Part 4
In the heart of the abandoned Mandalorian barracks that now served as a temporary headquarters for the Republic army, Malak paced the floor for the hundredth time in the last half hour. Muffled explosions could still be heard off in the distance, where Republic troops were attempting to wipe out the last remnants of the Mandalorian forces, but these were the least of his concerns. He had other things to worry about.
Chief among these was Revan. Since his fateful encounter with Mandalore, he had not said a word; indeed, he had barely acknowledged anyone else's existence. He had sat there motionless and silent as army medics attended to his wounds, staring blankly ahead of him as if hypnotised. Afterwards he had retreated to a back room, indicating with a slight wave of the hand that he wished to be left alone.
For obvious reasons, Malak was concerned about his friend's mental state, but his problems went further than this. To put it bluntly, had no idea what to do. Soon, he knew, important decisions would have to be made – particularly concerning the Mandalorian prisoners they had captured – and Revan was clearly in no state to take them.
Malak had already had to stall Admiral Dodonna, telling her semi-truthfully that Revan was slightly wounded and still undergoing treatment. He hoped his friend would soon have recovered enough to speak to her, but he couldn't keep waiting indefinitely. Should he assume command himself? Ask the Admiral for advice?
It wasn't that he lacked competence as a military leader; quite the contrary. The trouble was that Revan, despite being the younger of the two, had always been unquestionably the stronger and more forceful personality – it was he who had rallied the Jedi to join the fight against the Mandalorians, he whose tactical genius and sheer determination had achieved the impossible and turned the tide of the war. Even though their rank was technically the same, Malak had come to view Revan as his superior by default, deferring to his orders and often seeking advice from him. Now, with their positions suddenly reversed, he felt confused and almost scared.
He thought back to what he had seen earlier that night. Even though he had no particular sympathy for Mandalore, the memory still made him feel slightly queasy – the horrible scream, the stench of burning flesh... What had happened to tip Revan over the edge like that? He had never seen such fury in his face before, not even back when they had visited the planets devastated by the Mandalorians, or after his capture and torture by Mandalore's forces. But, it occurred to him, under enough strain even the strongest support would eventually break...
He wondered, slightly guiltily, if he should have noticed the signs earlier. Certainly some of the other Jedi close to Revan had expressed concern about his increasingly withdrawn behaviour. But they had seen little of each other in the last few months – and besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't had problems of his own. The war had affected him as much as anyone else; no one could escape unscathed after living through something like that...
He wondered briefly if he ought to check on his friend, just to make sure he wasn't doing anything 'stupid' – but then he realised that if Revan were even contemplating such a thing, he would instantly sense it through the Force. No, it would probably be best to leave him in peace until he felt ready to come back. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait.
........
Revan sat alone on the floor of the dark room, hunched up, gazing unseeingly into the murky blackness outside the window. The distant sounds of battle barely registered in his mind; in any case, they would not last much longer. Soon, very soon, it would all be over.
And what was left for him then? How foolish of him to imagine that he could simply return, sweeping back into Coruscant in a burst of glory, and expect everything to continue as it was before. Now that he had finally achieved what he had been struggling for these past four years, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a slap in the face; he could see himself standing in the Council chamber in the Jedi Temple, twelve pairs of eyes boring into him as they waited silently for an explanation. How could he possibly justify everything he had done during the war? How could he defend what he had done on that last night?
It didn't matter whether they forgave him or not. He had broken every rule of the Order, violated every tenet of the Code, abandoned all the teachings that he had once believed in so fervently. And now, in what should have been his moment of triumph, he found himself forced to acknowledge what he had tried so long to deny: that he was no longer a Jedi.
Suddenly he could see Bastila's face as clearly as if she stood before him; her voice echoed in his head, pleading with him to beware of the Dark Side. And now he could picture her reaction as she learned what he had done, the horror in her eyes as she shrank involuntarily away from him... he could never touch her again, not with hands stained with Mandalore's blood. He felt a sudden chill, as if icy water was trickling through his veins. Could it be that she had been right about him all along?
No. No, he would not admit that. He might not be a Jedi any more, but he wasn't a monster either. Everything he had done had been for a greater purpose; he had been forced to act as he had, there was no other choice. All the deaths on his hands, save one, had been unavoidable... For a moment he remembered the terrible power flowing through him into Mandalore's twisted body, and he shuddered – but he stubbornly resisted the thought, pushing it to the back of his mind. It had been a moment of weakness, that was all...
Suddenly he heard raised voices from the next room. A Republic army officer was speaking to Malak, and neither of them sounded happy.
"What? How could they let this happen?"
"I'm sorry, sir." The Republic soldier's voice sounded weary and miserable. "I'm not sure exactly what happened. All I know is that somehow they managed to spot a weak point in our lines and break through..."
Malak heaved an exasperated sigh. "And how many escaped?"
"One of their capital ships, sir, and two squadrons – or what was left of them. We pursued them for a while, but they went into hyperspace..." The voices grew quieter again.
Damn. Damn. An anguished groan escaped Revan's throat. So some of the Mandalorians had escaped – probably not enough to pose a threat, but who could tell? And he had hoped that killing Mandalore would end it all. Now he saw that it could never end, not while a single one of those... parasites remained at liberty. It was like stepping on a nest of ants – however many you managed to crush, a few would scurry away and hide, only to return later on...
He buried his head in his hands, trying to think. Two choices lay before him: he could turn back, or go on. But he was no longer teetering on the edge of the abyss; now he was hanging over it, clinging on desperately with his fingertips – forced to choose between attempting the slow, agonising climb back to the top, against all the forces dragging him downwards, or simply letting go and taking the plunge into the unknown.
One last time he closed his eyes in an attempt to meditate, almost praying for guidance as he stretched out towards the Force, trying to sense the shape of the future. But there was nothing; he was utterly alone. He must make the decision himself, and once made, there was no way back...
He sat there, unmoving, for what seemed like hours. Finally he stirred, raising his head, then slowly dragging himself to his feet. As he turned to walk out of the room, there was no longer any trace of confusion or hesitation in his face; they had been replaced by an expression of grim determination.
Malak, still engaged in conversation with the Republic officer, looked round hurriedly as his friend entered the room. "Revan!" The relief in his voice was palpable. "Are you... feeling any better?"
"Fine," he answered curtly, unwilling to go into further detail with the officer present. "What's going on?"
Malak sighed, and the soldier cringed slightly. "Apparently part of the Mandalorian fleet managed to slip through our grasp after you and I left to launch the ground assault. They headed off towards unknown space." His face darkened. "When I find out who's responsible..."
Rather to Malak's surprise, Revan shook his head dismissively. "Forget about it. We'll deal with it later." He turned to the officer. "How many prisoners have we taken?"
"A few thousand, sir. They've been transferred aboard the capital ships for the moment." He hesitated. "Are they to be transported to the camps like the others?"
Revan didn't answer for a moment. Then he said slowly, "No... not yet. I have a better idea. The only thing the Mandalorians respect is a show of strength." He smiled grimly. "So I suggest we give them one."
........
Dawn was breaking on the small moon, but the wrecked Mandalorian base was still shrouded in darkness. Smoke rose in billowing clouds from several enormous bonfires, saturating the air and blocking out the weak rays of sunlight. Piled high on the fires was debris of all kinds – armour, exotic weaponry, broken and twisted parts of battle droids, gradually warping and melting in the fearsome heat.
A short way away stood row upon row of Mandalorian captives, bound and heavily guarded by Republic soldiers, who stood ready to blast anyone who dared move a muscle. The prisoners stood in silence, forced to watch as the remains of their once fearsome arsenal literally went up in smoke. Some of them made no effort to hide their resentment, grinding their teeth in anger and humiliation; others looked on impassively, or even with a trace of admiration.
Through the haze of smoke walked Malak, carrying Mandalore's body. It was still dressed in the clothes Mandalore had been wearing when he died, and his wounds were clearly visible. Malak walked slowly and deliberately past the first row of captives, making sure they could see the hideous lightsaber scar in their leader's chest. Finally he walked over to one of the burning piles and tossed the body onto the fire as if it were a piece of rubbish, turning away as the flames began to lick at Mandalore's corpse.
"There is your 'great leader'," he roared above the crackle of the fire. "And there is the man who killed him." He pointed to the masked, cloaked figure who stood at a distance, arms folded, watching the proceedings in stony silence. "His name is Revan. Remember that when you tell your friends how you were defeated by the Republic."
He marched off, vanishing into the smoke. Revan stood there a little longer before he, too, turned and walked away. The flames rose higher, engulfing the body of the Mandalorian leader. Soon there would be nothing left of it except a pile of ash, indistinguishable from the rest of the blazing wreckage.
Malak found Revan standing alone in the shelled-out barracks, staring up at the sky. "Hello, Malak," he murmured, without bothering to look round.
"The others are celebrating. Don't you want to join them?" Revan shook his head.
"Go ahead if you want. I'm not in the mood."
"Fair enough." Malak shrugged. "I suppose there'll be plenty of time when we get back to Coruscant..."
"I'm not going back, Malak." There was a terrible calm in Revan's voice, a quiet resignation which was somehow worse than fear or despair.
"What?" Malak's mouth fell open. "What do you mean you're not going back? Don't tell me you're afraid of the Council –"
"I'm not afraid of anyone." His voice grew lower. "I'm finished with the Council."
Malak gaped at him, utterly bewildered. "Revan, are you saying you're leaving the Order?"
"I left it a long time ago, Malak." Finally he turned round and looked directly into his friend's eyes. "I realised that today, after what happened with Mandalore. I don't belong in the Order any more..."
"Look, don't beat yourself up over that," pleaded Malak. "No one even needs to know about it. Things will soon return to normal when we get back –"
Revan shook his head. "I've changed too much, and so have you. But you can go on pretending you're still a Jedi if you want; I'm going after the Mandalorians who escaped." For the first time, Malak saw the haunted look in his friend's eyes. "Do you want to risk something like this happening again, Malak? We have to hunt down every last one of those bastards, and then we have to find the Star Forge and destroy it before someone else like Mandalore gets their hands on it."
Malak nodded reluctantly. "I suppose you're right..."
Revan turned away again. "Anyway, you don't have to come if you want – no one does. I'm quite prepared to go by myself –"
"Don't be a fool." Malak's voice almost shook. "You think I'd let you do that? I'm coming with you, and so will the others. You're the one who saved the Republic, Revan – if you think this is best then we'll follow you, Jedi or not."
"Thank you." Revan's reply was almost too quiet to be heard. The two of them stood for a while in silence, listening to the distant sounds of cheering and laughter, as the sun rose higher in the sky.