"No Malak, it's not."
And as she says the words, a sob escapes her throat. He watches her close her eyes and take a deep, shaky breath, then another, and another, until she finally opens her mouth again.
"How do you…" Another sob comes out, ragged and more strangled, and she collapses forward, burying her face into his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so terribly sorry…"
Now, he did tell Carth to expect a full-on meltdown, but this is one of those rare moments in life when it doesn't feel good to be right. If he is even right. Hell, for all he knows she's not even talking about Dxun, and even if she is, he can't just tell her that it's alright. Because she's right. It's not. It never has been. But he has no idea what to say or who to blame, so he just tightens his hold ever so slightly, hoping she'll get the message: I'm here. Admitting that would even be a comfort, which is more than a bit of a stretch… Several seconds go by before he manages to ask:
"What for?"
"Everything. I'm sorry for everything."
Which is both unexpected and highly concerning. Malak touches a finger to her chin, hoping it will get her to look up. It does.
"Revan, what happened in that tomb?"
Revan catches her head and squeezes her eyes shut.
"I don't know where to begin, I… there was something. Someone. A ritual to siphon life."
Malak tries not to think about what he did on the Star Forge, but he does, and though he doesn't want to mention it, there's no way around it.
"You mean like…"
"No. Not like that."
She fumbles through her satchel and takes out a hand-sized pyramid-shaped item.
"Like that," she says, handing him the artifact.
"This is a Sith holocron! That's brilliant! If we can figure out a way to open it then we… Hang on, what does that have to do with being sorry?"
"My thoughts exactly," Canderous chimes in.
Revan takes a deep breath.
"It… wasn't the only artifact. There were twelve, most of them heavy-looking, so I tried to grab the smallest…"
Malak looks down at the soot on her fingertips.
"Is that where this came from?"
Revan bites her lips and looks down again.
"The rock was from Malachor."
And then it dawns upon him: it's not Dxun she's just relived. It's Malachor. Malachor. Even he, after all he's done, is still uncomfortable with the name. Ironically, it's a lot like his own. Like what the galaxy will remember of him. Malachor. It's that indescribable pain, the unheard screams of the dead, it's the rending of one's innards in sync with that of the Force itself. It's the unrelenting pull of darkness that draws you in inescapably, until you feel your skull is about to implode… and spits you out into the void, alone, and broken. And for a brief instant, Malak wishes he hadn't asked. No, for a brief instant, Malak wishes he'd forgotten. But he can't forget. He'll never forget. And if – as seems to be the case – Malachor does indeed fit somewhere into all this, then memories of the war may be more valuable than ever.
"What did you see?"
"Enough… Enough to drive me mad."
Revan's shaking intensifies. Now may not be the time to press the question. And as he ponders what to do next, Revan suddenly exclaims:
"I killed him, Malak! I killed him…"
"Alright, calm down. Who did you kill?"
"The Sith!"
"Isn't that what you've been doing for the past… ten months or so?"
It didn't sound that bad before he said it, but now… well, maybe he should have held back.
"No it's not that! It's… it's how I did it."
"Okay, how?"
"I… I crushed him, Malak. I literally crushed him… I didn't even touch him but… I could feel his bones cracking one after the other and I… I didn't even realise I was doing it. It was… like sleepwalking."
"It probably was. Sleepwalking. Nothing more."
Somehow, it doesn't sound as convincing as he'd hoped. In fact, it's probably making it worse.
"Malak, is there anything you're not telling me?"
"It's nothing important, it's just… well, it's what you did to Mandalore's body after you…"
Malak doesn't voice his conclusion out loud, but the truth is as plain as it is foreboding: whatever Revan felt when Malachor was destroyed, whatever pain and anger, she felt it again today, and her body gave in without her mind even noticing.
"After I beheaded him."
"Yes. Yes, when the planet collapsed… we all lost it. Especially Jedi. Rumour is Meetra Surik only retained her sanity by severing her connection to the Force."
"Who's Meetra Surik?"
"A friend – well, former friend. She was leading the ground assault. We sent her to her death. Used her and her troops as bait. And she went. Knowingly."
She doesn't answer right away. Truly, there is nothing to say. At some point in the past, it's happening over and over again, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing to be done. And like his own crimes, like Taris and Telos, it will always be there, getting further and further away, but still. There. Always, and forever.
"I knew I was a monster. Ever since you told me who I was, I knew. But it's one thing to know it an it's another one to feel it, to own it. I wasn't ready for that. It always felt as if… as if whoever committed those atrocities was just… well, someone. But now I'm starting to remember …"
"And you no longer think it's true."
Revan nods.
"I understand."
He does. Truly. But he has no solution to offer, just empty words and useless facts. So he just waits. He waits for her to take a deep breath and stop shaking. He waits for her to stand on her own, as he knows she will, because she's Revan and Revan always gets back up, no matter how much everything hurts. No matter how many times she falls.
"I realise this with may not be the time to tell you this but, um… you went back to Malachor. At least twice. Never told me why."
"Why the hell would I do that?"
"Like I said, you never told me. I figured it had something to do with… steeping yourself in the dark side or something. But there could be more to it."
"Then we have to go again."
"What? No! Are you insane? If a single rock does this to you then there's no telling what the whole planet… "
"We have no choice! You think I actually want to go?"
"Yes, I think you actually want to go. I think you're so desperate to fix everything you ever did that you'd do anything just to know what that is, even if it ends up costing you your life. Well, some things are beyond fixing. And I hate telling you this but you're no good to anyone dead. Or mad."
"Can't you see? I'm already mad!"
"No. You have long-term memory loss and trouble dealing with the flashbacks – which, given what they are, is probably a sign of sanity. That doesn't make you mad, and that certainly doesn't make you expendable!"
"And what else would you have me do?!"
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you need to talk to the Council."
"So they can do what? Lock me up? Take it all back again?"
"No, and if they try we won't let them."
"Do you have any idea what they've done to me?"
"Do you have any idea what I have done to you? What we've done to each other? And you've just told me the whole thing!"
No. NO. He can't go there. She's not ready to hear that, and Force knows he's not ready to say it. If anything, the brief flash of anger that crosses her features tells him he's said too much already.
"I'm sorry. Look my point is you need help before you even think of going to Malachor – which may be nothing but a dead lead – and the Jedi may be the only ones who can provide it at this point."
"Fine. I'll think about it. Have I ever mentioned that you're absolutely infuriating?"
"Yes, it might have been more than a passing mention, but in this instance, I also happen to be right."
Mission lets out a sigh of exasperation.
"Are you tow really turning this into a domestic squabble?"
Revan cranes her head to the side to glare at the kid, which, all things considered, is probably a good sign.
"It is not a domestic squabble."
"Sure. Now what do you say we get moving? There's a snake taking a nap on my boot."
The only way out of the clearing is through the cave they just came from, and of course, the entrance is well guarded. He can't see them, but they all feel it: there's life in there, not the dim, flat energy of a boma, but the wary, restless, yet determined presence of a squad ready to fight. Of course, they could just charge in and probably still make it, admitting than Revan were in a state to fight, which is not a bet he's willing to make. Not to mention the fact that the old sabre Carth handed him looks anything but reliable – he'll have to work on that, but for now they need a plan.
"I could go," Juhani says, and it's the first time she's spoken since they left the ship. The woman's so quiet she might as well be a shadow. "They wouldn't see me coming."
"Good idea," Revan says. "I've got my stealth generator so I'll go as well."
"There is no need, padawan. This is nothing compared to the Leviathan. We'll leave this place soon enough."
And without allowing Revan to make a reply, she fades away.
Seconds later, the mouth of the cave lights up with blue. Malak barely has time to see the two bodies that crumple to the floor before it goes dark again. Nine to go. Then blaster fire erupts, and the blue light flashes again. One of the screams is loud enough for him to hear. The other two are drowned out by gunshot. A plasma beam bounces off the blade and lands right into the marksman's head. Then darkness again. Four left. Four is a safe number for them to step in, even in the state that Revan is in. But Juhani doesn't need help. Malak senses the soldiers' fear, their quickening heartbeats and hitchy breaths. They're like rats in a barrel, waiting for a tooka to pounce. Another flash of blue and two bodies drop. Then another. And another. Malak nods at Revan. Time to move.
"Come on, Jedi!" the last man yells at the top of his lungs. "Show yourself and fight like a ma…"
Juhani drives her blade through his chest.
"I am no man."
He can see why Revan likes her. Had she been old enough to fight in the wars, Juhani would have been a valuable asset. But they would still have fallen, and they would have dragged her with them.
There are no other Sith on their way back, just rain and mud and mines, which Mission easily disarms now that morning has come. They do not speak again until they reach the Hawk.
The look of concern of Carth's face is palpable, even though Revan doesn't tell him.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
Malak watches her nod blankly. She's not fooling anyone, but Carth doesn't insist.
"We're going to Korriban," she says. He wasn't aware of that. Judging by their faces, neither were the others.
"Why Korriban?"
Revan takes the holocron out of her satchel.
"Because I can't open this myself."
It's a lie – she used the dark side in the tomb – but it's a lie he understands.
"I'll do it."
It's a risk, but it'll save them a trip to Korriban. Bonus if it also rules out Malachor.
"No, you won't. Yuthura should contact us in a few hours."
Carth frowns.
"You've made plans with a Sith?"
"Oh for kriff's sake Carth, just look around you! Of course, I have!"
Carth walks away.
Malak opens his eyes and lifts up his head from where it has fallen on the holotable, wiping the beads of cold sweat trailing down his forehead. It's just a dream. Only a dream. As of its own accord, his head whips around to look at Revan, who's beginning to doze off over a datapad. It's not a dream. It's real, and it will always be real, pounding and pounding, always in the back of his mind as he desperately tries to forget. He's not Revan. He can't forget. And she doesn't know, she can't know, but the memory makes him sick. Apparently, he does a poor job of hiding it, because she suddenly sits upright and asks:
"What is it?"
It's the purple blade. Always the purple blade.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
He's not.
"You're not."
Telling her is unfair. Not telling her is unfair. Whatever he does, it's unfair, and yet he wants nothing more than to lash out, to rip off his pain and throw it her way. He mustn't lash out. Not now, not ever. Because she doesn't know. So he just takes a breath. And another. And another.
"No, Revan. I'm not."
