Chapter Three: Oaths and Codes
The Tomb of Ajunta Pall turned out to be quite easy to find. Slaves excavated the entrance to the ruin less than 1,000 meters from the landing pad.
Arkarix Krell moved past them, looking neither at the slaves nor their pathetic guards. Men so weak they had to abuse hopeless wretches in order to wring a taste of strength out of life. Such men were little more than slaves themselves, and every bit as disposable.
The Tomb was crawling with K'lor'slugs. Giant, carnivorous worms whose mouths were actually wider than their bodies. Krell's practice blade was ill-suited to carving through them. His Force training had been thorough, however. He lifted boulders that blocked the Tombs' passages and hurled them into the slugs, crushing them.
He walked deeper into the Tomb. He scanned with his mind for the promised warblade. The weapon called to him. It had slept too long, and it hungered for blood. All he had to do was follow its energy.
He expected some kind of puzzle, perhaps a Sith trap that needed to be sprung to release the blade. Instead, it sat in the open. A lightsaber, waiting to be activated, calling to him to put it to use.
He swept the area with his senses. He detected nothing. He carefully scanned the room with his physical vision, in case the trap was mechanical. Sometimes, the simplest methods were the most effective. Again, he found nothing. Finally, he decided that if there was a trap, the only option was to spring it and face it down. He reached out and took hold of the warblade. He waited for a rumble from the earth or for the room to begin collapsing around him.
No collapse occurred. No monsters were unleashed. He lifted the weapon, activated the blade, and watched in wonder as its crimson energy crackled before him.
"I am your Master," he said aloud. "I will give you blood, but never forget – You serve me."
A surge of energy, as if the blade was answering his statement. Krell studied it, felt on the whole that he was pleased.
This was a weapon worthy of a Sith.
In another Tomb, one that had been fully excavated long ago, Reyenna Desme was working on her Trial.
If you could call it that. After she had disposed of the Rattataki corpse, she had found Overseer Harkun. His assignment? To find an old man named Spindrell, who lived in one of the many tombs. Spindrell would pass judgment on her, at which point she would report back to the Academy.
Well, at least it gave her a short break from her murderous teacher.
She found Spindrell in the Tomb's burial chamber. A half-dozen young men and women knelt in rags on the floor, while the old man was seated on a platform at the top of a set of heavily decayed stone stairs. A wheezing noise came from him. Was he coughing? Laughing?
Then she realized the truth. He was snoring.
She shook Spindrell roughly, rousing him from his sleep.
"What? What?" He looked around wildly. His watery eyes found her. He sighed. "Oh, it's that time again, is it? What is your name, slave?"
Reyenna wondered how Spindrell knew she was a slave. Had Harkun contacted him? Was this Trial a setup, a conclusion that she was unworthy already determined?
If Harkun believed she would accept that without a fight, he would be in for a surprise.
"I am Reyenna Desme of Balmorra," she replied. "I am not a slave."
"Then you're a fool," Spindrell said. "We're all slaves here, my dear. You are a pretty one, though."
He leered, revealing that what teeth he still had were both yellow and broken. Reyenna considered slapping him, but he was so frail that she feared the blow might kill him.
"I am no one's plaything," she said firmly. "I advise turning your eyes elsewhere."
He cackled, clapped his hands in glee.
"Strength!" he crowed. "Oh, it has been such a long time since they sent anyone here who had spirit." He leaned forward, a shrewd look in his eyes. "But you made one mistake, my dear. You turned your back on potential enemies."
Reyenna turned as the ragged group from below ascended the stairs, reaching for her. Their eyes were wild, and spittle hung from their lips. If they overcame her, she did not consider it unlikely that they would eat her remains.
She drew her practice blade and swung wildly. Her attackers were driven back by the impact and the electric shocks – but not for long. The electricity in the blade was enough to sting, but it did not actually incapacitate. She was unskilled with the sword, and was already growing tired. Their hands would be on her soon enough – fingers whose uncut nails would feel like talons tearing into her flesh.
She felt a rush of panic. She grabbed hold of that fear and let it go.
The air exploded around her. The attackers were thrown back to the rock walls of the Tomb. They fell to the ground. The lucky ones whimpered in pain, but a few twitched where they fell, then grew still.
She turned back to Spindrell, raising the blade above her head.
"Stop!" the old man cried, lifting a protective hand above his head. "You have passed the test!"
She lowered the practice sword slowly. Snot poured from the old man's nose, loosened either by his fear or excitement. He wiped it away with a bare arm.
"This group." He indicated the fallen. "They are former acolytes, rejected by the Sith. This was their second chance. Had any of them killed you, they would have been allowed to take your place."
"They wouldn't have lasted long," Reyenna said, glancing at their malnourished bodies. "Harkun would have destroyed any of them in a day."
The old man cackled. "Of course he would have! But it would been an honorable death. Better than life as a reject."
Reyenna shrugged. "Life is always better than death," she said. "Honor doesn't come into it."
"You are young," the old man said. "Someday you may draw a different conclusion. Still, you passed your Trial, so here is your reward. The Sith Code. Commit it to your memory, nurture it with your fear and anger, and you will gain the strength to crush your enemies."
He leaned forward, his voice becoming deeper and more powerful as he spoke. Reyenna had the sense that he was passing on knowledge that was sacred – or so sacrilegious as to be the equivalent.
"Peace is a lie. There is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength;
Through strength, I gain power;
Through power, I gain victory;
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me."
Reyenna realized she was holding her breath as he spoke. The words made her feel something. Exactly what, she could not say.
Spindrell coughed. A ball of phlegm emerged from his throat, which he spat onto the ground. He seemed to shrink back into the pathetic old man of before, the moment of power gone.
"Remember this," he said. "Harkun may raise his fist to strike, but it is Darth Zash who decides where the blow lands."
Reyenna looked at him quizzically. "Darth Zash?"
"We all have our Masters," he said. "Darth Zash is Harkun's. Endure these Trials, and you may yet turn that relationship to your advantage. Now go. I am weary." He mumbled something else, then closed his eyes. A second later, he was snoring again.
Reyenna turned toward the exit. Darth Zash. She turned the name over in her mind. That one piece of information, at least, should prove useful.
The Jedi High Council was made up of twelve Masters, those deemed to be the wisest and the most powerful of the Order. At its height, the Council had directly advised the Republic Chancellor, actively guiding the direction of the Republic from behind the scenes.
After the fall of the Great Jedi Temple on Coruscant, however, no funds had been granted for the surviving Masters to rebuild. Under the leadership of Grandmaster Zym, Satele's predecessor, the Jedi had returned to their ancestral home on Tython, turning away from galactic politics. The move had not come without some heated internal debate. The return to Tython had allowed the Order to replenish much of its lost strength, while at the same time reconnecting with its ancient origins. Some, like Master Orgus and Master Jaric, however, believed this came at the cost of the present.
Satele sometimes favored one side of the argument, sometimes the other. The benefits of the retreat to Tython were unmistakable… But so were the costs, as the Order's waning influence could be seen in the Republic's own internal decay. The Republic was growing weaker, and behind their galactic curtain, who knew what fresh horrors the Sith were preparing?
It did not take a Jedi Master to detect the hand of the Empire in the recent assault. An outside force, organizing the Flesh Raiders, giving them weapons and direction and setting them on the Jedi?
"We must not leap to conclusions," Master Syo cautioned. "One hardly needs to leave Republic space to find criminal activity, or resentment against our Order. And \there are the organizations in the neutral territories, such as the Hutts."
Jaric Kaeden, one of several Council members present only holographically, scoffed at the suggestion.
"The Hutts wouldn't risk a direct assault against us," he said. "Even the Families who ally with the Empire for power act only from the shadows."
"I agree that it is too overt for the Hutts." Bela Kiwiks, a Togruta Master who was there in person. In an unorthodox move, she had requested that her padawan, Kira Carsen, be allowed into the meeting. Kira was a promising student, very near the end of her trials, and Bela saw potential in her to join the Council someday. Satele had granted the request.
She now wondered if that had been a misjudgment, as Kira cut into the Masters' conversation.
"Why are we even talking about Hutts?" the young woman asked, eyes flashing with indignation. "The Empire's hand in this is obvious – We need to do something!"
Bala continued to speak as if Kira's interruption had never occurred. "Fortunately, Unaw Aharo, the young padawan who was threatened, had the foresight to record his encounter with the Flesh Raiders' human leader," she said. "He may have worn the robes of a Jedi, but there is no record of him ever receiving Jedi training."
"Robes are easy enough to come by," Orgus grunted.
"We have all sensed a growing darkness," Satele observed. "Perhaps it is finally revealing itself?"
"Drawing conclusions with incomplete information is the act of a fool, not a Jedi," Master Syo said, his voice calm but firm. "Let us talk with the rest of our witnesses."
The Council called in Canlyn Dessan. The young Cathar stood nervously before them. Her head was bowed respectfully as they questioned her about her rescue of Ashara Zavros' padawans, then her retrieval of the holocrons and her discovery that one of them was missing.
"The final recording," Canlyn said. "Master Caecinius expressed hope that it was retrieved by another member of the Order."
Satele shook her head gently. "I fear not," she said.
"The recording was of Rajivari," Master Syo informed her.
Canlyn could not suppress a reaction of surprise. She let out a low, instinctive hiss.
"Yes," Bela confirmed. "The first Fallen Jedi."
Rajivari was a cautionary tale raised during every padawan's study. One of the founders of the Jedi Order, he had come to disagree with the direction of the Order. While the other Founders had valued peace, Rajivari saw strength in conflict. While the others valued reason over emotion, Rajivari believed that following emotion would ultimately lead to greater power.
In the end, he had raised an army and attempted an armed insurrection against the Jedi Order. The rebellion had failed, but in death Rajivari gained more followers, who nurtured his teachings in secret. Eventually, when the Jedi went out among the stars, some of those followers had found their way to Korriban, where their teachings spread to the ancient Sith. Thus planting the seeds of the conflict that continued to this day.
"It's just a recording," Orgus said. "A brief message, like the others, with a handful of preprogrammed responses. Why the worry?"
"Because if that is all that it is," Bela said, "why go to the trouble of stealing it?"
Satele turned back to Canlyn. "Regardless, the Order retains three of the four ancient messages from the Masters," she said. "That is thanks to you. It is also thanks to you that we did not lose a group of padawans to the assault. Ashara Zavros believes that without you, they would have fallen."
"Ashara saved me as well," Canlyn replied. "The Flesh Raiders would have overwhelmed me had she not come to my aid."
Satele nodded acknowledgement.
"Thank you, Padawan," she said, a tone of dismissal in her voice. "Your service has been noted. The Council recommends you spend the next hour in the meditation chambers. A confrontation such as the one you survived can disrupt emotional equilibrium. Once you are done there, you may return to Master Yuon."
Canlyn bowed, thanked the Council, and withdrew.
"An impressive student," Master Syo observed.
Orgus laughed. "Yeah, and don't think she doesn't know it. But she did well today."
The Council had saved its most important witness for last. Caecinius entered. He stood before the Council, striving for a posture of patience, but Satele could sense the restlessness within him.
"You killed many Flesh Raiders today," she observed. "Taking a life affects the Living Force – and also affects the one who does the killing."
"My actions today were driven by the situation, not by emotion," Caecinius replied.
"This is not in question," Satele said. "But you struggled with your emotions during the battle, did you not? Fear, anger, hate."
"I struggled," he admitted. "But I maintained control."
Orgus cut in, impatient. "Caecinius acted as was necessary to protect the Outpost and the padawans," he said. "He has my confidence."
His voice was as firm as it was grumpy. Satele conceded the point and moved on.
"Tell us about this human who was leading the Flesh Raiders."
Caecinius recounted his confrontation with Calief, and his escape.
"I don't know if he was actually a Force user," he admitted. "He wore the robes of a Jedi, but he carried a blaster. He made his escape when the Flesh Raiders attacked me."
"No ships have left Tython," Master Syo noted.
"Which means he's still here," Caecinius said. "Plotting his next move."
The room fell into silence, all of them absorbing the implications of that statement. Bela's padawan, Kira, was the one to give voice to their unease.
"Well. That certainly brightened the room, didn't it?"