A woman was screaming. The voice was far away, high-pitched and terrified, and Quinlan shifted, trying to wake up so he could make it stop. It took a few seconds, but the sound vanished as soon as he managed to open his eyes.
The room was bright, though the pillar's light made it look cold, and it was absolutely quiet. He cast a quick look at his chrono and realized it had been a mere half-hour since he'd fallen asleep. With an irritated sigh, he buried his head in his arms again and shut his eyes. I must have been dreaming . . .
The second scream made him jerk fully awake. He leaped to his feet, turning sideways as he did so, and tripped over Wrecker – who only mumbled something, turned over, and went back to sleep.
Hunter, who stood on guard near the doorway, was watching him with a concerned look. "What is it?"
Quinlan stared from him to the others – first Tech, sleeping with his mouth slightly open; then Wrecker, who had started to snore again despite having been accidentally kicked in the side. Then Crosshair, who looked almost relaxed, lying on his back with his head tilted to one side.
Vythia had propped herself up on one elbow and was watching him drowsily through half-closed eyes. When he met her gaze, she raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing.
Quinlan stepped back over Wrecker and slumped down on his blanket without answering the sergeant. If Hunter hadn't heard anything, then there hadn't been anything to hear. Nothing real to hear, anyway. He'd probably imagined it.
Trying to ignore the nagging sense of fear, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and pretended to fall asleep.
Not even five minutes later, a horrible yell ripped through the air from several levels below. This time, Quinlan sat up slowly, running his gaze from one end of the room to the other. Nothing looked wrong. Hunter was leaning casually back against the wall, playing with his knife. Vythia had already fallen back asleep.
The cries continued for several seconds, then cut off as abruptly as though they'd been snuffed out. I am hearing an illusion, he thought deliberately, focusing on slowing his heartbeat. That isn't a person. It's just some impression left in the Force . . . Which is why no one else is hearing it.
He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared fixedly at the floor. He knew the cries weren't from people, and that there was nothing he could do to stop them. That didn't change the fact that his first instinct was to dash down the stairs and locate whoever it was that needed help.
Maybe meditating will do . . . something . . . to make those sounds – stop? He was still smirking a little at how pathetic his own thought had sounded when he realized that Hunter was watching him again, looking as though he were about to ask a question.
Quinlan met his gaze and whispered, "What?"
Hunter studied Vythia for a moment before sheathing his knife and approaching. He halted a couple of meters away and dropped into a crouch. "What's going on?"
Quinlan reassured himself that Vythia was truly asleep before answering. "Did you hear anything just now?"
"No . . . Why?"
"Because I heard three different voices screaming in the past ten minutes." Quinlan wound the grey material of his blanket absently between his fingers. All the voices had cut off so abruptly. . .
Hunter's gaze flicked from side to side as though he were reading. "It isn't another illusion like before, is it?"
"Maybe? Except – you all heard that one."
"Yeah, we did." Hunter tapped his fingers against one knee and looked back at the door. "That was really weird. I couldn't sense anything physically present, but – "
"That's because illusions aren't physical," Quinlan interrupted.
"Yeah, but the sounds – were?"
Quinlan hesitated, frowning. ". . . I guess? Soundwaves are sort of physical, right?"
They stared questioningly at each other for a moment, then glanced simultaneously at Tech before exchanging wry looks.
Hunter smiled faintly. "Better not let Tech hear you say that. . . Why do you think I didn't hear anything just now?"
"I'd guess it's because you're not Force-sensitive." Quinlan pulled out the yellow crystal and fidgeted with it. "That's the only thing that comes to mind immediately."
"Makes sense," Hunter agreed.
Wrecker turned over and dragged his blanket up to his chin, inadvertently leaning an arm against Crosshair's elbow.
Without ever waking up, the sniper muttered something, shoved Wrecker's arm aside, and moved farther away.
Quinlan let out a distantly amused huff, then sobered. "I still feel like something doesn't want us here."
"Any idea what 'it' is?"
"No. I can't even tell if it's physical or not . . . Or if it wants us to leave, or wants us dead, or what."
Hunter raised an eyebrow at him.
Quinlan sighed and put the crystal away. "Look, I know that's really vague, Hunter, but whatever this presence is, it's getting more and more . . . focused. I'm absolutely sure of that, just – ugh, I don't know how to explain it."
"I think I get your meaning," Hunter said with a wry tilt of his head. "Still – I wish we had a better idea what we were up against."
"Yeah. . ." Another screech made Quinlan clench one hand. "I take it you didn't hear that one, either."
"No. I'll let you know if I do." He paused for a moment, then added, "Are we in any direct danger from the illusions, or are they just another . . . relic of the past?"
"I –" The distant voice was crying now, screaming in pain, and Quinlan got to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. He let out his breath and lowered his shields just a bit, cautiously letting the Force into his mind in an attempt to locate the source of the sound.
He did not find whatever was making it . . . and he hadn't expected to. But being able to pinpoint exactly where the sound was coming from – the central room with the stone prisoners – without having someone or something actually there to make the sound . . . Maybe it was just an illusion.
Quinlan opened his eyes, wondering if the statues were making the sounds. He stared at the dark stairway leading down and bit his lip, hardly noticing Hunter's watchful gaze. There was something . . . some part of an answer, maybe, just out of his reach. He was almost certain that if he released his shields all the way, and let himself access the Force fully despite the dark, he would find it.
The Jedi tilted his head, surprised that the dark was not making him feel sick the way it normally did. Maybe he'd been more greatly affected than he should have been, because he'd been fighting it so much . . . Maybe I wouldn't get attacked by it the same way if I lowered my defenses. Maybe if I just let them go . . .
Despite that, though, he hesitated.
I should just do it. It's not like I'd really be using the dark side. And if there's something down there that's aware of us, I need to know what it is.
He rubbed his hands together indecisively and looked between the two doors before realizing that he'd never answered Hunter. "Danger from the illusions – I don't think so. I don't know about the ones we all heard, but these . . . What I'm hearing is a memory. I think . . . I think I'm hearing something that happened a long time ago. It was real, though."
Hunter folded his arms, eyes dark with uncertainty. "You're hearing something from the past? I thought psychometry only worked directly with touch."
For some reason, Quinlan remembered Vythia's words to him, back when he'd first met her in the warehouse: But the crystal is touching you. It touches your mind.
She'd been correct, though not in the way she thought. But Hunter was right, because psychometry did only work with touch. Quinlan couldn't be hearing something because of his psychometry, so it was because of something else, something that wasn't physical and had only to do with the Force, or Force-sensitives. And there was still that threatening, unidentified presence, hovering just out of reach of his abilities.
Quinlan sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes. Bracing himself, he lowered his shields even further and allowed the Force to sweep through his mind – but he didn't feel any pain. Instead, he immediately recognized that the presence he'd been increasingly aware of was malevolent, and aware of them – but he still couldn't sense a form. It was similar to how he'd sensed the stormbeasts . . . alive, but barely. But the mind of this being was far clearer and more conniving than any of the stormbeasts, and it had been watching them for days.
His understanding ended suddenly, and he realized that the being was shielding itself against him . . . No. It was being shielded. For the briefest instant, Quinlan sensed another watching entity, far more dangerous and immediate, and recognized it as the presence of the shadow he'd seen on the roof of the Lothal manor. Before he could react, it was retreating, he was losing his connection with it –
But he couldn't use the dark side. So instead, Quinlan released his shields entirely, letting his mind sort through the swirling black of the dark side. As soon as the shadow touched his consciousness, he threw his will against it, demanding that the shadow reveal itself. For a moment it faltered and almost seemed to take a form. Then it dragged his intent towards the second, barely-alive presence and trapped him in its awareness.
Quinlan stiffened, unable to pull his attention back to the formless shadow, though he was aware of its exhilaration . . . Then it vanished completely, and he was left with the lesser of the two beings.
Too late, he tried to reconstruct his shields. The malevolent, half-alive presence that had been following them, the one connected somehow to the screams, focused on him and pulled.
For a moment, Quinlan floated in nothingness. Then his awareness of the Force vanished and he opened his eyes in alarm. He'd only just caught a glimpse of the central room when a skewering pain pierced his temples and chest. The agony made his vision black out until all he could see was a blurred outline of the flaming pillar.
He couldn't do anything to stop it, even when he shut his eyes again. Gasping, he shoved himself into a kneeling position just as the attack was withdrawn as fast as it had come, leaving him with only a headache and a feeling of hollowness.
Some deep-set instinct ordered him to reclaim his shields, and he fought to obey. At first it felt as though he were a padawan again, struggling to perform even the most basic shielding technique, but within a few minutes his ability had returned.
Only when the dark side was once more held back, oppressively constant but manageable, did Quinlan take a deep breath and open his eyes again.
The grey stone in front of his face made no sense until he realized that he was kneeling nearly doubled over, and that someone was holding him by either shoulder. Hunter, he thought, bracing his hands against the floor and pushing himself upright. "It . . . There's two of them," he mumbled. "There's two of them."
"Quinlan!" the sergeant hissed, giving him an impatient, worried shake. "What are you talking about?"
". . . What?"
Hunter sat back on his heels, looking both exhausted and alarmed. "You were saying –" He gestured vaguely. " – weird things. What was that all about?"
Quinlan's chest was still aching. He rubbed it absently as he stared around at the others. Hunter was talking again, but the rest of his teammates were peacefully asleep. It seemed impossible, given the chaos and upheaval in the Force that had just occurred . . .
Then something brushed gently against his mind, and Wrecker shifted, face creasing in a sudden frown.
Maybe not so peacefully asleep, Quinlan thought. His eyes felt like they were full of ash again, and he rubbed a hand across them.
Hunter shook him again. "Quinlan!"
Quinlan jerked his attention back.
"Did you even hear what I just said?" Hunter whispered harshly.
". . . You called me . . .?" Quinlan guessed, belatedly realizing that Hunter had probably been talking to him.
Hunter stared at him, then slumped. "I asked you what just happened."
Oh. "I don't know."
"You don't – know."
Quinlan shook his head and sat down, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping an arm around it. That sensation of nothingness – there was something he should know about it. It wasn't Nihilus, it had been much weaker in that sense than the crypt had been. Still, there was something nagging at his memory, that he knew he had to remember. Something Vythia had said . . .
Hunter got up and moved quickly over to the doorway. He listened carefully for a long moment, then crossed the room to the door opposite.
Quinlan's gaze wandered from Hunter back to the others; he jumped as he realized that Crosshair was sitting up, watching him – he looked almost suspicious.
"Not a word," Quinlan muttered, pushing his knuckles against his forehead. "I don't want to hear it, Cross. . . I know it was stupid."
Crosshair's eyes narrowed and he cast a sharp look at the door that opened onto the stairs leading down. "What did you do?"
Quinlan's temper flared suddenly. "I didn't do anything."
"Hey!" Hunter whispered sharply, casting a warning look at Vythia as he picked up Tech's datapad. "Keep it down."
"Like you were just now?" Crosshair replied, without much heat.
Hunter observed a readout on Tech's screen, then sighed. "The storm's still too strong for us to leave. Quinlan, I don't hear or feel anything nearby. Will you be able to tell if it gets close?"
Crosshair went still. "If what gets close?"
"The presence," Quinlan answered. He hesitated. "I don't know, Hunter. But - it's not interested in us right now. It won't be tonight."
"And . . ." Hunter exchanged a quick look with Crosshair. "You're sure of that?"
"Yeah." Quinlan shifted to lie down again, swallowing against the continuing ache in his chest. "I'm sure, Hunter. And believe me: if I'm wrong, I'll be the first to go."
"Very helpful," said Hunter, sounding worried still. "Crosshair, run a scan. Make sure you use the one Tech put together for the stormbeasts."
"Got it."
Quinlan shut his eyes, glad that the screams hadn't returned. Apart from Crosshair's and Hunter's whispered conversation, the central room was once again quiet and almost peaceful, and the light was reassuring.
Tech looked up from his datapad to check his surroundings using his physical senses of sight and hearing, then returned to running a partial lifeform scan. He was not fond of the term 'partial lifeform', as the definitions of each word seemed mutually exclusive, but there was nothing else he could think of calling it. Even plants showed up more readily on his scanners than did the stormbeasts.
After noting the placement of several groups of stormbeasts, many levels below them, he changed his scan parameters to search specifically for moving partial lifeforms. It might be the case that the stormbeasts had a pattern of movement.
Near the pillar, Vythia woke up again to glance around the room. She'd been waking quite frequently, even compared to Quinlan, who'd woken every thirty minutes, on average, for nearly Tech's entire shift.
When Vythia sat up, sighed quietly, and reached for the pouch that contained her scroll, Tech went back to his datapad. His sensor range was limited, so he accessed the Marauder's systems and reran the scan.
Something caught his attention, and he let out a soft hum as he zoomed in. Six levels up from the main entrance, no fewer than fifteen stormbeasts – three on their own and twelve in groups of two or three – were milling about, moving erratically around as though uncertain of where to go. The only thing they had in common was that they all seemed to be headed away from the center.
"Curious," he mumbled. "It is as though they are attempting –"
Vythia got to her feet, and he glanced up. She walked quietly back and forth near the pillar, lips moving as she sounded words to herself. Tech wondered if the writing on the scroll shared any similarity to the writing he'd seen in the temple. The characters were unlike those of any language he had seen before; if he was correct, each symbol stood for an entire word, rather than a specific sound.
"Vythia," he said softly. "Are you able to understand the writing?"
The purple Nautolan woman cast him a blank look, interrupted from her reading, then inclined her head. "I can understand it – but only because of this."
She tapped the golden headdress she wore.
"What does it say?"
"It describes another, even more valuable scroll that was buried in the tomb of Zenaya's master," she told him, then smirked. "Ironically, we already searched, or at least entered, the level on which his tomb is hidden – the tenth."
"I presume you mean the tenth up from the main entrance," Tech clarified.
"Yes."
"That does not surprise me," said Tech, using the Marauder's sensors again to compile a simulation of the storm's current path. "We did not make a very thorough search of most of the levels we entered. From what I recall, what we saw of the tenth level was mostly living quarters."
"Yes, and we scarcely checked four corridors on our way to the entrance." Vythia seated herself again, narrowing her eyes as she attempted to make out a particular section of writing. "Even if we had searched, though, I suspect we would not have found Darth Ghant's tomb. The entrance is concealed. Zenaya sealed her master in a crypt with the scroll."
Tech hummed and glanced down at his scan. "If this storm continues, we will not be able to return to the Phoenix by oh-six-hundred or even oh-nine-hundred."
"I suppose we will have to continue downward, then . . ." Vythia's voice trailed absently away as her attention returned to her reading.
Tech got up to check the opposite doorway. As he returned to his post, he was forced to hold back a yawn. He was not getting enough sleep. He suspected that none of them were. Although he did not have any hard data on the matter, he had observed over the past few days that no one was sleeping very deeply, or for very long. Given the strange dreams that had started to accompany being in this place, that was perhaps unsurprising.
Of course, dreams were simply projections of the unconscious mind, which linked ideas and sensations and emotions and images together in odd and often incongruous patterns. . .
Tech felt, inexplicably, as though someone were watching him. When he looked at the others, though, they were all still and silent, with the exception of Vythia, who was leaning forward to put her scroll away.
With a sigh, Tech turned away and peered out into the hall, lowering his visor over his goggles and turning on his night vision. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just like the last twenty-eight times he had checked.
He pushed his visor up and turned back in time to see Vythia leaning forward, one hand close to Quinlan's face.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"Checking that he is breathing," she answered without looking up. "He is, but I thought he wasn't."
"Why would he not be breathing?" Tech asked, moving closer. He would have thought that she was lying, but she exhibited none of the usual tells. . .
She sat back unhurriedly, folded her hands in her lap, and said, "I don't know. Why wouldn't he be?"
Tech tilted his head at her and dropped to one knee beside the Jedi, who looked perfectly normal. "I meant that I wished to know what it was that made you think he was not breathing."
She touched one of the long tendrils that hung around her face. "He was quite still, but he was panicking."
Of course, Tech thought. Nautolans possess the capability of recognizing the emotions of most other species. Their ability is greatly diminished by being above water, but it is still possible. "It was most likely another dream," he said, absently running a quick check on the lifesigns of his teammates.
"You are probably correct." Vythia stood and stretched her arms out to either side, then folded them. "Would you like me to stay on guard?"
"There is no need for that."
"You mean you do not trust me," she interpreted with a faint smirk. "But I meant that I would watch one door while you watched the other."
He hesitated, but saw no reason to refuse her request. It was not as though she could call in an enemy, after all. And he would still be at his post, and observing both doors. "That should be fine."
Vythia nodded and picked up her satchel, slung it over one shoulder, and wandered across to the opposite door.
Tech checked on her every couple of minutes, but apart from removing Lord Lothal's mask from her satchel and studying it, she did nothing else of note.
It was thirty minutes later that the silence and early hour began to make him drowsy again. He got up and walked the length of the room to stave it off, drank some water, and checked the storm again. It will be over by noon today at the earliest, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the screen. I suppose Vythia is right, and that there is no option for us except to go down – or wait where we are.
Vythia jerked a little, as though she'd started to doze off, then got to her feet and started walking. Tech watched as she put the mask back in the satchel, then went back to pacing himself.
He was not particularly eager to go back down through the prison level. That illusion had shaken him badly. Vythia had told him that illusions, once created, continued to exist until they were blocked by light or until their source was destroyed.
Tech wished he knew what that last phrase had meant. He stopped walking to consider her words again. Rattling chains and dragging footsteps, continuing around and around the halls of that particular level for at least four thousand years – with no one to hear them, most likely, until Tech and his teammates had arrived.
He straightened against a sudden chill and went back to the doorway. His shift was almost over, which was good, because he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open again. Leaning one shoulder against the door's edge, he gazed into the empty hall for several minutes.
Quiet footsteps alerted him to Vythia's presence as she walked behind him, some few meters back. He glanced at her and went back to staring out at the darkened hallway.
The next thing he knew, a hand was on his shoulder and Wrecker was saying, "Hey, Tech . . . your shift's up for ten minutes. Weren't you gonna wake me?"
"I –" Tech blinked twice, unable to believe he had fallen asleep. "I had not observed the time."
"It's okay, Vythia woke me. You can get some sleep now."
Vythia? Tech tensed, wondering if perhaps she had drugged him the way she had apparently drugged them all, that night in the mansion . . . No, if that were the case Wrecker would not be awake. And this is by no means a sealed room, or a small one.
"Thank you, Wrecker," he said a bit stiffly, and went back to his place.
As Wrecker settled in for his turn at guard, Tech observed the others, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Hunter and Crosshair were sleeping soundly, and so was Quinlan – Vythia was very nearly asleep . . .
Just to be sure, Tech ran a quick scan on his immediate surroundings, but found no trace of any incapacitating agent.
But why didn't Vythia wake me? he thought, just before he fell asleep.
Crosshair tried to push back the suffocating blackness. He couldn't touch it, but it pressed against his nose and mouth until he couldn't breathe. When he struggled to pull away, it followed him, clinging to the inside of his throat and seeping down through his chest in snagging threads that made him want to cough and gag. He couldn't.
It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream, he thought over and over. Wake up, it's just another kriffing dream. You're not suffocating, you're not, it's a dream, wake UP!
He thought he woke up then, because he was sitting and the others were there, barely visible in the black air as they all gazed off in different directions. Their eyes were distant; they were looking at something far away, and he could almost not see them, though they were scarcely a meter away.
Then the black air pressed against his face again and he realized he'd never woken up at all. He struggled to open his eyes – he should be able to, he'd done it before, he knew it was just a dream – but the same thing happened again. And then again.
. . . At last, after the third time the dream had repeated, he found himself suffocating again. This time, though, the dream faded into nothing.
Quinlan gazed at the scan that Tech was holding out to him. Even upside down as the display was, he could see that the storm wasn't going to stop any time soon.
"Oh, man," Wrecker grumbled. "Another nice day on Malachor."
"The weather here is certainly . . . regular," Hunter said dispiritedly. "That's not gonna stop any time soon, is it?"
"If by 'soon' you mean 'in the next two hours', then no." Tech cleared his screen with a quick tap and put away his datapad, then joined the others in cleaning up their camp.
Quinlan rolled his blanket up and fit it into his pack, observing the others as they moved. Hunter looked tired and a little pale, but then they all did. Eight hours of sleep was one thing – eight hours of constant waking up was another. None of them seemed to have slept well.
After – maybe before as well, but certainly after Quinlan's brush with the dark side last night, which he hadn't mentioned to anyone apart from Hunter, the others seemed to have suffered from nightmares. He'd woken many times because Wrecker had sat up with a jerk; or Tech had muttered the same incoherent thing ten times; or Hunter had jolted to his feet, then started walking back and forth; or Crosshair had gasped. Quinlan himself had only had one dream, where he thought that someone was stabbing his left hand – with what, he had no idea, but it hurt – and then woken to find that it was mere scratch that barely even stung. Probably from that statue attack.
Vythia . . . he hadn't noticed Vythia in particular, but even she looked more subdued than normal as they ate and packed up.
"Tech," said Hunter. "What's the earliest the storm could stop?"
"Thirteen hundred, given the projected direction and rate of movement."
"How long until it might slow down enough that we can get back up top? One hour, or two?
"I would estimate at least six," Tech informed him.
The sergeant nodded. "Vythia, you said you knew where to head next. Is it the last place we need to visit?"
"If no one has stolen the artifact that is hidden there, then yes."
"Where is it?"
"On the tenth level, counting from the ground."
"Well, that's just great," said Crosshair unnecessarily. He was, once again, unnecessarily running a cloth over his unnecessarily polished rifle barrel.
"Hey. . ." Quinlan slid his arms into his pack and gestured at the rifle. "Crosshair, you do know that's a waste of time? I can literally see my reflection."
Crosshair spared him a glance. "Sorry to make you go through that."
Quinlan snorted just as Tech tripped to a halt nearby and announced, "There are only one hundred and five stairways between us and our goal."
Wrecker and Hunter groaned.
"Distance-wise, that is not an outrageous amount," Tech went on.
"No, not distance-wise, at least." Vythia smiled. "We could wait for the storm to end, then go up to the Phoenix and fly back down, then head in through the main doors."
"We could . . ." Quinlan shrugged at Hunter's questioning look. He didn't feel any watchfulness from the presence now – it was there, but not actively seeking them. "But I think we should head down. If the storm ends up going on longer than anticipated –"
" – we'll be trapped here for another night," Hunter ended for him.
Tech shifted uneasily, and Crosshair narrowed his eyes at the floor.
"But we can get to the Marauder, right?" Wrecker asked.
"Yes," said Tech. "The wind speed at ground level will be perfectly safe to move through, if a bit difficult."
Hunter hesitated, glanced at Quinlan, then said, "Vythia, we're going to head down to the tenth level and look for that artifact. But whether we find it or not, we're leaving this place before nightfall. Understood?"
She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then nodded. "Very well. I admit – I do not want to stay here another night either."
I apologize for the late chapter. :)
