The moment he had first seen her in the street he had known that she was the reason for his being on Yesia. An unassuming woman, a slave, as he would learn later, gentle, compassionate and selfless. There was not a trace of evil in her heart, only generosity. And a desire to be loved, to give love and to share love. She seemed lonely in a way that only the heart can be lonely, and Alamys, the reader of emotions, saw that she, too, was searching for something, just as he was. And yet it was no happenstance that they found one another. Once he had made his choice, Alamys had taken control of their encounter, gently probing her mind for weaknesses, to find out which way he could play her. No one would suspect that this woman would be the major instrument in his own plans, his secret weapon. Ylesia was too far away, the woman herself too plain and inconspicuous, a slave, barely noticed.
And when she told him her name Alamys knew that it was indeed the Force that had led him here.
Her invitation, then, was no surprise, both due to fate and his own manipulation of her mind. When she withdrew from him again, her warm breath still lingering on his neck, he was smiling. Wordlessly he followed her to her own room, a tiny cubby-hole in the grand villa's wing reserved for servants and slaves. There was not much to be seen here, and he dismissed everything except for the woman who would be his saviour. Back on Tatooine he had come to a greater understanding of his own fate as well as that of the Jedi. He had realized that he would never get rid of the virus, that all he could do was to control it. But for how long? He could not take the risk of losing his mind before his life's work was done. Therefore, if the Force could be infected by darkness, he had reasoned, he needed to create a weapon that could not be infected. A remedy, or antidote.
For many hours Alamys had pondered the prophecy he had revealed to Darth Sidious, and in the end he had accepted the fact that he himself would be part of that prophecy. Had to be. Now, here on Ylesia, the last doubts had been burned away by this woman, and Alamys knew better than to stand in destiny's way. Shmi, her eyes bright with joy and excitement, was totally unabashed, burning with a longing that he found echoed somwhere deep inside. It frightened him, just a bit, but he had never been one to let fear rule him for long. And yet he had to swallow hard when she sat down on her narrow bed, the only place where one could sit in this room. Still feeling somewhat uncertain, he brushed his hand along Shmi's face, making her smile shyly at his touch. No, definitely no ordinary beauty.
And now? He closed his eyes briefly, trying to gain some strength for what he needed to do. His left arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her closer. He could feel her body tense, but he continued stroking her back gently, soothingly. There was nothing he needed to fear here. There was no one threatening him. And even though he was telling himself just that over and over again he had a hard time relaxing. Then, as if sensing his dilemma, Shmi snuggled up to him, her head cuddled against his chest. Eyes snapping open again, Alamys gazed down at her, saw her impish smile.
"Will you tell me a good-night story?" she asked, her smile broadening. And then, despite
himself, Alamys started to laugh.
"A good-night story?" he asked, once his mirth had subsided. Shmi was still looking up at him, seemingly taking no offense at his reaction.
"Yes, of course," she replied sturdily. "Or do you think I am grown out of this? Are you?"
He shook his head, suddenly thoughtful. "No. Not at all. And yes, I will tell you a story."
Alamys remembered sitting with his oldest sister, Amerie, himself barely three years old, a few weeks before she was going to get married. Night had fallen over their farm, and Alamar, the blue sun of Tyreena, had chased yellow Alvey from the sky, plunging eveything in a pale glow of winter nights. Amerie, beautiful long blonde curls falling almost down to her waist, had reached down to lift her youngest brother up and place him on her lap. "You know that you were named for that sun, don't you?" she had asked him. And Alamys had nodded slowly, trying to understand why she would doubt his knowledge. And then she had told him the story of Alamar and Alvey, a folk-tale as old as the first colonies of Tyreena. It was that tale that he told Shmi Skywalker on that special night on faraway Ylesia, and it went as follows.
Alamar the Golden stood tall upon a hillside, surveying the armies below as they tore into each other on that bloody battle-field, each seeking to destroy the other. It was not their first encounter, but it would be their last, the god upon the hillside knew. He had not been looking forward to that day, since he despised those mortals' desire to kill and maim one another. And still they prayed to him, asked for his grace, his protection, and he found himself compelled to care for them after all. But the Great King of Tyra had announced that the Golden God of his people had decreed a holy war to be waged on the savages of the plains.
Little did the Great King know that the savage tribes of the Inner Plains worshiped Alamar the Golden with greatest piety, that was equal to the faith of Tyra's believers. For Alamar the Golden was a generous god, who did not wish to deny a source of faith to anyone requesting it. He recognized that faith was what these mortals thrived on, and since he himself was immortal and everlasting, he could easily take the weight of that faith, and grant his glory to anyone who wanted to believe. But he was saddened by the Great King's decree, and so he decided to warn the savage tribes of the plains. It was on a winter night that he appeared to Alvey the Fierce, the leader of those tribes of the plains.
The god appeared to him mysteriously, a voice that was heard in his mind, an image that could not be grasped by his poor, mortal eyes. But Alvey the Fierce was not an easily frightened man, and his belief gave him strength. Lowering himself to his knees he bowed his head in recognition of Alamar the Golden, the Generous.
"What is thy wish, great god of mine?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper, so awed was he by the Great One's presence.
"No wish, dear child, a warning." And so the god told Alvey the Fierce that the Great King of Tyra had proclaimed a holy war to be waged against his people.
"In spring, then," Alvey the Fierce said firmly. "We will be prepared." But despite his determination, he still forced himself to raise his head and look at his god. "But why would you allow this to come about, Great One?" he asked timidly, feeling a little bit betrayed after all.
And Alamar the Golden, the Generous, spoke: "Judge I am not of your belief, my child. Understand you must that I am the well of faith, that can give and take only what those who believe in me are willing to give and take."
"But the Great King of Tyra believes he must slay us to give you more, so he can take more in return!" Alvey protested then. "This is injust!"
The god nodded sagely, and sadly. "It is so, my child. But I am not your judge, and I am not a saviour. But I will protect you still, if you can still trust your faith in me."
Alvey the Fierce let out a breath of relief and said: "That is all I ask, Great One. Your generosity is, as always, boundless." And so he kept believing, trusting his faith into the Great One's caring hands.
Spring came, and Tyra's grand armies marched across the land on their holy crusade. Alvey the Fierce had prepared his warriors thoroughly, and they stood ready to face the oncoming troops in their shining armour. They all gathered that first day of battle to pray to the god, to assure him of their faith, and they truly did believe, and trust. But when they met the enemy Alvey the Fierce at once saw that the Great King of Tyra had split his forces. Sensing the worst, Alvey sent scouts to the villages of his people. None of the scouts returned before the battle began, though.
It was a fierce battle, and there was no winner that day. Both armies were evenly matched, and so both retreated, to rest and ponder new ways to destroy the enemy. Again Alvey sent a scout to bring news from their villages. He sent his most trusted man, his best friend, and waited anxiously for news. Three more days of battle passed, before the scout's two-legged woundhi came into camp, carrying a gravely wounded rider. "No survivors," the warrior breathed as he slid to the ground, his body covered in blood. Alvey the Fierce sank down with him, his face very pale. "What did you say?" he asked, disbelieving, but there was no answer as his best friend died in his arms.
It was then that Alvey the Fierce turned his face toward the heavens, where Alamar the Golden stood high and tall and strong. If the great god was no judge and no saviour, then what was there to have faith in? When innocents were slain in the name of that god, why should they continue believing? Alvey the Fierce remembered what the god had told him and smiled down grimly at his dead friend's slack features. What blood was taken from the well of faith would be returned. He would destroy the Great King's armies, and regain the belief that had deserted him in that weak moment of despair. Alvey the Fierce was true to his word, and the grand army of Tyra was being diminished as the war continued.
But now, as Alamar the Golden stood upon a hillside watching the last day of battle of a holy war, he was sadder than ever before, and though he still cared, though he understood Alvey's grief, he could feel the warlord's faith faltering. He did not trust his god anymore, and neither did his troops. And as they continued to slay the grand army of Tyra, Alamar the Golden, the Generous, settled down on the hillside, tired beyond words, and felt faith slip away from him.
Down on the battle-field Alvey the Fierce had lost his own woundhi, and had planted his feet firmly on blood-soaked ground, standing tall amidst dying and dead soldiers, both from Tyra and his own folk. His face was grim, and his eyes bitter. Broad-bladed sword held in both hands he waited for his enemies to charge him, only then he would slash left or right, or up or down and kill them. They were frightened of him and most did not want to meet his deadly sword. But they had no choice. The Great King of Tyra himself rode his grand steed across the battle-field, shouting orders and shouting prayers to the Golden God. But he was shouting in vain. Smiling coldly, Alvey the Fierce saw Alamar the Golden stumble on his hillside and sink to the soft ground below his feet. And then Alvey charged.
When his sword sank into the Great King's chest the world, for the first time, went dark.
At first Alvey thought he had gone blind, but then he found that he could still see armour glinting on the battle-field in a strange blue light, that indistinct shapes staggered around him, moaning loudly. Bewildered, Alvey the Fierce looked around, and up at the sky. The Great One was gone. Only then did he realize that in his folly he had murdered his god, that he had slain Alamar the Golden, the Generous, and condemned his people to live in darkness eternal. So great was his grief, that he screamed and railed at the dark sky, crying the god's name, begging for forgiveness. But the darkness remained.
Once he was calm again, Alvey the Fierce gathered his remaining warriors around him on that dark battle-field and spoke: "I am Alvey the Fierce, Slayer of the Great King of Tyra, Slayer of Alamar the Golden, the Generous." There were astonished, frightened gasps all around, but he continued unpertubed. "Our women and children, our old and crippled are gone, slaughtered by the grand army of Tyra. We have avenged them, here, today, and I ask you, my good men, to go to Tyra and tell of today's battle there. Tell them that Alvey the Fierce has slain their god, who was his own."
"Alvey," one of the warriors called out, "what will you do?"
And Alvey the Fierce lowered his head and lay down his sword. "I must bring back the light that I have extinguished," he said, his voice grave and very sad. "I cannot live on without that light to guide me, to guide you. I know now that we all need that light to soothe our fears, to receive our dreams, and wishes and prayers. Yes," he called out, and looked straight at them in the dark, imagining their faces in the shadows. "I, Alvey the Fierce, swear to bring back the light, even if it takes forever to find it. This I swear, here, today!"
And so Alvey the Fierce walked away from that battle-field, filled with determination and faith in his god. He was never to be seen again. But the next year – after long months of cold and hunger – the people of Tyra saw a new sun rise from the horizon, illuminating the sky and driving the blue darkness away as it traveled across the firmament. They cheered and waved and cried, believing that Alamar the Golden had returned to them. But the yellow sun wandered on and vanished again beyond the horizon, prompting the poor people of Tyra to gnash their teeth in fear and grief. "Look!" one of them shouted suddenly, and pointed at the sky. And there, in the aftermath of the yellow sun's glare, they could see a blue sun stand above them, as unfaltering as Alamar the Golden, the Generous, ever had been. And they understood that, in truth, the Great One had never left them.
The yellow sun, which on its steady arc reminded them of just that fact every day, they named Alvey, the Skywalker, after Alvey the Fierce, who had wandered far from the world and to the stars to bring back their light.
"And that is the end of the story," Alamys whispered softly. He was gazing down at Shmi's fascinated eyes, that were wide and bright with excitement, and smiled.
"Skywalker," she said. "Just like me!"
"Yes," he answered, and kissed her brow. "Exactly like you."
He kissed her again, her soft lips, this time, and continued to cover her in kisses, until much later he was too far away to even think of kisses. All of his love, all of his hope, all of his bliss he gathered tightly, wrapped in the gift the Force had granted him, a gift that he had determined Shmi Skywalker to continue to carry for him, safe in her womb, the son of the suns, that he knew their child would be. A wonderful child, a saviour one day.
But before that day came, he, Alamys Jorka, had something to settle with a very special Sith Lord.
When she woke the next morning something was very wrong. Her head hurt like mad, and Shmi almost fainted when she rose from her bed to wash and dress. For some reason she looked down on the tangled sheeds again, but could not say what she had expected to see there. Bewildered, she started a second attempt at rising and managed this time. In the bath-house, deserted that early in the day, she washed and dressed, then started when she saw a strands of slightly curly blonde hair lying on the floor. With a fond and sudden smile she remembered the beggar she had taken in from the street yesterday. He had been from Tatooine, hadn't he? Taking brush and shovel, she knelt down to sweep the floor of the evidence of what her mistress referred to as her unfortunate generous nature. Laughing at the image of the elderly woman saying just that, Shmi finished her task and put brush and shovel back into their accustomed corner.
She could not remember having seen the beggar off last night, but she found a few used plates in the kitchen sink, and hurried to wash and dry them before the cook came in. The other servants always made fun of her 'hobby', and her master openly disapproved. He had once accused her of having immoral conduct with the poor souls she invited in for nothing more than a meal or a bath. She would never ever dream of anything else! Again, she thought of the beggar from Tatooine. He had been blond, with beautiful blue eyes, she thought. Then she started violently, remembering the hideous scar that had marked his face. What had been his name again, though? Alus? Alays? She could not recall. Shaking her head, she dismissed that thought and concentrated on her tasks for the day. It did not matter, after all. He had been cute though, she mused fondly. And laughed some more, but softly, so no one would hear her.
When Shya Kee arrived from the meeting on Almania she seemed to radiate satisfaction and pride, and Sidious granted her that joy for now. She had performed perfectly, by the sound of it. Not only had she made an irresistible offer to the Trade Federation in Darth Sidious' name, she had also made contact to Count Dooku. The man was apparently ready to meet him in person. Congratulating his secretary on her exploits, Sidious let her retreat to her own rooms once she had made her report, to rest and celebrate, whatever she saw fit. And he did not need her close by when he laid out the next few steps of his plan. Unfortunately another visitor presented herself at the door to his office, and this was someone he could hardly turn away.
"Cos! I should have known that you would forget about the presentation again!" she called out, sounding indignant and angry.
Turning toward her with a smile, Sidious shrugged apologetically. "I am deeply sorry, my love. But Shya just came back from her trip, and - "
"Spare me your excuses," Almanda Dar cut him off, emphasizing her words with a wave of her slender arm. She swept into his office uninvited, then closed the door behind her. "You know that this presentation is important. The king himself will attend, and I want you with me."
She was a true beauty, with dark blond hair, cut fashionably short in the current style from Coruscant, and pale green eyes that were a rarety on Naboo. Almost as tall as Sidious himself, she was also somewhat exceptional for Nubian womanhood in that regard. But then, her father had been an off-worlder from Kuat, as far as Sidious knew. Almanda had inherited her mother's gift for politics, and her father's ambition. In that, the Sith Master mused, she was not all that different from the typical Nubian politician. Bringing up his hands in a soothing and somewhat defensive gesture, he slowed her advance.
"Please, dear, I will finish here and accompany you, of course. Forgive my forgetfulness, please."
"Of course I will," she snorted. "We do not have time for more elaborate apologies." A sudden smile flashed across her pale face. "Though I much regret it." For her presentation she had chosen a severely beautiful dress in dark blue, with a collar that went up to right under her chin. Her smile deepened, when she noticed that he had chosen an attire of much the same color. "It suits you," she said breezily as she took his arm. "Come. Let us go. We don't want to be too late."
"No, of course not," Sidiosu replied placidly, but inwardly he was hoping hard that his arrangement for this afternoon would work out. It would not do for him to be seen in her company so intimately and often at all. As it was, they had crossed half-way to the library, where the presentation was to take place, walking side by side, when a clerk came running to intercept them.
"Councillor Palpatine!" the man called out, gulping for breath as he caught some air. "A call for you. From Coruscant."
Sidious threw Alamanda a questioning and apologetic frown, before he turned back to the messenger. "Is it truly that important? I am somewhat busy –"
"Sir, the caller says it is very urgent."
"I see." Schooling his features into a cool mask he nodded at Almanda as one administrator to the other. "I will catch up on the presentation later on, then."
"Of course," she pressed out. He could sense her outrage easily, and it almost made him smile. "Until later, then, Councillor," she concluded, then whirled away to proceed to the library.
It had not even been a lie. If he was not mistaken, this call was very important indeed. Once back in his own chambers he checked the code displayed on the comm unit and gave a grim nod. He did not even bother to disguise himself when he accepted the call at last. The face appearing then was solemn, a male Chagrian he knew very well. The blue-skinned alien nodded gravely.
"My lord, I have good news for you."
Sidious could not suppress a tiny smile. "Is that so? So far all the news you've brought me has been good," he quibbed.
The Chagrian gave a pleased nod. "That is so, my lord. I have made inquiries and can safely claim that what you requested will be no problem at all. No with what back-up you claim to have."
"Excellent," Sidious breathed. "It will happen soon, I assure you. I have already prepared everything for the upcoming elections. Almanda Dar will become the next administrator of Theed, and she will support my nomination to the Senate fully, I assure you."
"How could I ever doubt your words, my lord?" the Chagrian replied.
"How indeed, Mas Amedda, old friend." And then, once Almanda had the seat as head administrator of the Nubian capital, her ambitions would only begin to be satisfied. She would undoubtedly challenge King Veruna once the time was right. And that time would be coming soon enough. "Thank you again for the good news," the Sith Master told the Chagrian pleasantly. "I will not trespass on your time any longer."
"It is always a pleasure to be of assistance, my lord."
Sidious did not reply, but disconnected the call with a last, approving nod. So, his way to Coruscant had been cleared, and his patience was being rewarded. Now it was time to move his other pawns a little bit further. The Trade Federation, and Dooku, of course. Patience was a virtue, one of the very few he possessed. The thought amused him no end, and he was still smiling when he made his way to the library, to dutifully attend a certain presentation given by the next administrator of Theed. The next queen, with luck. But that was to be decided later. For now, one victory was quite enough.
TBC