"This is never going to work," Malak says, pulling the cowl over his head as he steps out onto the access ramp.
Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not.
"We'll see."
Surprisingly enough, it does, and Malak and her make their way through Dreshdae without being recognized. Well, it's either that, or everyone around is too scared to make a move, for if there is something Revan has learnt in her time here, it's that a Sith will only pick a fight with someone they think they can beat… and the former Dark Lord and the knight he couldn't kill probably don't fall into this category. Or, the Sith are too busy murdering each other in their sleep. The point is, no one tries to stop them, and for now, this is enough.
When they reach the Academy, the guards do not stop them either. So far, so good. They make their way past the front gate, and, almost immediately, Revan's heartbeat speeds up imperceptibly. There is something about this place, about the cold, draughty air that seems to seep into her bones, as if the thick, dead stone walls, as if the mountain itself, were but an illusion, easily traversed by the outside wind. Who knows. This is Korriban. Still, her skin doesn't crawl like the first time. She knows her way around, and walks straight towards the central hall. Malak follows behind her, clearly more anxious than she is. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why. This is unwise. She's known it from the start. She knows the woman can't be trusted, knows the mistrust is mutual. This is the way of the Sith, one that she has learnt twice. And yet, in spite of all common wisdom, she feels she can trust her with this. After all, she knows. After their duel in the tomb, Yuthura knew who she was, what she meant to do, and yet, she kept her name secret, and granted her safe passage. Revan could have helped her, too, steered her away from the dark side, told her the Jedi would take her in… yet she didn't. An ally among the Sith, or at the very least, a favourably disposed acquaintance, and the prospect of a more approachable leadership, seemed like too good an opportunity to pass. Perhaps she is the one who can't be trusted, then. The one who plots, the one who lies. The one who, somewhere, deep down, still has too much of the dark lord in her. This is why the Jedi saved her to begin with, and this is precisely why they need her now, to use what she has learnt and clean up the mess she's left behind. If it can still be done.
They find Yuthura meditating, at the same place Uthar used to. She senses their presence the moment they get past the guards.
"What is it acolytes?"
Revan closes the distance and removes her cowl.
"We need to talk. Privately."
Yuthura's face lights up slightly before regaining its cold, unreadable composure. Truly, Revan feels bad for using her, for not helping her out when she could. Still, there's a chance Yuthura might be useful to them, and this will have to be enough.
"Of course," she answers. "If you will follow me to my chambers."
They do not speak until Yuthura closes the door.
"So," she says, leaning casually against the wall, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was hoping you would be the one to tell me that."
The Sith smirks.
"I find that difficult to believe."
"How so?"
"Contrary to popular belief, this planet does have the holonet."
Ah. Of course.
"Now tell me: why are you truly here?"
"Oh, it's a very long, complicated story. See, I've always felt that Korriban was a world of great archaeological interest and one of the main sources of …"
"Cut to the chase."
Much to Revan's surprise, Malak steps forward, lowering his hood.
"What Miss Thule means to say is that we're here to crush the upstart who thought they could take my place and endanger the last of our navy by engaging Republic forces. It goes without saying that your assistance would be welcome."
It's a lie – partly, at least – but the menace in his voice feels real, so real that for an instant, Revan almost buys it. But 'almost' is not enough to fool Yuthura Ban.
"You know," she chuckles, "I still cannot believe you got Darth Malak to cross over to the Jedi. I'm impressed, truly. But as I'm sure you're well aware, imperial forces are in shambles, and whoever took control of the faction you seek to stop hasn't yet sought to make contact with the academy."
"Are you denying us your help?"
Malak's irritation is unequivocal, to the point that Revan feels the need to extend an arm and discourage him from stepping forward again. Better safe than sorry.
"I would help you if I could," Yuthura says, "but I have no idea who took command of the fleet, and as you may imagine, my new position keeps me rather busy. I already have my hands full with all those student disappearances, and keeping up the pace of our excavation work has become near impossible. That I got sweet-talked into letting private contractors into the Valley of the Dark Lords doesn't simplify the matter in the least."
"Hold on," Revan says, "private contractors? Doesn't that go against… Sith traditions or something?"
"It does. But tradition's value is relative at best. Knowledge, on the other hand…"
"Right. Yuthura, don't take this the wrong way but since when do you care about disappearances?"
"Oh, I don't. Most of the time, anyway. The thing is, we usually find a body. Bones, at the very least, a lightsaber component here and there. We hear screams, find fresh blood. Even when they die in the tombs, someone stronger takes their chances and succeeds where they have failed. It only takes a few days. A couple weeks, at most."
"And if there are no bodies it means…"
"That the students have been abducted, or left of their own accord, yes."
"And you suspect the contractors are connected."
Yuthura shrugs.
"Could be. We've searched their camp and found nothing, but with our dwindling numbers, the mercenaries know they've become indispensable. Just an hour ago, Esok asked for a raise. That Mandalorian scum insists we call him Captain, can you believe it?"
"How many students have you lost?"
"Fifteen in the past week. Not counting those we found, of course."
"I'd like to have a talk with those 'contractors' of yours."
"Suit yourself. But I'm not letting them in here, and we're excavating smaller tombs further down the valley. If you want to engage them, you'll have to walk."
"Engage them?"
"The area is restricted to Sith and excavation teams, and those mercenaries aren't known for their sunny disposition. I'll issue a permit, of course, but there have been… incidents, in the past."
"You mean, in the two weeks I've been gone?"
"I admit things are not quite as I envisioned. But I shall not delay you any longer. You have nearly an hour's walk to reach the encampment, and I assume you'll want to be back before nightfall."
When they step into the valley, it's the same feeling again. The same feeling she got when she first set foot here, the same baleful, barren world she lied her way through the first time, the same canyons hissing with gusts of dust-laden wind, and yes, even now, even amidst the chaos that Yuthura and her have unleashed, even amongst the dying echoes of young lives destroyed too soon, one can still feel the power rustling beneath the surface, the dark secrets of the Sith festering in the tombs. One can still feel the pull of their forgotten lore, the quiescent greatness of this world of corpses. That she could think of it as greatness… it frightens her. It sickens her. Perhaps it is a sign of who she used to be, further proof that Revan's mind is not a dormant as she once thought. A reminder that the Dark Lord will always be a part of her. A warning that the edge is not as far as it may seem.
Her gaze lands onto one of the half-buried obelisks. She's seen it before, of course, and didn't see anything but an old block of stone – which it is. Only this time, she really looks at it. And it's still nothing more than an ugly block of stone. But for whatever reason, she feels the need to get a closer look. Perhaps it's just the wind playing tricks with her head again, the dark energy around them, or the spirits in the tombs, toying with her sense of reality. After all, she's not that hard to trick: most of her memories are false. Either way, she doesn't resist, and lays a hand on the stone. At first, nothing happens. Revan feels the carved runes underneath her fingertips, but they tell her nothing. Yet as she turns to leave, the sky – much like her robes – suddenly darkens. She's all alone now, shaking and leaning against the obelisk, her mask discarded in the dirt as hot tears burn their way down her cheeks.
"There was no other way," she sobs. "There was no other way."
There's no one to see her cry, no one to see her weak, so she gives in and lets herself collapse, her knees cracking slightly as they hit the ground.
"Revan?"
The voice is deep, but far-off, almost covered by the wind.
"Revan, can you hear me?"
When she finally summons up the will to look up, there's a tall silhouette, walking her way from the canyon, but it's getting darker, and she can't make it out. She can feel the tuk'atas coming out of the tombs now, venturing out into the open in search of their next meal. Let them try. And then, all at once, the Force shrieks at her. In a fraction of a second, her blade is out. Across the valley, the figure dashes her way. Too late. A set of teeth sinks into her bicep.
Revan blinks, and realises Malak's hand has landed onto her left arm. The wind is blowing, still, but there are no tuk'atas, and the sun is still high in the sky.
"Revan?"
She's alright. Breathe. In and out. It's in the past, now, and she's alright.
"I'm alright," she says.
"You look as though you'd seen a ghost."
She stares down at her hand.
"I'm not so sure I haven't."
Malak's eyebrows narrow ever so slightly, but he doesn't press the question. She, however, needs to know.
"Something happened here, didn't it?"
"If by 'something happened here' you mean you almost got killed for the fourty sixth time, then yes, something happened here."
"Yes, I'd figured that out but… I was crying. I said something about having no other choice, and then I collapsed."
"I know."
"You weren't close enough to hear that."
"No. But I was at Malachor."
Revan inhales sharply, but says nothing. Taris. Telos. Malachor. It all started with Malachor. Even she knows what they've done. The order she's given. How she's become Revan the Butcher.
Malak gestures for her to step away from the obelisk.
"Come on, then. Enough visions for one day."
And they resume walking, silent as the dead that surround them, up to a steep, narrow path that leads them further down the valley, past the tomb of Tulak Hord and into the lower, wilder part of the canyon. The images of the vision keep playing in the back of her mind. Stop. She wants to remember, she does, but this is getting her nowhere.
"You know, I've wondered about you"
The statement seems to come out of the blue, but she's grateful for the momentary distraction. She looks up at Malak. He continues.
"About who you were – who you are – now that you're… back."
"You mean, while you were trying to kill me?"
She bites her tongue. Too late.
Malak looks down.
"Yes. But not at first. Only after…"
"The Leviathan."
"Yes. Before that, I thought it was some clever game. I thought you remembered. I thought you wanted me dead."
"I… I think I did want you dead. I could block it out most of the time, but when I thought of Taris…"
He nods. She thinks he understands.
"And then you told me who I was, and yes, you captured Bastila, and I was angry – how could I not be? – but… I kept thinking and thinking, and in the end, I suppose I didn't have enough hate for the two of us."
Malak inhales sharply and reaches a hand forward, but withdraws just as quickly.
"Look, I know how silly it sounds, and I know how little it helps, but… I'm sorry I can't change what's happened."
"You and I both, Malak. You and I both." Her hands are a little shaky, now. Hero, villain, saviour, conqueror. You are all things, Revan, and yet, you are nothing. Perhaps there is truth in that. And perhaps that's the problem, too, because no matter what she does, no matter who she saves, the past will always be there, and she can't just move on and pretend otherwise. The Jedi might tell her to. Perhaps with time… No. It's not that easy. There's no way it can be. Good and evil, love and hate, life and death… they don't just cancel out. They pile up and up until, one day, they're too heavy to carry alone. So perhaps – only perhaps – being around someone who understands will help. Or perhaps she'll just end up digging herself deeper.
"So, who are you now?"
Good question.
"Well, my ID says I'm Jyn Thule..."
But I know that's not true.
"I know that. I meant… I don't know. Do you still like piloting? Keep expired sweets in your wallet? Do you have… plans? dreams? People to share them with?"
At first, she is a little dumbstruck. And then…
"Is this about Carth?"
"Not specifically. I did ask about the sweets."
"Sweets don't expire."
"Right."
"Carth is nice, you know."
"Good. That's good. It's not about Carth, but it's good."
"It is about Carth, though, isn't it?"
"Of course not! Look, I know you're not… I'm not… well, things have happened."
Now, that is the understatement of the century.
"Yes, well, things are… complicated, right now. For all of us, I suppose."
An uncomfortable silence settles in, and Malak looks away once more.
"Just… forget I asked that, will you?"
"Not a chance."
He sighs.
"Of course."
"That's it? 'Of course'? You're not even going to argue a little?"
"I know a lost cause when I see one."
Debatable, but that is a question for another day.
"Was I really that bad?"
Malak shakes his head, but his eyes crinkle almost imperceptibly.
"Bad is generous. I believe the appropriate term is 'relentless'. Not that it should surprise you."
"You know, I would hate to prove you right. So I guess that settles it. For now."
Malak snorts.
"Sure. For now."
And silence falls once more. They reach another cliff at the end of the path, too sharp to be climbed down without proper equipment.
"Look at that ship down th…"
"Hey! You there! This is a restricted area! Artifact transport only! Now head back where you came from before I … Oh Force..." The man stumbles backwards as they turn around, dropping his comlink as he starts running towards the small crevice that, no doubt, must lead to the landing pad below."
"I've got to get down there before he warns them."
"You've got to do what?"
"We don't want half the camp shooting at us. Now, just help me land smoothly.'
"You're insane."
"We'll talk about that later."
And then she leaps forward, wincing slightly even as an invisible hand strains to slow down her fall. Three, two, one… there's no crack as she hits the ground, which she supposes is good. She looks upwards and lifts a thumb up, before slipping into the ship's cargo hold. Piece of cake.
