Hoth, Part VIII
Her Lordship and I had the privilege of semi-private space in which to sleep. Since the storm was 'light' not 'short duration,' rest seemed wise…
…if it could be obtained.
The room was just like a closet: the small space was barely long enough for a tall person to stretch out full length and only a little wider than my outstretched arms. The bonus of these cramped conditions was that it was a small space to heat. With two bodies in it and the door closed… well. I still wanted my thermal suit, but didn't feel quite as cold as I'd begun to grow accustomed to feeling.
Eventually, Her Lordship's comm device chirruped. "Yes?" she demanded calmly. Since she didn't sit up or move, I could only assume she took the call as audio-only.
"M'lord, if I may?" Pierce asked.
"You may."
"Told you I'd start running the boys down." I propped myself up on my elbow, the better to listen. Pierce's grin was audible. "Finally got in touch with Tanido. Told him I'd like a chat, seeing I was on-planet. Wanted to know if you'd like to be tapped into the conversation. He'll be in rare form."
"No. I would like to see this fellow for myself."
"We'll be in the mess in a couple minutes."
"I'll catch you up." Her Lordship threw her bedclothes (or what passes for them out here) back, then hopped off the upper bunk.
"May I come, my lord?" I asked, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I wasn't tired enough not to mind the cold.
"Of course." Her Lordship rolled her shoulders, flexing and stretching muscles. "You should know beforehand that, as you correctly predicted, Pierce's connection to General Rakton has come up. I'm sharing this with you only because you are my apprentice and a discreet one at that."
I nodded, drumming my toes in my boots so as not to show any outward sign that the compliment pleased me. I love it when she shares secret things.
"Pierce had an objective he was drooling after during the war, a place on Corellia. Apparently it's symbolic as well as strategic. Rakton wants Pierce's unit to pick up where they left off—the sooner, the better. He's to reassemble his Black Ops unit, with my permission, in order to take the Bastion. Naturally, I've given him permission and my blessing."
"And he's found his man here?"
"I found Quinn on Balmorra. Sometimes things do end up where they shouldn't be."
Her Lordship led us to the mess, which was quite full. Several other Sith, looking as grumpy as many of the soldiers, peppered the ranks. Some of them were easier to spot than others. Some were more obviously Sith than others, but not in looks. Like Her Lordship, it was in the way they carried themselves, the aura around them.
Since Her Lordship and I were dressed in the fairly-standard white, we blended in better than usual.
"—and then he had me forcibly removed from the armory," an officer with a nasal voice was saying to Pierce, looking thoroughly disgusted. "And over a few flash grenades." He sniffed, which caused his tiny mustache to wiggle.
Gross.
"Weapons' master indeed," the officer ended morosely.
Pierce laughed, the sound ringing through the mess, strange and solitary. I'm glad someone's having a good time around here. When he spoke however, it was much quieter than his laugh. "And after you calibrated the assault rifles for him, too. Shame about those cadets, though." Pierce shook his head in a kind of pity-limned amusement.
Her Lordship arrived, drew up a chair at the next table and sat down. She flicked her eyes to me, indicating I should take the spot opposite to her. We were close enough to eavesdrop but not close enough to disrupt the conversation.
"Yes, that was unfortunate," Tanido answered sulkily, his expression twisting. He was handsome, I decided, with the oval face and hard planes I was coming to associate with Imperial men. Like the Captain, he wore his hair pushed away from his face—that mustache though… ew. "How was I to know those rifles were for training? They really should use slaves."
I glanced at Her Lordship, whose expression was perfectly neutral. It sounds like a waste to me. Slavery is one thing in the Empire I doubt I'll ever be truly comfortable with. Hearing this crap from Tanido makes me sure of it. Maybe we ought to use him for target practice…?
"So, that's how I ended up on Hoth, scraping icefrom blaster barrels and reheating ammunition. Pathetic…" Disgusted, Tanido set his caf down, rather too hard. It spilled over his fingers, causing him to hiss and shake his hand. "Damnation!"
I decided that Tanido was not to my taste in any way, shape, or form. Such a sulky little womp rat.
And that mustache. Ugh.
Her Lordship chuckled, turning in her chair, leaning one arm casually on the back as she crossed her knees. "On Korriban, we incorporate certain officers into our training regimens," she noted pleasantly, but with a hint of malice. She's not big on waste.
Tanido turned pale and jumped to his feet in order to bow politely as Pierce disappeared behind his own cup of caf. "Then again, Hoth has its charms. The ice crystals form some marvelous patterns!" Tanido almost squeaked.
Her Lordship nodded that it was good for him to recognize it.
I, for my part, couldn't help giggling.
Which begs the question, how did Lanklyn not end up there? On Korriban, that is. Maybe Baras felt it was wasteful.
"May I introduce Her Lordship, Sith Lord Balanchine-Renault." Although phrased as a question, it didn't sound that way. "And her apprentice."
Her Lordship indicated Tanido, whose quick motion caught more than one person's attention, should sit back down.
Tanido shifted in his chair once he sat down, casting surreptitious looks at Her Lordship.
"Think you better start tinkering again," Pierce murmured as conversation around us swung back to its previous pitch. He leaned on the table, and Tanido leaned in as well, interest peaked. "Get that weapon you built for the Bastion out of storage."
Tanido glanced from Pierce to Her Lordship and back, putting the pieces together. "You know very well that that weapon is complete. Complete and waiting for the assault that will never come." But there was a question in the words as he glanced between Pierce and Her Lordship again.
"Change of plans," Her Lordship said, a grimly enthusiastic smile contorting her features.
Pierce grinned. "Meet your new patroness, Tanido. Black Ops is back in business—clearance from Rakton and everything. The Bastion's all ours."
"If you can take it," Her Lordship noted idly.
Pierce wasn't one to walk away from a challenge, which was why he grinned at her. "No worries, m'lord."
During this exchange, Tanido's eyes widened, then his mouth dropped open. For a moment he couldn't seem to believe what he was hearing. Then he suddenly packed it all in. "With your permission, my lord—"
"Granted."
Tanido got to his feet, bowed and hurried out. "When I have the weapon, Pierce, I'll contact you. My lord, my lord." He was so eagerly agitated, despite trying not to show it, that he looked like a man scuttling for the refresher before disaster struck.
It took so much effort not to laugh.
"As you can see, Tanido's not big on wasting time," Pierce observed. "He'll have his kit ready to go quick as a mynock's wings." He gave a huff of amusement, drained his caf, then set the cup on the table. "Good thing, too. Let him idle any longer and there'll be some real damage."
I expected Her Lordship to criticize this lack of control, but she didn't. "Hopefully being busy will keep him out of trouble. Or from making more."
"He's just dedicated. Bit haphazard, but dedicated," Pierce responded complacently. "You'll see."
Hoth, Part IX
In spite of the cold, in spite of the dryness of the air, I was sweating. My toes in my boots were clammy and colder than ever, while my fingers slipped around in my gloves. The anger and frustration at being so uncomfortable on this miserable ice-ball were useful… but it was hard to keep them focused, to not simply let them radiate off, undirected, the way I would have before Her Lordship started training me.
Talz (as well as parts of them) lay scattered about as Her Lordship and I continued carving our way through Xerender's last known coordinates. Given the number, it seemed we'd hit the main bulk of the clan's fighters. This was it, the last push.
Unsurprisingly by this point, the coordinates led us to the Starship Graveyard. Given the circumstances around Master Wyellett, I'd known for ages that we'd end up here.
I wasn't prepared for the actuality of the graveyard. Massive, and I mean dreadnought massive, ships lay in pieces ranging from sheared off plates to giant superstructures, all coated in ice, cushioned by drifted snow. It was a strange parody of a city, glittering in the bright sunlight and it went on as far as I could see in any direction except the one from which we'd come.
You could probably walk days and not come to the other edge of the debris field.
The presence of salvagers left traces, too: in spite of us being here so close to the tail-end of the last storm, there were footprints everywhere in the glittering, powdery snow. Bits and pieces of salvage lay tossed aside as if their value proved too dubious for the salvagers to want to carry them.
And, of course, Talz. They'd begun getting in our way as we approached the coordinates we got from the Captain. Fortunately, even though they had natural camouflage, a Sith who took a moment could sense them; stripped of their ability to blend in, they died like anyone or anything else.
Although very general, finding the place we wanted wasn't that hard: just look for where the Talz congregated. It wouldn't make sense for Xerender, knowing he was hunted, not to leave a rearguard. So far, it looked like this plan to find Xerender and Wyellett seemed to be working.
We hadn't seen hide nor hair of Broonmark, but I figured he couldn't be too far off. It made me nervous, but each time I quested out to try to catch a sign of hostile intent, or a presence where there shouldn't be one, I found nothing.
"We're getting… close…" Her Lordship's words trailed off as we found ourselves in along room, empty but for one Talz.
I caught it, a faint shift in the Force. Apparently Broonmark made it to the party after all. Within seconds, I could feel the hostility, the virulent hatred for the Talz at the end of the room. That particular Talz paced before the door with the air of someone not inclined to give up his position.
That meant Xerender and Wyellett lay beyond.
"Watch yourself," I murmured to Pierce, "we're not alone."
"Him again?" Pierce asked in a disgusted undertone before dissolving into irritable insults about Broonmark.
"Sith-clan conquer all our Talz." Meaning this one is likely Fetzellen, which really explains Broonmark, which means I need to keep my attention tuned—for my safety as much as because it's my job to back Her Lordship as best I'm able. "Fetzellen commands this clan. Fetzellen is strongest."
"Your failure to put that strength to good use leaves you with no clan at all. Being strongest is hardly something to be proud of at this point," Her Lordship answered cuttingly.
The Talz bobbed its helmeted head in a way that had meaning… to another Talz. "We swear our lives to Jedi Xerender. We protect him as one."
"What a convenient justification."
I agreed wholly. It's a nice thing to say when you're the last sapient standing. I'm sure the Talz we've cut through so far would disagree. Why break themselves upon the rock that is Her Lordship when there's no hope of winning? And for what? A Jedi who can't bring himself to stand with them? Who throws them so uselessly at us?
Xerender may give me pause, but I find him disgusting. Her Lordship, even I, would take out the threat before letting it corner us. Then the search could be made with watchfulness, but without certain knowledge of a potent enemy left living.
These Jedi. So wasteful. The more I see, the more I wonder how their Order survived so long. They make me sick. I had to unclench my teeth at risk of starting to grind them.
"Sith-clan must not pass."
"I'm but one of your worries, Fetzellen. You're not deceiving anyone else, Broonmark." And, for effect, Her Lordship pointed one lightsaber at the apparently empty air.
With a whine I could only describe as disappointment, Broonmark deactivated his stealth generator.
Pierce flinched, pointed his rifle, but did nothing more. He might have opened fire had I not warned him about Broonmark earlier. Pierce is very much a 'shoot first, questions later' sort. Especially when it comes to an unstable element like Broonmark.
Fetzellen bristled. He and Broonmark broke into such a flurry of Talzzi that my ability to follow the conversation seemed to… ripple. If the conversation was water, then someone dropped a stone into it, leaving me only a vague idea here and there. The best I could make out was hostility and trash talk.
Abruptly, Fetzellen drew his vibroblade.
Broonmark, however, hastily appealed to Her Lordship—wise, on the whole. "Sith-clan! This is the clan-betrayer Fetzellen. Our clan must be clean!"
"There's not much of a clan left, as you very well know."
"Broonmark is left," Broonmark insisted.
I saw what she was doing: using Fetzellen and Broonmark's being the last of his clan to levy the Talz's long-term cooperation. From what I understand, Talz don't do well in the singular; they like having 'clans', either fellow Talz or some other group. It's part of the reason they refer to themselves in the plural.
She's already proved she's stronger than he is, and effortlessly at that. The burns she'd inflicted earlier had been clumsily dressed with a greenish-brown paste, the contents of which I didn't begin to question. You don't see much brown or green on Hoth.
We could use a mindless killer like Broonmark, particularly since he'll remain at heel. He won't find a better place to try quenching his bloodlust than with a Sith. He knows this. He also knows that one wrong move and he's dead.
Fetzellen began to shift sideways; I matched him step for step until he realized that there was no flanking my master and Broonmark, nor any chance of running for safety or for Xerender. He was quite trapped.
"Sith-clan is superior. Give us Fetzellen and we pledge ourselves to your clan—fight for you. Kill for you. Until we are dead," Broonmark offered. To his credit, he didn't sound like he was trying to wheedle the kill from Her Lordship. She could flatten Fetzellen easily enough, but it would be a waste of energy for her to do it. On the other hand, Fetzellen meant something to Broonmark. Therefore, Her Lordship was the gainer by this exchange: she saved her strength, had an obstacle removed without effort on her part, and gained Broonmark's services. Even if she decided she wasn't interested in the latter, she still didn't need to lift a finger to have her way cleared.
"What do you think, Jaesa? I have my own opinions, but I'm curious to hear yours." Again, her voice had the ring of 'Are you attending? Are you learning?'
I didn't abandon my spot covering Fetzellen. "Let the creature have his revenge. We should see what we're getting before we say yes or no. If he pleases you, we could always use another bloodthirsty killer."
The Captain and Vette would probably disagree. I think Pierce disagreed too, but he'd never say anything. He hasn't mastered the art of demure interjections.
"You mirror my opinion of the matter. Make it quick, Broonmark. My own prey awaits." And, to show she really meant it, she turned off her lightsabers—though she didn't clip them to her belt.
It was a quick fight, if only because Her Lordship was in a hurry. If she hadn't been, I'm sure Broonmark would have taken his time to break Fetzellen down before administering the coup de grace, the better to highlight what Her Lordship was getting. In this case, I think he made it as quick as possible in order to show he could follow orders in spite of what he wanted.
Regardless, the brute didn't even draw his sword: he simply charged, looped Fetzellen and raked the other Talz across the chest with his claws. The blow connected solidly, but a Talz's fur is thick. Not quite natural armor, but it's made to insulate from the cold; it's not something to be disarranged casually. The blow, as it turned out, was simply to distract and stun, for the tussle that followed ended in Broonmark (with a high-pitched scream) finally yanking Fetzellen's helmet free and flinging it away.
If Broonmark had had teeth I might have expected him to use them.
Within moments Fetzellen's sword lay halfway across the room, the two Talz rolling around, locked in combat. Bloody streaks appeared on the ground, blossoms of color matting the fighters' fur. The superiority was with Broonmark. He finally rose from Fetzellen's corpse, liberally smeared in blood—some of it his own—and stepped away.
To my surprise, he got down on his knees, warbling at the body, "We are cleansed." For a moment longer he remained there, then got up, brushing claws through his matted fur and setting himself to rights before speaking to Her Lordship. "Our vendetta is met—we are your clan. We are yours to command."
"Excellent." Her Lordship cast me a sidelong look and nodded.
"Fight alongside me, Monster. No enemy shall stand against us," I declared.
To my dismay, Broonmark laughed. "Sith-young will stand alone, one day." The words were indulgent, reassuring, promissory even… and utterly inappropriate.
My mouth dropped open incredulously as Pierce tried not to laugh—more at my expression than anything. I'm not entirely certain his translator handled Talzzi.
Even Her Lordship seemed amused by this, but the look she shot me indicated expectation that Broonmark's opinion on this matter would soon change. "Pierce, you will remain here. I don't trust this icy world not to play us a trick or two. Guard our backs," Her Lordship commanded.
"Yes, m'lord," Pierce nodded, stifling his amusement.
"I mean it, Pierce," Her Lordship reiterated. "Stay here until Jaesa and I return. Call for help if anything goes wrong."
Pierce nodded again, amusement abruptly drained by this reiteration of her orders. She almost never reinforces them like that.
I never thought of Hoth as an enemy in and of itself, but maybe I should have been thinking that way. Sith do not beg for rescue, but a prudent person—Sith or otherwise—knows when to plan an 'in case of emergency' extraction.
The return to business hit me like cold water. Many of these ships, when they crashed, flash-melted the snowy terrain, their own hot metal warping, twisting, deforming. Does metal disintegrate on impacts like the ones these ships suffered? Anyway, the ships we'd passed through seemed half ship and half cavern. Maybe the caverns just grew on the ships' frameworks, like rock candy on its stick.
I glanced overhead. The ceiling didn't look like a ship; it looked like an ice cave… and if I thought Xerender looked a little tough, I could only imagine what Wyellett might be like. I mean, he's been here, in suspension, for… I don't know how long. That speaks of strength.
I reached out, found Xerender easily, but no sign of Master Wyellett. Maybe he wasn't awake yet. Maybe he was actually dead. Who can say?
"Jaesa, Broonmark. We've an appointment."
I hurried to Her Lordship's shoulder, and Broonmark trudged behind us, his big feet going crunch-crunch in the snow.
Hoth, Part X
I couldn't quite fathom it. Master Wyellett was awake, but I couldn't feel him in the Force. That simply wasn't possible—he was alive, he was conscious… but he just wasn't there. My guts began to squirm uneasily.
"Hold back unless called for," Her Lordship said, motioning Broonmark to wait inside the doorway.
The room in which we found ourselves didn't resemble anything like a starship: it was simply a massive cavern of ice. A hole in the wall showed where Xerender had melted Wyellett out. On a thermal sheet to keep them out of the snow, Xerender knelt beside his former master, trying to help him into a thermal jacket.
The old man seemed utterly enfeebled, dazed and not quite certain of things. But he was talking to Xerender, seemed to be reassuring the younger man.
Her Lordship's breath caught, then exhaled slowly in a long coil of steam. "Ah." It was the 'ah' of someone who finally understood something and who was genuinely impressed… perhaps even a little awed.
If it can awe Her Lordship it must be something, but I couldn't piece together what it was. Except that there was nothing in the Force to indicate Master Wyellett's existence. Even droids make little ripples in the Force, not like living people, but they are perceptible.
Suddenly the old Jedi stiffened and Xerender's head shot up. His eyes narrowed as he eased his master to the ground before getting to his feet. "Baras' lapdog." He flicked his lightsaber out.
"I can see why Baras was so interested in you, Master Wyellett," Her Lordship said quietly, without a shred of disdain or haughtiness. She sounded… not reverent, but she actually paid the old Jedi a shallow bow, as if he was worthy of her respect, regardless of which Order he served.
The idea floored me.
"Jaes—ah." I looked over at her to find her looking surprised, as if she expected me to know something only to discover I didn't. "Figure it out while I manage Xerender."
I scowled as she ignited her lightsabers. I've missed something and it's something that should be obvious. Unease coiled in my belly as I watched Her Lordship and Xerender take positions. I didn't miss that she seemed not to want to get too close to Master Wyellett.
Why? What's he done but sit there (half-lying there, now)? He hasn't uttered one syllable to her. He hasn't given her any display of strength. Nothing. He simply is…
Oh. Oh. That's it. He simply is. I can't feel him through the Force not because he isn't there but because he's all here. He's… immense, the epicenter of a giant bubble in the seascape of my perceptions. I didn't feel him because I'd already crossed the threshold for recognizing him as a presence, like falling through a gas giant: the pressure starts as nothing but gets stronger over time until its finally crushing. I looked at him, reached out through my gift now that I knew what I was looking for—
I hissed and took three steps back. White lights popped before my eyes, my ears filled with static. My knees buckled under me sending me to the ground in an ungainly sprawl. I understood what captured Her Lordship's respect: Sith respect power before all things; Master Wyellett didn't just have power, he was power. It was as if the Force had begun threading through him to incorporate him directly into itself, not as something that fed it, or helped it grow but as if it was bringing a severed part of itself back into the whole.
Oh… we're going to have to kill him quickly. He could flatten any member of the Dark Council—several at once, maybe—if he wanted to, I'm sure of it! Fear and awe warred in my belly, so much so that the fight between Her Lordship and Xerender disappeared as I regarded the withered figure the Force seemed to use as a hand puppet.
Years he's been here, suspended, meditating and for years the Force has sustained him. He gives himself up and it takes what is given, giving back what is needed in exchange. I didn't… I didn't know such things were possible. It's a strength, a… something… that transcends the boundaries of Jedi and Sith. Light and Dark no longer apply to Wyellett. Like the Force, he simply is.
If any Jedi deserved the title 'Master,' then Master Wyellett was that Jedi.
Still… the idea of killing him seemed a sad thing. To destroy a living treasure? It's absolutely necessary, he'll only share what he knows with his Jedi cohorts, but… still… if I had my way, if I could be sure that knowledge of his location could die with Xerender… I would find a way to put him back in his icy tomb, safe, protected from the galaxy and its corrupting influences—Sith or Jedi. Either Order, either philosophy, would only sully what he's become. That would be more of a crime than killing him.
"Wait." Although Master Wyellett's voice was physically feeble, it rumbled like thunder, or like a charging bantha through a small corridor. All power, it rocked against my senses.
Her Lordship had Xerender on the ground, stunned and vulnerable, but Master Wyellett's word stopped the killing blow in an instant. There was no compulsion in the word. There was no threat. But she stopped, all the same, movement arrested as though she'd been flash-frozen. She straightened, stepped back and turned to face Master Wyellett, who had regained his feet.
I'd never seen Her Lordship give ground, but when Master Wyellett took a step towards her, she stepped back as though menaced. She shivered from head to foot and, for once, her façade of total calm, of utter control, was peeled back.
She doubted.
She feared.
"Had my strength returned before this moment, I would have counseled Xerender not to challenge you," Master Wyellett said, the rolling sonorous reinforcement through the Force quieting.
Overhead came an unpleasant sound, that of ice cracking. Shards and flakes of ice drifted down.
Uh-oh.
Master Wyellett looked up. "Your fight has made this chamber unstable," he observed. He didn't sound in the least bit concerned. "If I am any judge of such things, it nears an inevitable collapse. You would be wise to leave."
"I can't," she answered mechanically, as if the words were squeezed out of her. Her next motion was jerky, unrefined, a brute-force manipulation of the Force that snapped Xerender's neck before she sent him flying across the room. She backed up two steps more as if ready for Master Wyellett to retaliate.
Master Wyellett bowed his head, eyes half-closed. "I had forgotten how Sith fear," he said softly. Pain and remorse filled the air like the smell of autumn on a clear day.
It left even my eyes prickling. Goodness knows I felt it, the powerful crushing sense of losspressing me down into the ground. It was one reason I hadn't bothered even attempting to get to my feet. It pulsed in my blood. It pattered in my heart. I wanted to squeeze my eyes closed and cover my ears.
"You serve Darth Baras, do you not?"
"Yes, Master Wyellett." Her Lordship's tone was perfectly polite, deferential even.
Wow. Then again, if I'm back here feeling crushed, she's standing right in the brunt of it. It said something about her that she could actually stand there, speak coherently, and retain her grip on her lightsaber.
The Jedi—or whatever he was now—studied her as more of the ice above began to creak. "So much potential," Master Wyellett shook his head. "A criminal waste." With that, he sauntered over to the nearest icy outcropping and sat down.
To my surprise, he didn't drag philosophy into it, didn't whine about her being Sith or the Dark Side, or give her platitudes about the strength of the Light or the Jedi. He simply recognized that which existed, and recognized it in terms of its purest form.
"Your purpose is plain: Darth Baras wishes me dead. But you're here and he isn't. Your efforts to neutralize me are unnecessary."
"Oh?" but the word lacked its usual degree of arch superiority. It looked like we shared an idea: it would be better, if we could be sure it would last, to stuff Master Wyellett back into his icy tomb. That a pair of Sith should feel such a thing was telling.
Master Wyellett looked past Her Lordship and held out a hand, twitching his fingers at me. "Come, child. Your master brought you here to educate you, did she not? Some come, be educated."
Her Lordship flicked a wrist, the gesture imperious and reinforced through our bond: come here and be as civil as you know how.
It was weird, as I pushed myself out of the snow, to know that the cave's stability was beginning to fail, but that we three Force-users didn't seem to be giving it the usual attention such a thing would warrant. I reached Her Lordship's side and bowed politely. "Master."
Master Wyellett chuckled indulgently, which made me uncomfortable. I'd expected his presence to be suffocating up close, but it wasn't any worse than it had been back where I'd knelt in the snow.
"Yes, unnecessary," Master Wyellett repeated, bring the conversation back on track. "I have no interest in continuing the fight against the Empire, or even the Sith. Buried here all this time, I have communed with the Force to the exclusion of all else. It moved through me, negating hunger, cold, fear. And as it moved through me, so I moved through it, learning its depths and heights, beginning to understand its greatest mysteries."
"Beginning?" Her Lordship asked.
"Your apprentice knows the answer," Master Wyellett answered indulgently, motioning with a gnarled finger. "Go on, young lady."
"The Jedi say a true master admits that he knows nothing," I responded.
Master Wyellett nodded approvingly. "Considering the depth and breadth of the Force, it surprises me more Sith haven't come to that conclusion. Or perhaps they have and simply do not require saying so." There was no derision, no scorn. The Sith were what they were, for better or for worse. "Sith, Jedi," he murmured. "All such delineations seem so petty in the face of the Force itself. But all things balance and one cannot exist without the other without risking greater woes." Master Wyellett got up again, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "I suspect I could defeat you and your apprentice quite handily. Even with your creature lurking about."
I'd forgotten Broonmark who, it seemed, engaged his stealth generator at some point and was now lurking as accused. I did notice, however, the imprint of Talz feet behind him, betraying his position.
"Return to your master, young Sith. Tell him I've been neutralized. I shall remain here for the rest of my days, communing with the Force, continuing my transcendence."
I bit my lip, glanced over at Her Lordship. She still looked unnerved, her expression strangely unguarded, but her grip on her lightsaber tightened fractionally.
Master Wyellett's eyes flicked to the tiny motion. "I shall either vanquish you, or the cavern will collapse. I shall return to my meditations but you… you're not there quite yet."
"You called out to Xerender. You brought him here to free you. I cannot take the risk of a similar occurrence in future," Her Lordship answered stiffly. "I'm sorry, Master Wyellett, but I must decline." She sounded genuinely upset by the answer she felt compelled to give… and uncertain she could back up her decision.
I expected Master Wyellett to compel her to leave; he could certainly do it. He didn't, however. He sighed, raised a hand, and Xerender's lightsaber flew into it. "I am sorry as well."
To my shock, he made the first move. Opening hostilities is something Jedi rarely do. In fact, not only did he open hostilities, he nearly took her main hand off at the wrist. The block she used to stop him was clumsy, as was the hasty retreat to put distance between them again.
It was only after the third or fourth time Master Wyellett endeavored to put himself in Her Lordship's blind spot, forcing her to spin and turn on his terms instead of on her own that I realized I wasn't helping.
I leapt in only to find myself pushed gently back, just enough to make my swing fall short by a foot or so. A split-second later I had to jump back or risk tangling up Her Lordship. I staggered back, pulling the Force around me, thick folds of sweet invisibility.
Her Lordship yelped as Master Wyellett lifted a hand. She flew through the air and collided painfully with me, the both of us landing in a tangle of limbs. Both of us screamed as Master Wyellett threw Broonmark on top of the heap.
Her Lordship used the Force to push Broonmark off her and was on her feet before he landed. I, too, struggled to mine. This time, when Her Lordship went one way, I went the other.
Overhead, the cavern began to crack, rather than it previously ominous creaks. "It really is going to come down!" I yelped.
"You still have time to retreat," Master Wyellett answered, sounding quite calm, if a little winded. "You do not wish to kill me. I have no desire to kill you."
I gritted my teeth as Her Lordship hopped to a stop after another Force push repelled her. She was panting, sweat glazing her skin. Anger-smothering fear coiled around her in sickly tentacles, leaving me aware of how sick I felt. It was the feeling of actually doing something wrong, of knowing it, but of carrying on anyway.
Broonmark succeeded in slipping up behind Master Wyellett, but before the Talz could finish the trill before his deathblow, Master Wyellett gestured with one hand and sent the Talz slamming bodily into the wall. I didn't cry out for him, since I didn't feel the pop that signaled a death, but it was obvious Broonmark wasn't getting back up for this fight.
Chunks of ice began to fall, stalactites shattering on the ground.
Her Lordship took a knee with a snarl of rage and fear.
Master Wyellett looked up as the ceiling began to groan and crack under the pull of something other than gravity.
I leapt forward with a scream.
Master Wyellett looped me, and I screamed again, this time from pain. His lightsaber didn't cleave into me, but it connected solidly against my back, burning through my thermal suit.
Then Master Wyellett gasped.
Looking up from my belly-down position, I saw him standing there, transfixed, Her Lordship's lightsaber sticking through his middle.
Her Lordship yelped as if she'd been the one to take the blow. The blade vanished, letting Master Wyellett sink to the ground.
Her Lordship dropped her weapons. Both weapons slipped from limp fingers as she staggered back, looking horrified at what she'd done, shocked that she'd actually succeeded.
"Why!?" she screamed, the sound clawing out of her throat. "By the Emperor, why?!"
"You… had a choice…" Master Wyellett said softly. "And now you know."
He didn't make a move to repair the damage, which it looked fatal.
"Know?" she looked truly lost.
When Wyelette spoke, his voice seemed to come more through the force than from his mouth. "What all your peers know: what it is to be crushed between your master's will and your own preferences. And what it feels like when the former wins in spite of the latter."
It never occurred to me that Her Lordship had never found herself compromised like that, never found herself caught between Baras' demands and something like genuine conscience. Sith apprentices all defer to their masters' wishes; that's just part of the way things are. It never occurred to me that it was something Her Lordship didn't share… until now.
It was an unpleasant lesson, especially for someone used to being above or insulated from such things. For all her power, for all her ability, Baras still has final say in what she does. For all her will, for all her ability to bring about and enforce the reality she wants, Baras' requirements still supersede hers. For the first time she felt, as all Sith apprentices do, under her master's boot.
What a pill to swallow.
"You could have stayed here," Her Lordship continued, agony in every word. "You could have stayed here, been safe…" Pain, the certainty that the galaxy was a diminished place because he chose to re-emerge now, throbbed around her like a festering wound, masking the bitter dregs of realizing even she still had a leash that could be yanked.
Master Wyellett really was dying; I could feel him slipping, the pressure he exerted easing by little degrees. The world blurred, but my tears weren't from pain and had nothing to do with Her Lordship's unpleasant revelations.
"You had… a choice," Master Wyellett repeated feebly. "There is no death." He raised a hand. "There is only the Force."
And with that, he pulled on the loosened ceiling, bringing it down on us.
Hoth, Part XI
[—what does that mean, 'peanut butter?']
It was dark and cold. Master Wyellett's passing left no punctured air bubble in the Force. He was too much a part of it; it was more like the Force had wrinkled, then tugged the wrinkle out.
The Force shall set us free. There is no death, only the Force.
The two ending lines of two very different philosophies echoed and reverberated in my head. Strangely… they didn't seem contradictory. More like… the two separate sets of bars in written music. They exist separately, but neither exists more truly than when presented together.
But there was more to it… it was like he was telling Her Lordship something… or challenging her… or… I don't know. My head feels so funny…
[Your guess's as good as mine. Didn't tell me anything, just said to stand by in case something went wrong. She wasn't wrong.]
[Her Lordship rarely is.]
Everything felt hazy. Strange. And not just because Master Wyellett was gone.
[Wait, wait! I know this one!]
I felt like I was limping out of a long, dark tunnel. My mind felt frozen, my body felt frozen. Something tugged me, but it was such a gentle tug and I didn't think it was enough to keep me going…
[Peanut butter, my lord! PEANUT BUTTER!]
I gasped, eyes flashing open. The world didn't make sense for several moments. White shapes towered above me, the beams of torches lancing the darkness, casting a chemical green light everywhere. My head fell to the right.
"Their vitals are spiking." A figure knelt by Her Lordship, who sat with her back against a domed wall of snow. Her breathing was slow, but picking up.
Her mouth moved, words inaudible except for soft sibilants.
"My lord?" the voice belonged to the Captain.
Just behind him was a figure I recognized as Vette, of all people. Which was odd, since she was supposed to be on the Astral Blight.
"I'll always wake up… for peanut butter," Her Lordship slurred. Then, in a very firm tone. "Peanut butter."
It was a compulsion that could not be disobeyed. I gasped again and sat up as full consciousness slammed into me, like waking suddenly from a bad dream or a heavy sleep.
Broonmark groaned as he began panting off to one side. The soft sounds indicated he'd pushed himself out of a prone position.
On three sides were domed walls of snow, which suggested Her Lordship had dragged Broonmark and me to her, then used the Force to keep the collapse from smothering us.
'There is no death—there is only the Force.' It was how Master Wyellett survived as long as he did. It was how Her Lordship could save us.
"Be mindful—Jaesa is wounded."
"Of course, my lord." The Captain moved over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me still.
All around us, Imperials in white milled about. Pierce was distinguishable by his bulk.
"This isn't terribly bad. A little kolto, a dermal patch, and we can get her back to base," the Captain reported.
"Good." Her Lordship got unsteadily to her feet.
I let the Captain help me to my feet, studying her as I did so. On the ground, peanut butter had been etched into the ice with a lightsaber, then smeared with blood to make the words show up more clearly.
It let me piece together what happened. The space was too small; we'd have suffocated before help arrived. So she put us, Broonmark and me, into a state of suspension tied to a wake-word. She'd then marked the wake-word where it couldn't be destroyed when they dug us out, then marked it again so it couldn't be missed. Even if the color didn't survive, a medscanner would pick up the traces. Once done, she put herself under, tied to the same wake-word.
There, in the dark, we waited. It wasn't like Master Wyellett's trance, but it saved our lives.
We were a very somber, silent party on the return journey. It was still more so once Her Lordship and I returned to the closet that served as our sleeping arrangements.
We'd destroyed a living treasure and nearly been killed. No one could call that a good day.
"Tomorrow," Her Lordship announced into the quiet, "We'll find Baras' lightsaber. Then be off this world as quickly as possible."
"Good. The sooner the better—I'm tired of being here." I didn't care how plaintive and petulant the words sounded.
I cried myself to sleep. Whatever threat he might have posed in the nebulous future, the galaxy was poorer for having lost Master Wyellett.