Shira knew fear. She knew the way it clenched in her stomach like a fist, the way it sat in the back of her mouth like a stone. Many people were afraid to die. It was a normal part of living, something that she knew happened even to the most disciplined Jedi despite all their training and mental preparations. But when Shira was being honest with herself, she realized that she had come to terms with the inevitability of death a long time ago. She wasn't afraid of dying. She was afraid of dying alone.
Beyond the dragon's maw, there was a red room with high-vaulted ceilings. The chamber was unfurnished except for a massive table littered with the remnants of many meals, scores of gleaming platters, empty goblets and cages of bones picked clean. Someone had plunged a butcher's knife into the wood of the table. Rust bled along the blade's edges.
A rank stench saturated the place, the same oily odor that she'd caught a whiff of at the Sith officers' table. A smell like that had a way of sticking to the inside of one's nostrils and coating one's skin, a way of making a person feel filthy from the inside out.
She glanced over at Revan, who was inspecting the food with a piercing gaze he usually reserved for the enemy. He reached across the table, dipped his hand into a silver bowl and picked up a single bone still hanging with pieces of gristle. He held it up between thumb and forefinger.
"Now I don't know much about gourmet cooking," he whispered, "but this doesn't look like it came from a nerf steak."
Shira felt her stomach heave inside her. She hadn't recognized the smell until that moment. It was the smell of a rancor's nest in summer, the odor of flesh and blood baking under the sun.
Something stirred behind the red curtain at the back of the room.
Shira and Revan ignited their lightsabers almost in tandem, the beams casting faint light on the tiled floors.
The hiss of the 'sabers, the thump of her heart in her chest, the silken whisper of the curtain; these were the only sounds Shira knew and for a second, it seemed they were the only ones she had ever known.
She saw a hand first, although it was only a pale blur against the crimson fabric. It drew back the heavy folds of the curtains, revealing a round white face, a bald head and eyes like holes burned in parchment. On the creature's forehead, there was a red mark in the shape of an 'X'.
The ungainly monster slouched across the platform, a putrid mound of flesh propped up on stubby legs. He gaped down at them, his face twitching as if the sight of Jedi revolted him or, perhaps, filled him with inexpressible delight. His mouth was a ring of blood. It took her moment to realize that there was flesh underneath, that the gory red smear was not a distinct feature of his anatomy.
The blood was not his own. It came from the severed finger he was holding in his hand, a finger that he drew up to his mouth and nibbled delicately. As he gnawed, his jowls wobbled and his doughy face beamed with infantile pleasure.
Asmortis.
She'd heard Sandor speak his name only once. Each syllable had taken effort and the name had constituted a single sentence, a complete answer. Once he'd said the word, Sandor would not speak it again. It was a curse to let that name past one's lips.
Intruders. Jedi. You have come to die.
Asmortis' voice in her head. She didn't have to look at Revan to know that he could hear it too.
The Sith lord descended the stairs, hefting his bulbous body with surprising dignity. His maggoty skin was almost translucent, blue-green veins etching through his arms and forehead.
"We have come to kill you."
She loved Revan for having the temerity to speak. Her own lips couldn't form the words. They just mouthed silent prayers, gasped frantic breaths.
Asmortis reached the bottom of the steps.
I hunger and then I feed upon ones such as you. The taste of your flesh and your power mingled. Oh, it is satisfaction. And my strength only grows.
The monster raised his hand and pointed at her. He drew a line down her chest and suddenly, her mouth dropped open as if someone had unhinged her jaw. She heard an agonized scream, and the only thing she could think, as if from a great distance, was that the woman screaming was going to die.
He was slicing through her. Blood bubbled over the gash in her skin, soaking through her robe. Her voice was the shriek of a saw cutting through something hard.
Revan shouted orders against the back of her head, pounding the words into her skull. "Resist it! Resist it, damn it! He's in your mind!"
The bleeding stopped and she felt a wave of force-healing pulse through her, just enough to keep her fighting, to keep her on her feet. Shira recovered just in time to see Revan flung across the room, his body crumpling at the foot of the table.
Fear drained out of her along with the blood. She fought with desperate courage, and pain spurred her towards a frantic grace. She balanced every thought, every motion on a high-wire, parrying, weaving, dodging and slashing her violet 'saber through the air.
Her lightsaber struck the Sith lord's back, cooking flesh until it burned. She hit the monster again and again, scorching holes through his black robe and then retreated, resisting his attempts to invade her mind.
Asmortis' black beam jabbed at her throat but she managed to elude him again. She countered with a quick flurry of attacks that missed their target but distracted the creature long enough for her to maneuver out of his way.
The air sparked with electricity and then became hazy with green clouds of poison.
Shira skirted the Force attacks and concentrated her own powers into a wave that seemed to melt the floor beneath the Sith lord's feet.
Asmortis stumbled backwards, his lightsaber thrashing wildly. The beam swooshed over Shira's head and she felt the heat brush against her shoulder.
She lunged at Asmortis and stabbed him in his flabby stomach. The 'saber sank into his soft, sickly flesh.
"You die," she whispered. "You die."
She twisted the blade into his belly.
The monster laughed and pulled it in, deep, deeper, pulling Shira along with it. He gnashed his teeth and writhed with delight, his long white tongue lolling out from between needle teeth.
You cannot kill me. Fool. My body is your grave. It hungers, hungers.
He knocked her backwards, tossing her towards the far wall. Her body slid over the smooth tiles and the silver chain Atton had given her slipped out of the pocket of her robe.
Her hand inched forward and closed around the chain, the metal coils cool upon her fingertips. Darkness closed in and she lay still, sprawled out on the floor like a broken doll.
Atton's dark eyes scanned the navigational panel, taking note of the hyperspace co-ordinates. According to Konrad's star map, he was flying into a system known only as the Redoubt, an appropriately cryptic name for a mysterious edge of the galaxy. The place was basically a factory for stars, dominated by a massive nebula and its eerie red-orange pillars of cloud. Outside The Direstar's paneled windows, the view was spectacular. Newborn stars twinkled like jewels between the nebula's towering columns, illuminating ghostly streamers of hydrogen gas that rippled away from the swirls of interstellar dust.
Atton had never felt so grateful to be alive, so dazzled and so suddenly free. A smile kept creeping across his lips and it wasn't until the sides of his mouth began to ache that he realized it was there. The force bond remained, but he'd cut the very last of the bonds tying him to his worst self. Jaq was gone, gone for good, and all at once, the galaxy seemed rife with possibility.
He'd just steered the ship past a binary star when visions began to flash through his mind, freeze-frame images like some holo-vid slideshow. They were glimpses of a stolen past, a year spent in a white-washed house on Alderaan. It had been the quietest time he could remember, but for once, that had been a good thing. Everyday, he'd woken up to her face, as certain as the sunrise. He caught a quick glimpse of her sleepy smile, the tendrils of dark hair that fell over her cheek and along her neck. He saw the river and the paths they walked, feeling her hand linger on his back. The forest around them was speckled with afternoon light, the leaves as green as her eyes.
The streets of Aldera came to him in all their familiar bustle, outdoor cafes where the tourists sat and played lazy games of pazaak. He'd passed the best night of his life in that city, stone-cold sober. Without a doubt, it was the summer night when she'd coaxed him into dancing with her at the Lantern Festival along the pier.
He saw it again, as though it was still happening, as if it was always happening somewhere, and time was not a line, but a perfect circle, a silver chain clasped around her neck.
Shira gave him a shy smile, her pale skin radiant under the lantern light. "So, do you know how to dance?"
"Nah," he said. "I don't do that. Let's just relax and listen the band – they're alright."
She laughed and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the tiled floor where dozens of couples were already dancing. "Come on, tough guy. You'll thank me later."
"Alright, but I'm warning you, my hands will be straying."
He didn't know how to dance, but the next number was slow, so he just held on to her and shuffled his feet a little bit.
Her arms laced around his neck and her slender body seemed to melt into his as she clung to him. He could feel her relaxing into his chest with a soft sigh, the dark curtain of her hair hanging over his shoulder.
She leaned back and smiled up at him. "This isn't so bad, is it?"
"No, not bad at all," he said, giving her butt a quick squeeze.
"Son of a twitch!" she laughed and swatted at his hands. "You can't be romantic for one minute, can you?"
He grinned. "Romantic? Force, why didn't you say so before? Here I am, pretending to be some kind of charming scoundrel because I figured you liked it. But, hey, I can do romantic. Some romance coming right up, sweetheart."
His arms went around her again, pressing her close. They swayed to the music, the crowd milling around them, the stars glimmering down through a murky sky.
Her cheek nuzzled against his neck and then rested upon his shoulder. "You should be careful, Atton," she whispered. "I think you might be falling in love with me."
"Maybe," he said. "And if I did?"
She kissed him, a quick peck that landed in the indentation between his bottom lip and his chin."I guess I'd just have to learn to tolerate it. I'm sure I'd get used to it after a while."
"Oh, yeah? Get used to it, huh?" He grabbed her hand and twirled her around, then pulled her back in and kissed her hard on the mouth. "If you're going to kiss me, let's do it right."
She laughed again. "I'm starting to think you like dancing."
"I'm learning to tolerate it," he teased. "I'll get used to it after a while."
She laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"This is good," she murmured. "You. Me. All of this."
They kept dancing even as the songs changed, even as the crowd subsided, and the night flooded in upon them like dark water.
Atton's fingers jabbed at the navigational panel, kicking The Direstar into high-gear. The ship rattled in protest then sped forward, plunging deeper into the Redoubt. He knew something was wrong. The visions of their shared past had come through the force bond as a cry for help. He knew that time wasn't on his side, but somehow, he hoped that she would wait for him, that she would know he was on his way.
Revan stumbled to his feet. His vision was still blurred, but he could focus well enough to make out Asmortis' sluggish body, the black expanse of his robe, the roll of fat between the back of his bald head and his doughy neck.
He aimed his lightsaber for that spot, but before the beam could hit its mark, Asmortis spun around, hissing, and parried the attack.
Your friend. She is dying. Very frail now. Easy to cut through soft skin like that.
Revan ducked Asmortis' black 'saber, feeling the weapon's heat pulse against his face and singe the bristles of his beard. He maneuvered to the side, slashing through the monster's shoulder with his beam.
The hit would have felled another fighter, but the Sith lord treated it as a glancing blow. Even the hole burned through his stomach, a parting gift from Shira's lightsaber, did not seem to faze him or slow down his attacks.
Asmortis was an ugly schutta, half man and half maggot. His mouth was an open sore and his fat hands were tipped with long, blue-black nails. He fought well with a 'saber, but he seemed to draw his real strength from an almost primal connection with the dark side. The dark side seemed to wear Asmortis' flesh like a hideous robe, to channel itself through his every movement. At moments, Revan imagined that he was facing the dark side itself, staring down unfathomable evil through those hollow black eyes.
Retreating behind the table, Revan held his lightsaber before him and prepared himself for the next offensive. His head was beginning to clear and the peril of his situation was becoming increasingly apparent to him.
"So, how many times do we have to kill you before you die?" he demanded.
I am a grave. I do not die. I will eat your death. I will consume your flesh. There is no escape for you but through me.
Asmortis grinned. As his mouth opened, a thick cloud of insects swarmed out, buzzing towards Revan. They stung his skin, twitching their sticky legs against his ears, his cheeks, his eyelids, clouding around his body in a frantic black spiral.
Revan raised his hand in the air and hundreds of dead insects dropped to the ground. With another flick of his fingers, he sent a gust of plague sweeping towards Asmortis.
It only seemed to amuse the Sith lord. The creature laughed, his chalky face contorting with glee.
No disease can touch me. Every poison, I drink. Each cup makes me stronger. Surrender and I will kill you quick. Little pain will you feel. If you persist in struggling, I will flay you. Eat your body while you still live.
"I'm still planning to see you dead," Revan answered. "I will make you pay for what you did to those Chiss, for what you did to Shira."
Very well. Choose to suffer. For you, there is no victory.
Asmortis leaped up on to the table, slashing his 'saber at Revan. The black beam danced dangerously close to Revan's collarbone, close enough to slice a stripe of cloth from his robe.
The Sith lord laughed, his arm arcing back to swing the blade again.
Revan seized his chance, knowing full well it would be his last. He thrust his lightsaber upward, into the maw of the monster. The beam plunged into Asmortis' mouth and exited through the back of his skull.
For a desperate moment, Revan stared up at Asmortis, transfixed, wondering if this final effort would be enough to destroy him.
The creature glowered down at him, his wicked black eyes brimming with silent loathing. In the depths of those eyes, Revan imagined he could see a dark grave staring back at him, refusing to let him forget that only legends, only the dead, could be immortal.
And then suddenly, the bulbous body began to spasm, the black eyes rolled back in their deep sockets and Revan was able to draw another breath.
It was done. After all these years of searching, he had vanquished the evil. It was over. He withdrew his lightsaber from Asmortis' mouth and the fat body tumbled to the floor, just a mealy sack of meat.
He switched off his lightsaber and walked over to Shira's body. She was still alive, but without help, she was not likely to stay that way. Kneeling over her, he inspected the long gash that ran down her chest, slicing between her breasts. It was a vicious wound, but amidst all the blood, it was hard to evaluate how deep it went, how much it would take to suture it together.
His Force reserves were drained, but he would give her whatever healing he could offer. If all else failed, he would not leave her body here to lie amongst the Sith. He would carry her back to the Ebon Hawk for one last voyage. In spite of her exile, she would have a proper funeral with all the ceremony that a Jedi deserved.
He brushed the hair back from her face and placed his palm against her cool, damp forehead. He would try to keep this faint flicker of life inside her.