Ameri – Tiran and Jaina are their own cavalry,
but don't worry about them – there's a lot going on that they don't
know about…and some of it even works in their favour! As for your fic,
I'll definitely try to get around to it; as I said in "Always", I'm
going on vacation for two weeks, but I'll try to get to it when I get
back :)
Die Another Day
Chapter 19: The Truth Shall Set You Free?
"Stay away from her!" Molair hissed, eyes wild.
With effort, Tiran slowed down his world enough to stand. Why was Molair dressed like that - in rags? How much money had Molair settled for, when he decided to (reluctantly) help Rialom? What had Rialom done to him?
"What's wrong?" the dark-haired Jedi asked impatiently as he brushed himself off. Apparently, his fall had seriously affected his brain, because Tiran did not move to hug his brother like he had thought he would.
For some reason, Tiran's adrenalin was shooting up to levels sky-high, and his lightsaber was ignited and at the ready in his hands.
And for some reason, a second lightsaber - a red lightsaber - snap-hissed to life in Molair's hands.
Tiran went cold.
"You're not taking my master," Rialom growled, then attacked.
-----
Everything was going so…slowly. It took Jaina hours to sit up and make her eyes properly see the ropes around her feet. The binding was loose, but the distant lightsabers crackled a thousand times before she managed to free her ankles.
The use of so much effort had tired her, and she leaned back, only to put too much pressure on a rip in the fabric. With a cry that was more of a moan, Jaina plummeted to the ground.
-----
Molair never meant to kill him. But he had so little already - why did the little thief have to try to steal his warmth, too?
He was tired. Hopeless. Hungry. Thirsty.
The thief would never steal again, and Molair found enough to buy a meal.
But it cost him. Oh, did it ever.
The blood. It reminded him. Reminded him of them. Of the things they did, of the torture they put him through.
His vision, his sanity, which had been recovering, turned backwards again. Spelling his name out on the dust didn't work as a calming technique anymore. "Molair" became "Airmol", then "Riamol", then "Rialom".
His old name - backwards. It fit so well. He was pleased with the name. With his cleverness.
He was Rialom.
-----
Breathing was an important part of being able to fight, but Tiran couldn't make his lungs work properly. Around him, everything blurred surreally even though he continued to fight instinctively.
He tried to ignore what was happening, to avoid the connection. Maybe, he thought desperately, it was all just a bad dream. He'd wake up in a few minutes, look out the window, and see Calair running around in the yard with Trihs. He could almost smell his mother's sumptuous breakfast.
Molair - Tiran's older, steady brother - simply could not be fighting him. They were too close for that, too perfectly fitted, like two puzzle pieces - one giving here, the other pulling back there.
And there was absolutely no way that Molair was Rialom.
Tiran's endeavour was in vain.
Molair wouldn't - or couldn't - stand upright; he stayed hunched over, close to the ground like an animal that feared a beating, and his lightsaber thrusts were sloppy. Wild. Completely unlike Tiran's brother's methodical movements.
But the shaggy blond-grey hair and blue eyes (even if they were now savage) were Molair's.
The promises - "I'll help you save Jaina" - had been a ruse, and now Rialom was going to kill him.
It wasn't the kind of reunion dreams were made of.
-----
Jaina's breath - when it came at all - came ragged. If the fight was continuing without her, she didn't know it. In - si-i-i-igh…out - gasp…in. Her rattling breath was the only sound she could hear properly. Everything else had become almost eerily calm, silent - something Jaina wasn't used to.
The voices started, gently, quietly, right as the world became grey and…slowly…black.
Come to us. We will shelter you, soothe you, love you. Come.
It was only the shade of a whisper, but Jaina started anyway. Who…?
You know us. You trust us. Once, we were Dead, too. Come to us: we will give you Life. Dear one, haven't you fought long enough?
Jaina gasped air in, and the colours of the universe reappeared. For a fraction of a second, she heard buzzing like irregular static. Was there a…bug somewhere by her ear?
Her lungs squeezed and needed air again. But everything felt…soft…and her neck, where Rialom had injected the poison, no longer hurt. She was tired.
Out of left field, she thought, Garik? Where are you?
Even to her mind's ear, she sounded lost.
Something - maybe her parents' DNA - ordered her to keep fighting, to stay alive.
She was trying, but - do or do not. There is no try.
Jaina didn't know if she could do much of anything, anymore.
-----
"Molair, what happened to you?" It was the first thing Tiran had managed to say in the past fifteen minutes, but when Rialom/Molair only smiled crookedly and shuddered, the younger man knew that the effort had been wasted.
Or so he thought: Tiran's question distracted the other, and the Jedi gained the upper hand he needed. With a few, carefully practiced moves, Tiran positioned his opponent so that Rialom was backed against the edge of the black pool.
Don't think about your brother. This is a faceless monster. Rialom. He is nothing. He hurt your master - your friend, maybe, someday. Molair is dead. This atrocity killed him.
Telling himself that didn't change Rialom's appearance, or the ocean of hope and joy Tiran had experienced only a day ago.
"What kind of poison did you use on Jaina?" Tiran demanded, his voice shaking as he held his lightsaber threateningly close to his brother's neck.
Rialom stared at him with wide eyes, breathing as raggedly as Jaina was, in the corner. "Brigga," he muttered fearfully, the words so low and so mangled that Tiran could not hear them. "Ah, master. Poor, poor master…" He whimpered and stared at Jaina over Tiran's shoulder. "As a salve…didn't listen…"
Abruptly, Rialom smiled, as if he had only just heard what Tiran asked. "Really!" he said proudly, almost sounding normal despite how his voice had to scrape up the walls of his throat to be heard. "I created it."
Tiran's heart sank. His brother was - had been - a chemist; who knew if anyone would be able to discover a cure before…?
He refused to think about it. Jaina would be okay.
She would.
"Alright, then," Tiran said past the lump in his throat. His hands were shaking. "What's the antidote? How long does she have before…?"
Rialom's face settled into something genuine, sane, weary. "I'm sorry, Tir," he told his brother with sad eyes. "I really am."
Tiran pulled back slightly, despite himself. What was he doing, threatening his brother with a lightsaber? Molair still held his own 'saber, but he wasn't using it. "Molair…"
Rialom/Molair wouldn't meet Tiran's eyes as he spoke slowly, as if he was searching for the correct answer. "The antidote is - "
And then his body jerked, stiffened, and he fell back into the black pool, where he sank before Tiran could blink.
The sight of Molair's resigned, heartbroken eyes as he disappeared would haunt Tiran for the rest of his life.
-----
All he wanted was to end it. Life had no meaning to him now. Why couldn't she understand that?
But his nature denied it: You will live. You will suffer. You will never be free of them.
Why wouldn't she save him?
He just wanted his family back. Were they somewhere out there, stumbling through a living death, too?
Eowyn Skywalker – Rialom? Familiar? Either you wrote an insane bad guy, or your subconscious knows something you don't… ;)
Die Another Day
Chapter 19: The Truth Shall Set You Free?
.
They thought he was broken, and so they left him alone more. He was too far gone to even wonder at his luck.
When they were away - the woman with fangs and the man death loved - he
escaped. The Other couldn't stop him. Oh, how his soul cried with joy!
He was free!
Freedom - it made him faster than they could
ever hope to be. Until they were gone, he hid with the salamanders that
stole the Force. And then…
Oh, then…
He waited.
For the Jedi.
For the one who would save him, train him, end it.
For his master.
-----
"Stay away from her!" Molair hissed, eyes wild.
With effort, Tiran slowed down his world enough to stand. Why was Molair dressed like that - in rags? How much money had Molair settled for, when he decided to (reluctantly) help Rialom? What had Rialom done to him?
"What's wrong?" the dark-haired Jedi asked impatiently as he brushed himself off. Apparently, his fall had seriously affected his brain, because Tiran did not move to hug his brother like he had thought he would.
For some reason, Tiran's adrenalin was shooting up to levels sky-high, and his lightsaber was ignited and at the ready in his hands.
And for some reason, a second lightsaber - a red lightsaber - snap-hissed to life in Molair's hands.
Tiran went cold.
"You're not taking my master," Rialom growled, then attacked.
-----
Everything was going so…slowly. It took Jaina hours to sit up and make her eyes properly see the ropes around her feet. The binding was loose, but the distant lightsabers crackled a thousand times before she managed to free her ankles.
The use of so much effort had tired her, and she leaned back, only to put too much pressure on a rip in the fabric. With a cry that was more of a moan, Jaina plummeted to the ground.
-----
Molair never meant to kill him. But he had so little already - why did the little thief have to try to steal his warmth, too?
He was tired. Hopeless. Hungry. Thirsty.
The thief would never steal again, and Molair found enough to buy a meal.
But it cost him. Oh, did it ever.
The blood. It reminded him. Reminded him of them. Of the things they did, of the torture they put him through.
His vision, his sanity, which had been recovering, turned backwards again. Spelling his name out on the dust didn't work as a calming technique anymore. "Molair" became "Airmol", then "Riamol", then "Rialom".
His old name - backwards. It fit so well. He was pleased with the name. With his cleverness.
He was Rialom.
-----
Breathing was an important part of being able to fight, but Tiran couldn't make his lungs work properly. Around him, everything blurred surreally even though he continued to fight instinctively.
He tried to ignore what was happening, to avoid the connection. Maybe, he thought desperately, it was all just a bad dream. He'd wake up in a few minutes, look out the window, and see Calair running around in the yard with Trihs. He could almost smell his mother's sumptuous breakfast.
Molair - Tiran's older, steady brother - simply could not be fighting him. They were too close for that, too perfectly fitted, like two puzzle pieces - one giving here, the other pulling back there.
And there was absolutely no way that Molair was Rialom.
Tiran's endeavour was in vain.
Molair wouldn't - or couldn't - stand upright; he stayed hunched over, close to the ground like an animal that feared a beating, and his lightsaber thrusts were sloppy. Wild. Completely unlike Tiran's brother's methodical movements.
But the shaggy blond-grey hair and blue eyes (even if they were now savage) were Molair's.
The promises - "I'll help you save Jaina" - had been a ruse, and now Rialom was going to kill him.
It wasn't the kind of reunion dreams were made of.
-----
Jaina's breath - when it came at all - came ragged. If the fight was continuing without her, she didn't know it. In - si-i-i-igh…out - gasp…in. Her rattling breath was the only sound she could hear properly. Everything else had become almost eerily calm, silent - something Jaina wasn't used to.
The voices started, gently, quietly, right as the world became grey and…slowly…black.
Come to us. We will shelter you, soothe you, love you. Come.
It was only the shade of a whisper, but Jaina started anyway. Who…?
You know us. You trust us. Once, we were Dead, too. Come to us: we will give you Life. Dear one, haven't you fought long enough?
Jaina gasped air in, and the colours of the universe reappeared. For a fraction of a second, she heard buzzing like irregular static. Was there a…bug somewhere by her ear?
Her lungs squeezed and needed air again. But everything felt…soft…and her neck, where Rialom had injected the poison, no longer hurt. She was tired.
Out of left field, she thought, Garik? Where are you?
Even to her mind's ear, she sounded lost.
Something - maybe her parents' DNA - ordered her to keep fighting, to stay alive.
She was trying, but - do or do not. There is no try.
Jaina didn't know if she could do much of anything, anymore.
-----
"Molair, what happened to you?" It was the first thing Tiran had managed to say in the past fifteen minutes, but when Rialom/Molair only smiled crookedly and shuddered, the younger man knew that the effort had been wasted.
Or so he thought: Tiran's question distracted the other, and the Jedi gained the upper hand he needed. With a few, carefully practiced moves, Tiran positioned his opponent so that Rialom was backed against the edge of the black pool.
Don't think about your brother. This is a faceless monster. Rialom. He is nothing. He hurt your master - your friend, maybe, someday. Molair is dead. This atrocity killed him.
Telling himself that didn't change Rialom's appearance, or the ocean of hope and joy Tiran had experienced only a day ago.
"What kind of poison did you use on Jaina?" Tiran demanded, his voice shaking as he held his lightsaber threateningly close to his brother's neck.
Rialom stared at him with wide eyes, breathing as raggedly as Jaina was, in the corner. "Brigga," he muttered fearfully, the words so low and so mangled that Tiran could not hear them. "Ah, master. Poor, poor master…" He whimpered and stared at Jaina over Tiran's shoulder. "As a salve…didn't listen…"
Abruptly, Rialom smiled, as if he had only just heard what Tiran asked. "Really!" he said proudly, almost sounding normal despite how his voice had to scrape up the walls of his throat to be heard. "I created it."
Tiran's heart sank. His brother was - had been - a chemist; who knew if anyone would be able to discover a cure before…?
He refused to think about it. Jaina would be okay.
She would.
"Alright, then," Tiran said past the lump in his throat. His hands were shaking. "What's the antidote? How long does she have before…?"
Rialom's face settled into something genuine, sane, weary. "I'm sorry, Tir," he told his brother with sad eyes. "I really am."
Tiran pulled back slightly, despite himself. What was he doing, threatening his brother with a lightsaber? Molair still held his own 'saber, but he wasn't using it. "Molair…"
Rialom/Molair wouldn't meet Tiran's eyes as he spoke slowly, as if he was searching for the correct answer. "The antidote is - "
And then his body jerked, stiffened, and he fell back into the black pool, where he sank before Tiran could blink.
The sight of Molair's resigned, heartbroken eyes as he disappeared would haunt Tiran for the rest of his life.
-----
All he wanted was to end it. Life had no meaning to him now. Why couldn't she understand that?
But his nature denied it: You will live. You will suffer. You will never be free of them.
Why wouldn't she save him?
He just wanted his family back. Were they somewhere out there, stumbling through a living death, too?
-----
--
Well, did I shock anyone with the Rialom/Molair revelation? Or was that mind-blowingly obvious? :p As for Molair's abrupt death…that will be explained. Eventually. Say, in two 'books'? ;P
Sorry this chapter is so short – it's the last one in Part 3. This will be the last chapter I post before I leave for my missions trip to Mexico. I'll be gone for about 2 weeks. If you want, while I'm gone, and if you haven't already, go and check out my new fic (well, trilogy, but its all under one link) Always.
Please R&R!
-Tjz