probably because he hadn't wanted to.
He couldn't hide his surprise, then, when she asked him to accompany her on Manaan. Carth realized he'd been half expecting Revan to make him stay on the ship, to keep him from protesting when she dropped her name to the Sith on this contested world. Instead, she asked if she could drop his. On a planet being fought over by both sides of the war, with a nearly limitless supply of medicine in the middle, Revan wanted to go to the Republic.
o-o-o-o-o-o
It was a moment of rest between bouts of chaos on Manaan. The crew of the Ebon Hawk were spending the evening relaxing in the city of Ahto — even Mission, whose near-arrest for singing bawdy songs in the streets had earned her a Wookie chaperone for the rest of the night. Carth and Jolee ended up in a bar somewhere. They hadn't meant to, but Canderous had left to try his hand at swoop racing, Mission and Zaalbar were cheering him on, the droids were back on the ship, and Juhani had gone with their fearless leader to try to "patch things up," leaving the two men stranded. So here they were, in a bar that was far too shiny, being served drinks that tasted like cooling fluid.
"Ugh, what is this," Jolee grumbled, scowling into his glass of green liquid. "For the amount they're charging they could at least serve me something that doesn't go in a ship!"
"I'm pretty sure this would wreck anything it was put into," Carth replied before taking a gulp.
"Better watch it, son. I'm not dragging you home!" Jolee chuckled. They lapsed into silence for a moment. Carth's gaze wandered absently to the swoop race on the view screen above the bar.
"So, come on, then. Out with it." Carth looked back to Jolee. The old man looked expectant.
"Out with what?"
"Oh, don't give me that. You've been sulking more than a Wookie with a toothache for weeks."
"Wh— I have not been—"
"Yes you have, and I figure if you didn't want to talk about it, we wouldn't be here. So what is it?" Carth glared at the old Jedi in moody silence. Jolee continued. "You've got your revenge, you're the pilot of a grand old ship, and you're off saving the galaxy. What more could you want?"
"A little peace?" Carth shot back. Jolee laughed.
"None of us are likely to see that any time soon," Jolee said. Carth sighed.
"You're as bad as she is, you know. Are all Jedi like that?"
"Only the good ones." Jolee looked thoughtful. "Is this about her? Rhian? Revan? Whatever she's calling herself?"
"You know her name," Carth grumbled. Jolee raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Do you? Don't tell me you haven't started trying to call her 'Revan' in your head." He gave a short laugh at the look on the pilot's face. "Thought so. It doesn't help, you know."
"Oh, so you know what I'm thinking now?"
"I might. I'd be lying if I didn't say it was fairly obvious."
"Fine, then. What's your advice, oh wise one?"
"Advice?" Jolee laughed outright. "What would you do with advice from a withered old man like me? You young people don't need it. You just run across the galaxy making messes and hoping other people will pick up the pieces. Ah, but you're a good sort, even if you are as blind as Master Hortath."
"Who?" Carth looked up from his drink in confusion.
"Never mind, don't interrupt. Now, I should tell you about two men. See if you can tell me how they're connected. The first was a man who decided to climb a mountain on Alderaan. It was the highest peak on the planet, or so they said, and no one had ever reached the top and survived. Now, this man was no fool. He spent years planning and preparing, and when he started that climb he was determined to reach the top. He battled snow storms, avalanches, cliffs, ravines, cold and starvation. Everyone else in his climbing team either died or turned back. He alone made it to the top of the mountain, scarred and beaten. He stood at the summit after years of hardship and realized he had nothing left to work for. There was no mountain left to climb. After staring long and hard into the valley, that man threw himself off the top of that mountain."
Carth stared at Jolee.
"What—"
"Quiet! Didn't anyone teach you to respect your elders, sonny?" Jolee took a long sip from his drink and pulled a face. "Ugh. Anyway, where was I? Oh, the second man. Now this fellow, he had a real problem with this beast that had come from the caves to the north and savaged the people in his village. He was determined to hunt this creature down. But it was a wily thing, the perfect predator. It lived in the dark, had razor sharp claws that could run a man clean through, and howled like a demon. The man decided to track the beast, lying in wait for the perfect time to strike. To do that, he had to study the creature, live where it lived, keep it under constant surveillance.
"The man left everyone in his village behind and went to the caves in the north. For weeks and months he stalked the beast, learning to live in the dark. He studied how it hunted the small scurrying creatures in the tunnels for food. In time he became so hungry that he began to do the same thing. The man learned that the beast's howls meant different things, and he started using them to confuse it. Finally, after a long, long time, the man found the perfect opening and attacked the beast. He was savage, using his nails as claws, howling as he ripped it apart.
"Finally the deed was done, and the man made his way back to the entrance of the caves. The light of the sun, which he hadn't seen in so long, burned his eyes. He howled in pain. Some children from the village were picking berries nearby and screamed as he approached. The man had no idea why. He was just a man! He looked down at himself. His skin was bone white after so long underground, and his walk was hunched from the cramped space. His nails were claws. His hair was long and shaggy. He tried to speak, to call after them, but all he could do was howl."
Carth sat in silence as the story progressed. He had progressed from confusion to shock, and was now just staring moodily into what was left of his drink. When Jolee said no more, he looked up.
"Is that it? That's your advice?"
"I thought it was very clear," Jolee huffed.
"Maybe," Carth grunted. Jolee sighed and took a last sip of the green concoction.
"Look," the old man said, setting his drink down next to Carth's. "However hard you might find this to believe, I've not had the easiest life. I know some of the pain you've gone through. And yes, maybe I didn't deal with it in the best way possible. I certainly don't recommend living on Kashyyyk for twenty years. Ugh, the stench!"
"It … did smell awful," Carth nodded.
"Just wait until tach mating season. Force, that was a sight! But anyway. My point is that you can only live in one place at once. If you want to live in the present, you have to stop living in the past."
"Is that what those crazy stories meant?"
"No! Weren't you listening? Young people today, they just want everything handed to them."
"I'm not 'young'—"
"Yes you are. The stories were about revenge. The rest you can figure out on your own, I'm sure. And you'd best do it soon."
"Why is that?" Carth asked. Jolee pushed his now empty glass back towards the bar.
"Because she needs you," he said simply. "Figure out how far this vengeance of yours is meant to go, and if she really needs to be the one paying the price." He stood up stiffly and brushed off his robes. "I'll see you back on the ship," Jolee said with a nod. Then he turned and strode out.
o-o-o-o-o-o
"You can't leave!"
Morgana stood in front of the door, arms crossed over her chest, eyes blazing fury. It was early in the morning, early enough that the sky was still dark. Dustil was still asleep in his little room upstairs. Carth stood in the hall, newly cropped hair itching, hastily packed bag at his feet.
"You know I have to," he said tiredly.
"No. You promised me, Carth."
"I didn't make Revan attack Foerost! I didn't make her people go to Roche or Axxila!"
"You made a promise to me that that was the end. That when you came home it was for good. That you'd take a desk job and watch your son grow up."
"I can't do that, not if they need me!"
"And what if I need you?"
They stood in the hall, staring at each other, anger and frustration and almost visible tension in the air between them. The communicator at Carth's belt beeped. He knew it was Saul again, calling him in, calling him away from what should have been extended leave and a coming promotion. Carth clenched his jaw and picked up his bag. Morgana turned and grabbed the door handle as though she meant to open the door. But she stood very still for a moment, knuckles white, her face hidden by her hair.
"If you go, don't even think about coming back. Not until the war is over," she said. When Carth made no reply, she wrenched the door open and held it for him. She did not look at him as he left.
o-o-o-o-o-o
Carth jerked awake like he'd been punched in the gut. It was a bleary few seconds before he realized where he was: in his seldom-used bunk on the Ebon Hawk. He sat up, and immediately put his face in his hands with a groan. His head felt like a gizka had gnawed its way inside it and died. This might, upon reflection, have something to do with the four other drinks he'd had in that terrible bar after Jolee left.
The dream came back to him slowly. It was one he hated: their last fight. That was the moment he knew he'd failed Morgana. In a sick way, he'd finally upheld his end of a bargain with her: the war had kept him travelling so far and for so long that he hadn't made it back to Telos again before the bombardment. And that was Saul's fault, too: he'd called Carth away, cut his leave short, when the Republic realized they had another war on their hands. Said he couldn't fight without him. He'd given the order. All Carth had done was obey.
It was Saul's fault. And now he was dead. So why am I still so guilty?
Maybe it was Revan's fault. She was the one who'd started the next war, after all. If she hadn't sacked Foerost, he would never have had to leave, and he and Dustil and Morgana would still be together.
You would have left anyway, insisted a traitorous voice in the back of his mind.
Malak was the one who'd ordered the attack on Telos. Malak must have been the one who turned Saul, too, since the man left after Revan's death. Malak destroyed his life.
No he didn't. He just finished the job.
Then who? Carth balled his fists in frustration. Who was he supposed to blame?
You destroyed your own life. You left Morgana. You let Saul go. You broke your own promise to protect your family and your galaxy.
He took a great, shuddering breath. "It was me," he whispered. Saying it out loud brought it home.
"Figure out how far this vengeance of yours is meant to go." That was what Jolee had said. Carth realized now the old Jedi was talking about him. His vengeance was against himself. That story with the man and the mountain, it hadn't just been about having nothing left to live for once your obsession was complete — though that thought plagued him enough already. He was trying to warn Carth against destroying himself. And that other story, with the man who became the monster …
Carth lurched out of bed and stumbled over to the refresher. He stopped when he saw his reflection in the mirror there. Saul's words echoed in his mind: "The months have not been kind to you, I see. I barely recognized you." He tried to see himself as Saul would have. His face was harder than it had been before Telos. There were lines etched around his mouth and brow, and dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a veteran, like the ones who'd told stories of Exar Kun when he was a boy. Thinking of Saul, he caught a cold glint in his own eye, and his breath caught.
He could see Saul staring out of his own face.
Carth threw himself back from the mirror. Behind his eyes he could see himself being driven by rage and hatred, killing all manner of people who got in his way, coldly gunning down Saul, executing him while he was beaten and helpless. He might not have switched sides in any war, but that almost didn't matter. He'd hunted Saul in his mentor's own domain, using the other man's own strategies. To kill a monster, he'd become a monster. Just as the story had said.
Was this what Revan had done, all those years ago? Had she fought the Mandalorians in their war on their own terms, only to realize too late that she'd fallen?
Would she do it again?
He knew he needed a purpose beyond Saul. He'd known that for a long time. He thought he'd found it in protecting Rhian, but Rhian didn't exist. And Revan had done terrible things, things that needed to be avenged. Or did they?
Carth sighed and left the fresher, letting the door close behind him with a snap. He wasn't going to find any answers here. With an almighty effort, he pushed the thoughts from his mind. He had to focus. He was a soldier. They had a Sith base to break into today. He should get back to the business at hand.