In the end, all we have is what we've given. Whatever part of me lives in you is what matters; that will endure beyond all pain, all fear, all manner of time and age. We give away sections of our heart and lighten our own load, and just when we begin to fear that we have given away too much, someone arrives to give you fractions of their own heart. It is a tenuous balance, the give and take, the parts of my heart that are my own and the new fitted slivers that you have offered in silence. But at last we are whole, and filled up, a patchwork of stars and dreams.
Morning. The tiny piece of sunlight pierced the dank cell and drew the Exile from her restless dreaming. The Force was hurting. Even draped in the chains she could feel it, and she knew, vaguely, it was hurting for her. It was only just dawn and she wanted to go on sleeping, immersing herself in what she could remember of her former and better life.
At first she thought she was imagining the sound, a sound like the earth being wrenched open, like a skull splitting down the middle, but then, as the sleep fell away from her eyes and ears, she realized the sound was real and coming from the wall beside her. The entire room began to shake and tiny fissures appeared in the smooth ebony wall, climbing up from the floor and jutting down from the ceiling. The noise grew, rattling her brains, as little clouds of dust shot out form between the widening cracks. Voices, she could hear voices behind the trembling wall. The Exile tried to scuttle backward, away from the splits in the wall.
A thunderous pounding began, shaking the room and the cells around her. The Exile clasped her hands to her chest, sweating, wondering if this was death at last or something else entirely. She could hear the Sith soldiers shouting outside the door behind her and she heard banging on the handle; they were coming for her and the only thing in their way was the flimsy lock.
"Please hold," she begged the lock. "Just hold a little longer."
Perhaps this was salvation, this ungodly racket. The crack closest to the end of the wall was now almost a foot wide and jagged. The pounding continued, growing in intensity until her entire body shook with each clap of something against the outer wall of the spire. The Sith were growing more frantic, scratching at the door, shooting at it. Deep dents were appearing in the surface of the door where their vibroblades and blaster rounds were gauging. They would breach the door soon; she would be finished.
Then the jagged opening exploded and parts of the wall shot inward, littering the floor with sharp debris and bits of rock and plaster. The Exile coughed, covering her mouth as the dust particles rose in a thick cloud all around her. Sunlight bled into the room, lighting up the floor and far wall. The voices outside were just as loud as the Sith now.
When the dust settled the Exile crawled on hands and knees to the opening and what she saw ripped the breath straight out of her lungs. She cried out, flinging her hands forward in joy.
There was Khai, but not as she had ever expected to see him. He was no longer dressed in the bland robes of a Sith student, now he wore a brilliant cape of gold trimmed in purple and his robes were the color of a lavender, moonlit sky. The Exile now discovered what had been pounding so fiercely against the wall; Khai sat astride a magnificent winged serpent, its metallic green and brown scales glinting in the dawn's glow; behind it, a barbed tail stretched into the sky. Two other beasts with riders flanked the prince. Great gusts of wind met her face as the beat flapped its leathery wings and regarded her with shiny yellow eyes hidden behind a black studded halter. The prince maneuvered the beast closer to the crack and hailed the Exile.
"You didn't think I'd forgotten about you, did you?"
She laughed, ecstatically, tears rushing down her dirty face. He withdrew an enormous hatchet with a red blade from the scabbard at his side and edged toward the cell until the serpent was nudged up against the outer wall of the spire. With both hands, he brought the hatchet down on the glowing blue Force chains once – twice – and on the third chop they splintered apart. The Exile nearly collapsed from the sudden rush of feeling: It was glorious, like being catapulted toward the sun, absorbing all of the heat and radiance exploding in her body at once.
"Can you stand?" he called, extending his large hand.
The Exile threw off the chains and stood, not shaking, not even hesitating, and strode to the winged serpent. Khai took her hand in his strong grip and pulled her, with a grunt, onto the beast and behind him. The Exile grabbed Khai around the waist and settled into the saddle. Inside, the noise of the Sith soldiers was reaching its pith, but they were already taking off, flying high into the air and away from the spire. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes watering from the wind whipping at her eyes, and saw the cell grow smaller and smaller, its wall destroyed and crumbling.
"Here," Khai shouted, and he threw a soft, light blanket over both of them. Inside the blanket it was much warmer and she could see a slit of sunlight where there was a whole in the garment, allowing Khai to see and navigate.
"It's a camouflage cloak," he called to her, "These Morgreks can blend seamlessly into the sky, it's their natural protection against larger predators."
"Larger predators?" she shouted back, astounded. She heard the prince laughing heartily.
"The blanket will help us blend in with them, the Sith won't be able to detect us, we won't give off any signal and in this light they won't be able to see a thing!"
The Exile felt herself smiling, and she tucked her head against the prince's shoulder, her body shaking with relief. It was so good to have the Force back, to be herself again, and to feel her old power returning, minute by minute, to her starved body. She could hear the other riders and their Morgreks and feel the air rushing against her from all sides. One of the animals let out a trilling cry, and she laughed, never expecting to hear a snake purr with the thrill of flight in her lifetime.
They sped through the air at amazing speed, using the wind to travel even faster. At last, they descended, hurtling toward the earth at an alarming rate and then alighting, softly, in a cooler place. Under the blanket she could feel the air grow chill. Khai pulled the cloak off of her and the Exile saw that they had landed in a shady grove under gnarled, black trees. Everything around them was silent and the cold air from the trees' shading branches added to the strange stillness. Khai dismounted and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her safely to the ground. He called something to the two other riders, who were also concealed in camouflage, but the Exile could not understand it, he was speaking a language she had never heard before.
"We should be safe now," he said to her, keeping his arm around her waist.
"Where are they going?" the Exile asked, reaching out to pat the Morgrek's spiny scales.
"They need to feed the Morgreks and get them back to the hidden pastures," he explained, leading her toward an enormous building. The Exile had not even noticed the palace before, but now it was impossible to miss, rising up in front of them like a silver mountain.
"We've been hiding the Morgreks from the Sith, but it's difficult, you saw how big they are and they don't exactly appreciate being tethered up," Khai said.
"Thank you," the Exile murmured, remembering herself.
"I made you a promise, it's only fitting that I deliver on it," Khai replied soberly. "We'll enter the palace from the back, I hope you weren't expecting fanfare. We need to keep a low profile."
"Of course," the Exile whispered. "You've put yourself in so much danger already."
"I'll explain everything later, right now you need food and rest."
The Exile didn't mind his strong hand on her waist; it was it was a comfort, as she was beginning to feel weak with hunger and excitement. He led her through a pair of small doors hidden in the side of the sprawling palace. The doors opened up into a low-ceilinged tunnel lit by warm yellow lamps. She could see very little in the dim hall, but soon the tunnel opened up into a much larger, grander reception room.
The Exile gasped; she had visited many planets and seen many things, but this place was unbelievably magnificent. The K'Resh palace made the seat of Iziz look like a backwater juma hut. Everywhere were towering columns carved with soaring figures, some featured fearsome riders atop Morgreks, brandishing enormous barbed spears. Every wall and column was sculpted out of a sleek, violet stone that seemed to have its own inner sparkle. The floors were ebony marble, veined with silver and magenta.
"Well?" Khai pressed, "What do you think?"
"It's miraculous. Your family actually built this place?" she breathed.
"Yes," Khai said, leading her through the reception hall to a slim, elegant staircase. "It was created many thousands of years ago, obviously. But this is the pride of my family, the jewel of our reign."
The prince took her up the stairs and down a carpeted hall to a pair of intricately carved black doors. A rustic scene of families picnicking and hunting had been designed and carved into the wood. Before he could touch the handle, the doors opened and two female servants appeared, bowing deeply.
"Here we are," the prince said cheerfully. "Now, everything is arranged for your stay. Security has been doubled and our spies are placed to make sure we know what the Sith are up to. For now, please rest, the servants, Cleus and Alphon will see to you."
"Thank you, again, for all of this. I only hope I can be of some service," the Exile replied, drawing her shoulders up.
"We will talk later and you will meet my sister, the Queen. Then there will be time for plans and worries," Khai said. He bowed low to her and made an elegant motion with his hand before pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.
The Exile watched him go until his cape disappeared around the stairway corner. Cleus and Alphon guided her gently into the room as if she were made of glass and might fracture at any moment. They were both plain looking girls, with mousy brown hair and red lips, but Alphon had a glint of intelligence to her hazel eyes and the Exile could sense that she was the cleverer of the two. The girls were dressed in simple white tunics with turbans covering most of their hair. They undressed her with deft little hands, throwing away what was left of her clothing.
Alphon gasped at the Exile's state.
"I should call for the healer," she murmured in heavily-accented Basic.
"There is no need," the Exile replied kindly. "I will tend to my own wounds."
Alphon nodded and she and Cleus escorted the Exile through the room to a back chamber that was built out of creamy white stone. The chambers the prince had provided were exquisitely beautiful and the Exile felt her dirtiness hanging around her like a shameful cloud. She sighed with relief when she saw the deep, oval bath tub filled with piping hot water. A 'fresher would have sufficed, but this was much better; yes, it was the perfect place for her to rest and collect her thoughts and strength.
The servants helped her into the bath and then began scattering fragrant horrok lilies on the surface of the water. The girls poured thick syrup into the water that smelled unmistakably of late summer and ripe, exotic rainfalls. The lilies floated along like delicate orange dancers, bumping into her knees and shoulders. When the bath was to their liking, they left briefly and returned carrying a tray heaped high with delicacies of all kinds. The Exile self-consciously nibbled the food as the servants finished fussing with the bath; when they finally bowed and left her alone, the Exile ate ravenously, all sense of moderation and decorum vanishing.
When she was finally full of spiced meat and soft herb bread, she slid deeper into the bath and groaned, ecstatic, feeling like she was at last out of imminent danger. Blushing, she thought of her desperation the night before, and how she had virtually given up on her own life, letting the feelings she had been suppressing rise to the surface and overcome her. It had been an unforgiveable moment of weakness, but there was truth in it, of that she was certain.
Relaxing in the sensuous bath, she came to the conclusion that the Jedi were fools for allowing their bodies to molder and go to waste. Sitting in hot water was rapturous – why didn't she do it more often? It was time she stopped monitoring her thoughts so fastidiously. It was time to welcome everything, every sight, sound and sensation. And it was time to imagine what it might be like to share her life, or even just a bath, with someone else.
She opened her eyes, lost in her imagination, and grinned, finding a pair of serene blue eyes watching her from the other side of the bathtub. What would he say in a situation like this? Would he too finally let himself go and give himself up to the enticing water? She could imagine him pushing a lily toward her playfully. Their legs would brush under the water and he would run his hands through his wet hair, keeping the strands out of his eyes, before brashly parting the water between them.
"These poor lilies," he might say, "they look like weeds next to your beauty."
Perhaps he would take hold of her feet and squeeze them, or he might extend his hand to her shoulder and the warm tingle of his healing Force powers would skitter across her skin, tickling her like a spring shower. After a while he might hold one of the sweet fruits to her mouth and she would take it from him, her lips brushing his soft fingertips.
She could never go back to how she had been: Shut up, turned off, completely out of sync with her body and its needs. That cowering relic in the cell, that was the old her, the person devoid of passion and spontaneity. She would fight this battle and see it through to the end, but that was all; after that, she would be her own person. The Jedi were fools, the Sith were fools, they could keep their teachings and live forever in denial, and without her.
When the bath water began to cool, the Exile wrapped herself in an absorbent robe and went to the mirror hanging above a sink. She studied her appearance in the crystal clear reflection and rubbed at her gaunt cheeks hopelessly. There was something in her eyes, something different, not necessarily dangerous, but new and unexpected. The Exile rummaged through the drawers beneath the sink until she came across a pair of grooming scissors; they were small but they would work for her purpose.
The Exile gave herself one last look and then took hold of a large bunch of her hair. Yes, there was something new about her, and it pulsed with untapped potential, lying like a coiled animal just beneath the surface of her skin. This, she knew, was power, and she couldn't help feeling it had arisen from her long overdue confrontation with her feelings of love and loss.
She bent over, still gripping the hair, and began cutting. Heavy locks of blonde hair filled the basin as she cut. The Exile grabbed more hair and sawed off more and more, watching the heaviness fall away, feeling her head lighten until all that remained was a roguish shock of short blonde hair.
"I can see my face," she whispered, touching the mirror's surface. When her fingertips made contact with the glass she felt a strong jolt, like a kick to the stomach. Images flashed through her mind. The boy. The ship. The field. The streaming yellow hair. Yes, she looked entirely different, still freckled, still with the same round nose and cornflower blue eyes, still the same shapely lips - perhaps the most astounding change lay in what seemed to have disappeared. It was her innocence, she knew; the time for innocence was gone.
She shivered, turning away from the woman in the mirror, determined to keep it together. But it was impossible to shake, the feeling that some burst of knowledge and understanding was drawing near…
The Exile dumped the hair into a rubbish container and rinsed the back of her neck. She smiled at her bold decision. This, she knew, was progress. Satisfied, she padded into the bedroom of the guest chambers. A bed had been provided but strangely enough, she did not feel tired at all. Her wounds were healing, her strength was returning and with that strength came her deep connection to the Force and its web of mysteries. There were Force-sensitive individuals here, in the palace, she could sense it. It was difficult to discern how many, but certainly no more than a handful. Prophets, Khai had called them, something akin to Jedi who were relied upon to lead the K'Resh in times of trouble. Perhaps these Prophets could aid her; she knew at once that her ability to lead others would be priceless in this case.
The Exile looked through a sparse closet and chose a beautifully woven crimson robe that fell in clean pleats to her knees. The quality of the fabric was better than most of the Jedi robes she had come across; but that was not very surprising. The Jedi placed no value on material possessions. She picked out a black brocade belt and tied it in the wide, flattering style of the Jedi. Over all of this she pulled on a light, white robe in a linen that was almost weightless. The expansive hood was embroidered with silver thread, forming a sort of bright halo around the edges. Even garbed in the rich garments she felt naked; her lightsaber, the weapon she had worked so hard on, was gone, probably forever.
Khai arrived soon after she was dressed and asked after her. She followed him out into the hall and through a winding series of corridors that finally led to the grandest room of all. It was the royal reception room, and it glittered with riches and history. An enormous chandelier hung in the center of the domed ceiling, casting a pleasant glow over the room. The ceilings were covered in paintings of K'Resh's past victories in battle and diplomacy and the figures were so lifelike that the Exile couldn't help but stare admiringly. At the end of the long, carpet walkway, a stepped dias rose up. One chair was set on the platform, a foreboding throne made of that purple stone she had seen before. In front of the chair, dressed in an expansive gown and glittering purple robe, stood the Queen.
"Just bow, you owe her no other respects. She is as grateful as I am for your escape," Khai whispered, hooking his arm in hers. Together, they walked slowly, regally down the carpet. The hall was empty except for a few guards, who stood statue-still in front of the exits and entrances. It was odd, the Exile thought, that no courtiers or advisors filled up the majestic hall. Their steps echoed loudly; the room was unnaturally empty.
"You look lovely, don't be nervous," he whispered, grinning. "May I ask what inspired the hair?"
"New beginnings," she replied vaguely.
When they reached the steps to the throne they found the Queen waiting, tall and imperious. The Exile bowed at the waist, low, and received a polite nod in return. She studied the Queen and gently prodded against the woman's mind; she was Force-sensitive, at least enough to keep the Exile out of her thoughts.
"Welcome," the Queen said, gesturing expansively. Her voice was low, sensuous. "I am Queen Raziya'Shel niK'Resh, and you are very welcome in our kingdom. Please, come this way."
"Your Majesty," the Exile murmured, bowing her head again.
Along with Khai, they stepped up onto the throne's platform and then descended a hidden staircase behind it. There, a small table had been set up and a large meal prepared. They each took a seat and servants appeared to fill their glasses with a dark, jewel-toned wine. The Exile studied the Queen and found that up close she was a beautiful, if severe-looking woman. She did not have the gentle openness that Khai possessed, but they had the same prominent, stream-lined nose. The Exile had seen a similar weathered beauty on other rulers, who bore their responsibility proudly, earning
noble wrinkles at their eyes and mouths. The Queen's dark curls were intricately woven into a spiked, golden crown. She covered a yawn and struck a languorous, feline pose in her chair.
"I expect you think our choice to free you a little silly, Jedi?" the Queen asked, picking up a round little piece of toast. The Queen's command of the Basic language was perfect.
"I'm afraid I do not take my own freedom lightly, Your Majesty. I am deeply grateful for what you have done," the Exile replied carefully. Sovereigns were often tricky, unpredictable people with sharp tempers and she had experience navigating their tremulous egos.
"Exactly so," the Queen said, smiling. "You are clever. I like clever people. The Sith are dangerous but they are not clever at all. They invited me once to dine with their senior officers and it was dreadful. Everyone was either deaf or gray, like a dead fish."
"Deaf?" the Exile asked, smirking.
"Yes, they don't listen at all. If you ask me, they like the sounds of their own voices a little too much," the Queen replied. Khai sat quietly, focused on his food.
"Khai'Shel is a silly boy but he can handle a Morgrek well enough."
"I am indebted to him for his bravery," the Exile said. Khai glanced at her shyly and then looked away, embarrassed. The Exile found it odd that the Queen treated her brother with such disdain, after all, they were almost entirely alone in the fight against the Sith; she had expected them to be closer. A deeper awareness of the situation was dawning on the Exile, and she began to understand something was wrong. In that moment, she wanted desperately to have her crew with her. Aboard the Ebon Hawk she could conference with any of her trusted friends and extract their suggestions and opinions, but here she was alone. She did not betray her new feelings; she would continue the charade until she understood the motives of the Queen and her younger brother.
"By now you have certainly felt that we too possess some power. Your kind call it the Force, I believe, but those who wield it here are simply known as Prophets. I myself might have been a Prophet, but I did not manifest early enough in life," the Queen explained. The torches around them grew dimmer, ushering in evening. Khai continued his humiliated silence, sulking like a reprimanded schoolboy.
"Where do these Prophets reside? I would like very much to speak with them," the Exile said.
"We evacuated them from the temple last year and moved them to a secret location. They communicate with me through a bonding connection. It is their duty to update me daily on what they perceive. For some reason, they were not strong enough to anticipate the Sith invasion; you can imagine my disappointment, but there you are," the Queen said. The Exile was shrewd enough to sense Khai's growing uneasiness and she immediately stabbed into his mind; he was recoiling into himself, afraid, backing away from his odd sister. The Queen leveled her younger brother with a scathing look.
"So an entire temple full of Prophets failed to see the Sith coming?" the Exile asked.
"Ridiculous, I know. It was tempting to punish them, but the K'Resh fear and respect the Prophets. Their failure, however grave, could most certainly be explained by the Sith tricks, perhaps they cloaked themselves as they moved toward our planet," the Queen offered.
After an awkward silence, the Exile decided to break the ice.
"You both speak Basic very well."
"Thank you!" the Queen cried, delighted. "Of course I insisted that we all learn the language of the Sith and of the Sith's enemies."
"'We all'?" the Exile repeated, confused. What a curious way to refer to her and Khai, unless she meant the entire kingdom, but that seemed unlikely; her servants had barely been able to communicate.
"Well," the Queen blurted out, hesitating, "myself and Khai, and our dear little sister who was killed shortly after the Sith arrived."
The Exile looked to Khai, who sat frozen in his chair, back rigid, his face bloodless and stricken. She would not probe the matter, but she would remember it. They fell silent and ate, uncomfortable and suspicious of one another. She was waiting for the Queen to reveal the plan but no such talk occurred. As the meal came to a close and the Queen seemed anxious to leave, the Exile spoke up.
"So what would you have me do? Surely we should strike the Sith before they realize I am here?"
The Queen straightened up, her nose wrinkling. It was as if she hadn't expected the question at all.
"You are still recovering, we shall talk of war and fighting tomorrow," the Queen said, forcing a smile. She stood suddenly, and the Exile and Khai stood too, waiting until the Queen had gone before looking at each other.
"You need to tell me what's going on, and you need to tell me right now," the Exile growled, turning on him.
"I – I don't know what to tell you, I - "
"You what? Saved my life so your sister could play games with me? I deserve an answer and I demand that answer now. You have managed to evade my anger until now, little prince, but do not mistake my gratitude for compliance. There is a rage in me you would not like to see unleashed," the Exile pushed her chair out of the way and advanced on the prince. He shrunk away from her, shaking his head.
"You don't understand, my sister means you no harm! I mean you no harm! We must move forward carefully, the Sith are powerful - "
"Oh spare me your excuses," the Exile hissed. "Something is going on and I intend to find out, with or without your help. Are you so afraid of your own sister that you cannot stand up for what is right?"
The Exile did not wait for him to answer. She marched away, making her own way back to the guest quarters. The door crashed open in the wake of her temper; she hated being lied to, whispered about, and trapped. She had been blind, outrageously stupid, following the prince without taking a moment to question his real intentions. He was a pawn, some tiny piece of a larger, sinister puzzle. The Exile threw her first into one of the pillows on the bed and it exploded in a shower of ivory feathers. That stirring she had felt before was uncoiling now, waking up, nudging her toward a magnificent caving in.
"Not yet," she whispered fiercely in the fading light.
She stretched out on the bed and shut her eyes, meditating, waiting for an answer to appear. In desperation she sought her friends, sending her mind out over the galaxy. Strangely, she found that they were cut off from her. Her Force powers had returned, why could she not sense those she knew best of all? She wondered if there was a barrier up, either created by the Sith or the K'Resh, and this thought only deepened her suspicion.
The prince did not come for her; that was good. The Exile didn't trust her temper, not when she was concentrating on unraveling the mess she had gotten herself into. Out of the fire and into the inferno, indeed. At least the Sith were straightforward! They meant to kill her, that was clear enough, but she could not guess what the K'Resh had in store for her. She could leave but where would she go? Her ship was no doubt in the hands of the Sith and without a weapon or transportation she was totally open to being recaptured by either side. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, she was running out of decorative pillows to demolish.
Forcing herself to relax, she slipped into a deep, penetrative meditation. For a while nothing happened and she simply floated in the emptiness of a blank mind. Slowly, slowly an image came to her, a sort of vision or maybe a prediction. She saw a snake, dark and gloomy, hissing quietly in a deep, forgotten pit. Serpents, she knew, were an omen of danger or violence, but for some reason she felt no fear as she watched the snake, it did not seem to threaten her. It was sad, abandoned, unable to remove itself from the steep walls of the pit.
We all, we all, we all…
The Exile sat up, refreshed, awake. That was it! That was where the answers lay.
Night had fallen and her room was bathed in inky darkness. She slid out of bed and pulled her robes tightly shut; it was time to act and it was time to use her powers.
It was like sliding silently through water, cloaking herself in the strength of the Force, gliding by sentries and servants, who looked up, wondering where the light wind had come from. Her only concern was the Queen, who might be strong enough in the Force to sense what she was up to. But the Exile was clever, and she kept a game of pazaak going constantly in her head, using Atton's useful trick to keep her mind barricaded.
Finding the latched door to the underbelly of the palace was not terribly difficult. The extent of her Force powers allowed her to project eyes into every dark hall and twisting corridor, seeking, searching, and sending out a hundred deft fingers. It was hidden almost in the open, behind the main kitchen in a refuse room, a simple, cracked cellar door. The lock dissolved like melted gold in her grasp and she dropped down into the passage silently.
The Exile moved quickly, not knowing whether the Queen would sense her plans and follow. She knew, however, that she was on the right track. She felt a strong magnetic pull, as if the Force had taken her by the hand and begun showing her the way. The passage wound down and down, coiling back on itself until the Exile could feel roots poking out of the walls around her and smell a dark, heady earth smell. It was freezing, absolutely shut off from light and heat. As she came closer to the bottom she could hear a horrible scratching, as if two metal dancers scraped against each other. She shuddered.
When she reached the end of the stairs she nearly fell off; the drop was steep and she found that many of the stairs had crumbled away from disuse. It was difficult to see anything, but she pressed on, determined, wondering what could possibly be so foul that it had to be kept in a deserted cellar like this one. A cutting, nauseating stench rose up from the back of the cellar and she grabbed her nose, choking. At the sound of her voice, the scraping noise stopped but it didn't matter, the Exile could see now what was before her.
"Hello."
The Exile forced the bile down, refused to wretch and insult the creature that sat, cross-legged, in a shallow pit before her. She had caught sight of him from the ropes of glowing white light strewn all around his bent body, and as she got closer she felt her heart rate accelerate; they were Force chains, glowing shackles like the ones she had been secured to. They did not glow pale blue as they had when she wore them, they pulsed with blinding white light around this creature.
"Do not be afraid," the creature spoke softly, and the Exile saw that it was a man, or what was left of a man. He was so badly mistreated now that his beard had taken over most of his face and he was covered in dirt and stinking filth. Her heart cried out to him and she stumbled forward, kneeling to reach for his face. He smiled beneath the beard as she touched his bruised cheek. By the light of the chains she could make out his high cheekbones and straight, prominent nose. Intelligent brown eyes stared back at her. He had been handsome once, gloriously handsome, an older, more refined version of Khai. But now he was a monster, a chained up, forgotten beast. He looked vaguely like Khai, yes, but he was familiar in some other, more obscure way.
"I know you have come to free me," he continued and as his voice drifted through her mind, a bolt of lightning struck the Exile. Suddenly the man's bizarre familiarity locked into place. The boy. The ship. The field. The streaming yellow hair.
"I know your voice," she whispered. "It was you, wasn't it? That was you behind the mask in my vision."
"Yes," he said. "You were so close to the edge, I could feel your soul fading. I've been watching you, watching close ever since you came here, and when I felt you were about to die I used what little I had left to reach you."
"Thank you," she murmured, smoothing the matted hair back from his face.
"I would have done more, but the chains…"
She looked again at the white, glowing links and realized that the chains could barely hold him; they were straining to contain his power and lit up so brightly from the task. The Exile swallowed nervously; it was all beginning to make a twisted sort of sense.
"You're Khai's brother, aren't you?"
"Yes, I sat on the throne when the Sith invaders appeared in the sky," he replied.
"You were the King?"
"Raziya deposed me. For months the Prophets were warning us, for months I had struggled with the advisors and the generals to plan a defense but Raziya changed all that. She stopped me at every turn; it was hopeless. I could not understand why, could not understand why she wanted us to suffer and burn."
"But she said the Prophets had no idea the Sith were coming," the Exile replied.
"Lies, lies, of course she is lying. She knew as well as I did what was coming for us but she wasn't interested in making a stand. The Prophets are gone, all of them except for me. Raziya trapped them in their own temple and set it aflame. I was here, useless, unable to stop their screams of agony, their terrible pain."
"But why? Why would she do all of this?" the Exile pressed.
"For money, of course," he lifted his forearms weakly, displaying the chains. "The ore to make these chains is found only on our planet, that is why the Sith came and that is why they stay. My sister had made some agreement with them; she would supply the ore if they kept her in power and gave her part of the money. She was tricked, of course, and she may rule now but the kingdom is penniless, ravaged by the Sith, cut off from every planet we once called friend."
"And so she imprisoned you?" the Exile asked.
"She knew I would not sit idly by while she destroyed the kingdom out of greed. I was ambushed by my own men, wrapped in these forsaken chains and stripped of my crown. Here I have remained, rotting, dwelling on my failure to act. If I could have stopped her…" he trailed off, sobbing quietly into the Exile's shoulder. She could feel the Force in him, even with the chains, and the tremendous strength of it shocked her. No wonder they had gone to such lengths to hide him, he was a tornado waiting to be set free.
"The boy," she said softly. "Who was the boy?"
"I wish I knew," the man whispered, his eyes open wide with awe. "To wield such power and halt a ship of that size in midair… He must be a Prophet of infinite means."
"But the words you spoke… It was you, you showed me the vision! How can you not know who he is?" the Exile demanded, desperate to know.
"Forgive me, you must forgive me. When the vision took you it took me, too. I was simply the messenger. A shadow overtook me, a feeling like drowning. I began to choke, I thought I was dying, but then I was there before you, speaking words I did not understand. I reached out for you to try and save you, that much is true, but I had no idea the vision would overtake me," he began to cry, shaking his head. "I wish I could tell you more."
The Exile held him to her, feeling his remorse and sadness. He grew suddenly frantic in her arms, pushing away from her.
"You should leave, they will find you soon and I could not live with myself knowing I caused your downfall."
"Rest now," the Exile replied. "We will deal with them in time, but first, tell me your name."
"Athan."
The Exile was about to speak but a faint, far off sound drifted down into the frigid cellar. They were coming. Athan grabbed her wrist with both hands and pulled her closer; the brightness from his chains intensified.
"Is there another way out of here?" she asked in a whisper.
"No, I'm afraid this is the end."
"We will meet it together, Your Majesty. Do not speak, let me handle the Queen. I think I have an idea."