:: Chapter Twenty Five ::
Ancient tradition demanded the ritual take place at eventide when, according to the Sith Kissai, the veil between the world of the living and the Force Astrum would be at its lowest and so, after an early dinner, Eliza had retreated to her room to prepare.
She'd showered and dressed in ceremonial garb—a black, full length, Cyrene silken wrap-dress clinging eagerly to her body. Its v-shaped neckline plunged all the way down to her navel while ornate, golden chains adorned her waist and sat on her shoulders to fasten the cloak billowing behind her. Her ruby red locks braided together into a bun atop of her head and a spiral, golden choker with an onyx gem coiled around her neck.
"Wow," said Theron when she approached the Force enclave, "you look… wow…"
"I know, Pureblood women of centuries past were sluts," Eliza quipped and she laughed to hide how uncomfortable she actually felt, clinching the fabric of her dress together over her chest.
"Not quite what I was going to say."
He drew her into his arms and let his hands skim the sides of her body. Kissing her, gentle and soft before whispering something in her ear that caused her to blush and stare at him wide-eyed.
"That's the dirtiest thing to ever come out of your mouth, I like it."
Grinning playfully, he kissed her once more before the two linked arms and headed toward the meditation sanctum.
"Hey, did you call Nyssa?" Eliza asked, touching on the aftermath of her visit with Ravage.
"Yeah. She's doing well, settled into her sister's apartment and starting her new job soon."
"That's good. And you told her about Ravage?"
"I did. She wasn't too surprised but did ask next time you decide to punch him, you add an extra one on her behalf in a place that, well, has me cringing just thinking about it."
She chuckled. "I can do that. And you? Do you still want to strangle him?"
'For more reasons than just this,' Theron considered quietly but forced a smile.
"I do but, there is some poetic justice in his self-serving scheme actually being the thing that brought us together."
"Mm yes, that does put a smile on my face."
Inside the sanctum, Praven and Lord Cytharat already awaited with Darius who'd joined out of curiosity. Lord Cytharat wore garb similar to Eliza's but his was a robe and the golden, ornate chains were heavily decorated with blood diamonds.
"Oh good, I see you've been forced to wear an 'open for business' outfit too," Eliza commented dryly when she saw.
Lord Cytharat glanced her way and laughed. "It's not that bad."
"I agree, he looks hot," Praven said with a wink while he busied himself setting up candles in a circle.
A snort came from Darius and he shook his head, indicating a pointed finger at Eliza. "It looks better on her."
"You shush," she told him in a lighthearted fashion and with one hand cupped his chin to inspect his face, "Does that scar still hurt?"
"Nah. I'm actually thinking of adding a piercing to really show it off."
"I heard, which is why I got you this."
She handed him a small, wooden box with a crisp, blue velvet lining. "As a thank you for, well, basically saving my life, Lord Darius."
Eager and surprised, the young man popped the box open fast to retrieve the golden eyebrow piercing—near identical to the one his uncle Vowrawn wore except this one was engraved with his name written in ancient Sith.
"Oh sweet, thanks! And I'm officially a Lord now?" He beamed rather proudly.
"You are. At least, as official as we can make it out here."
Eliza smiled at his enthusiasm and gave him a swift hug before she joined Praven at the altar they'd prepared. With a pestle, he stood grinding up some unknown substance and she leaned in to catch a whiff of its scent before jumping back fast.
"Oof that stuff stinks! What the hell is it?"
"Soil, from both your birth planets and purified water."
"So, mud? Greaaat! I've always wanted to smear mud all over my body."
Behind her, Theron laughed gently while he observed all the preparations, trying to ignore how nervous he felt.
"Not your whole body," Praven corrected with a chuckle, "just your t-zone, chin, the back of your hands and a line along your clavicle. Hence the design of the robes."
"Ahh, well that's much better then," she exclaimed with heavy sarcasm and amusement.
"Did you practice the incantation?"
"I have been, yes."
"And I'm not allowed to stay present, am I?" asked Theron.
"You may witness from outside the circle, same as Darius, but you have to remain absolutely silent. Once we get started there can be no interruptions," Lord Cytharat told him.
"We're ready," Praven announced.
Theron took a step back and quickly clasped Eliza's hand. "Good luck, I really hope you'll find the answers you need."
"Thank you, babe, I love you so much and I really appreciate how supportive you've been." She held him close and left a lingering kiss on his lips.
"I love you."
Together with Darius, he retreated to the back of the sanctum and turned his communication devices off while the other three entered the circle.
"Scared?" asked Lord Cytharat while he scooped a dollop of the soil compound onto his finger and applied it to Eliza's forehead—an action she mirrored while they anointed each other.
"Nervous more like? Thinking, what if he's not there and if he is, does he know everything that's been going on? Is he going to be upset I've moved on? What does he think of our daughter and does he suffer up there?"
Praven, who would function as the master of ceremony and their anchor to the living, tried to reassure her, "You can't think like that, just focus on him and calm your mind. Did you bring the personal items?"
"Well, I have his ring but just to make sure I brought the first journal he ever wrote as well. I figured that's been in his personal possession the longest. Do you think that's enough?"
"Plenty. Now, lie back, both of you."
As instructed and rehearsed, they both sank down and lay on their backs on the velour floor cushions, their bodies perfectly aligned while Praven knelt by their heads. With his palms, he covered their closed eyes and the two linked hands, entwining their fingers.
Eliza held Lord Scourge's journal close to her heart with her free hand, his wedding band sitting around her thumb while she spoke the words leading them into the ritual, "Motina iv azinimas, jaarvek iv tyûk, vires iv tave kraujas, girdeti mus dabar."
"Mes iezkon tu'iea coa ir mari nuo sis eroaga," Lord Cytharat recited to ask for their elders' judgment and blessing.
"Nuo tave Trovas iv Ignis."
"Nuo tave Trovas iv Cytharat."
An eerie silence fell and everyone held their breath hoping for a sign their words had been heard. Anticipation built and once more, Eliza chanted the words begging the mother of wisdom, the father of strength and the elders of the blood to hear her plea and now, the candles surrounding them flickered until their flames rose higher.
Lord Cytharat and Eliza both felt a sudden rush course through their body, heard each other's pulse echo loudly in their minds and in unison began reciting the original Sith code in their ancient tongue.
"Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun."
From every corner of the sanctum, a hissing voice rang, slithering across the stone cold floor and drawing near to form a gloomy ring around them that extinguished all candles at once. The shadowy mist thickened to forge a shroud that would cover both their bodies until they were fully obscured from view and a macabre lullaby sang, bringing them to a state of unconsciousness.
Their destination was nothing like the dry desert or the crumbling, and colorless, wasteland Eliza had grown accustomed to on previous journeys to an alternate plane of existence. There were no endless, grassy fields or vast shores like she'd imagined and instead they found themselves on a planet all too familiar to them both—Korriban, in its original condition as it had been almost four thousand years ago when the first Dark Jedi arrived to enslave their species.
In place of the Sith Academy stood a colossal temple, wide open and shaped like an octagon with at each point a large obelisk. Detailed carvings marked each pillar and atop of the stonework steps leading to the temple stood a grand altar surrounded by skulls and bones, blood dripping down its sides though there was no source for the sanguine fluids.
The Astrum wasn't a glorious haven where fallen Sith were heralded as heroes—they merely existed in another prison beyond life, bound by eternity. Eliza had expected the realm to be filled with peace but instead sensed much in the way of longing and regret, unexplained anger and an envy that while she would return to life upon completion of her quest, those spirits surrounding her never could.
Eliza gripped Lord Cytharat's hand tighter and clutched her dress with the other, a shiver running down her spine even while there appeared to be no climate. All around them were the spirits of those long gone but still hungering for life, feeding on their presence and the song of the dead carried over the terracotta colored expanse.
"This doesn't feel inviting," she whispered to Lord Cytharat.
"Don't cover yourself up," he quietly hissed to her ear and slapped the hand concealing her chest away, "you're in Sith territory. They'll think you're timid and therefore weak."
"I'd noticed, the Sith territory part. Does that mean Jedi in the Astrum are separate from the Sith?"
"Looks that way," Lord Cytharat mused and they ascended the steps approaching the altar. "Can you sense Scourge?"
"No. There's familiarity all around me, a feeling of recognition but it isn't him."
They circled the altar and as they passed, two tall and black unlit candles sprung to life with deep crimson flames, adding to Eliza's perturbation but Lord Cytharat took in each detail with a keen interest. He dragged her inside the temple and rushed for the nearest pillar to study its carvings up close.
"Do you realize how unique an opportunity this is? Getting to see all of this before our time?"
"It's…" Something else nearer the temple's center distracted her as two shimmering, and luminous, anomalies descended and slowly transformed.
"We've got company," she breathed out and pointed.
The two figures took shape with every step as they walked to approach, growing into the bodies that had served them in life and once they came to a halt, Eliza and Lord Cytharat found themselves staring up at two Pureblood men. One of them resembling closer to their Massassi Warrior ancestors while the other looked quite similar to Lord Cytharat, with the exception he had a taller and more muscled built.
"Welcome children," said one of the men in a deep, baritone voice while he addressed Lord Cytharat, "The son of my sons."
"The daughter prophesied millennia ago," spoke the other with his eye on Eliza, "I am Lord Markos Ignis, son of Lord Tyvon Ignis the First."
Hearing the name triggered a memory of her grandfather and her eyes widened in awe and recognition. "You're the son of the original Ignis, the Sith who enslaved fire."
"I am."
"My Lord." She made a reverent bow and Lord Cytharat mirrored her actions while he voiced his own curiosity.
"And you, my Lord?" he asked the other man.
"Lord Basir Cytharat. Your grandfather, Kato, was my grandson."
"It is an honor." Lord Cytharat made a second bow and though Eliza curtsied, Basir sized her up with a critical eye.
The reason for their visit was no mystery for the two elderly spirits and Markos, exuding an air of calm quite different to Basir, led the younger pair back toward the altar they'd passed upon entering the temple.
"You have come here, not to seek our blessing but to gain knowledge, have you not?" Markos inquired to confirm.
Eliza nodded. "We have, my Lord. We came here hoping to find a man known as Lord Scourge."
Next to Markos, Basir snarled instantly upon hearing the name. "That villainous snake!"
"You've heard of him?" asked Lord Cytharat with deeply furrowed brows.
"Of course I have! That foul zudikas is the reason I am here!" Basir barked and spat his words at their feet. "The Emperor's Wrath, a killer of his own kind!"
Taken aback, Eliza looked startled and gripped Lord Cytharat's hand tighter as the atmosphere between his ancestor and herself took a quick turn.
"He is responsible for many of us here!" Basir carried on, building into a small tirade, "And they all know who you are, little girl—the traitor's sosera!"
"I was his wife!" she spat and his insult of calling her a whore kindled her own ferocity, quickly pushing her beyond the unease she'd felt earlier.
Markos bore witness with a stern look but did not interfere on her behalf, eager to assess her mettle.
"I am terribly sorry you were one of many to fall at his hand but his actions were no betrayal! He served a greater purpose—the preservation of our galaxy where your descendants still live on today, where they carry on your name!" Eliza argued and indicated to Lord Cytharat by her side.
"Or would you rather we'd all perished to feed the Emperor's immortality? Including your children and those who came after?"
Basir growled and berated her even further, "Don't preach to me the feats you performed as Jedi! Your story is well known here and you are lucky to have the blood of the greats course through your veins or you would not even be welcomed here!"
Casually, she rested a hip against the altar while her arms folded before her, her defiance rising and prompting Lord Cytharat to intervene before things would escalate further.
"Perhaps we should table this discussion and instead entertain the matter at hand, my Lords?" he tried, careful not to antagonize his ancestor any more, "Could you point us to Lord Scourge, is he here?"
"No," Markos, at last, spoke again, "He never even passed through the Ostium, the gateway between your world and the Ora."
Perplexed, fully well understanding what it meant if Lord Scourge hadn't even reached the Ora, Eliza immediately spun around. "Wait, what?"
"Are you certain?" Lord Cytharat frowned at the startling news.
Markos nodded and his eyes closed while he held out an upturned palm. He concentrated deeply and a tall, black and engraved candle appeared in his hand. "See, his flame still burns."
Eliza inspected the candle up close, recognizing it to be identical to the two burning on the altar and she read the inscription, "Deimos Tynan… this represents his life?"
"It does, same as these other two represent your life and Tallis'," Basir grumped and explained to the young twosome, "They burn in this realm for every soul of our kind still alive."
"Unbelievable…" The truth sank in slowly with Eliza and she gasped, a somewhat trembling hand running through her hair. "He's not dead… but then where, what, oh stars…"
"Which means we won't find the answers you're looking for here…" Lord Cytharat concluded and drew her into his arms, unsure of what else to say while expressing regret at the news seemed so inappropriate.
His great ancestor and Markos exchanged a meaningful glance and though the former held a clear grudge, they both realized the gravity of Eliza's situation. As they'd stood closer to her, they'd sensed the presence clinging to her like a last breath and came to understand why the younger pair had sought out Lord Scourge's spirit.
"He may not be here," Markos began, "but perhaps your visit could still bear fruits."
"My Lord, I mean no offense but I'm not sure this is something you could help with." Eliza gave a polite smile, her temper subdued now.
"I can, and I will. There are a great many things about our family that you don't know, that many never knew, including your grandfather but I believe the time has come to reveal the truth—to expose the ties between our family and the man you know as Vitiate."
The riddles he spoke in troubled Eliza. She'd been prepared to tell Lord Scourge about her current predicament but felt apprehensive sharing it with her ancestors, worried about their reaction. Concerned they might worship the Sith Emperor even in the afterlife and would refuse to aid her or worse, force her to remain within their realm as a means of keeping Vitiate trapped too.
"You know…?" she spoke softly.
Basir scoffed, "That the Sith Emperor resides within you? Yes, your own essence sits tainted by his."
"Walk with me, child." Markos held out an inviting hand and after receiving an encouraging nod from Lord Cytharat, Eliza accepted his invitation.
Together they turned from the altar and walked toward the most central point of the temple where Markos made a small gesture with his free hand and revealed spiral steps that lead down to an underground chamber. Torches sprung to life while they descended and Markos began his story.
"Eliza, do you know what a Kissai is?"
"Not quite… an elder, leader?"
"No, the Kissai were priests. Spiritual leaders highly skilled in ancient Sith magic and alchemy. I was a Kissai, as was my father before me which is how he bound the gift of fire to our lineage."
"I did always wonder," she admitted with intrigue while they stepped inside a ceremonial chamber.
Tall and gilded candelabras stood on either side of a magnificent looking, and sizable, bone ivory bowl filled with blood and Eliza felt another shiver travel down her spine. Contrary to the whispers and song she'd heard up on the surface, nothing could be heard within the chamber and Markos took up position by another altar mirroring the one at the temple's entrance.
"What uh…" Eliza slightly turned her nose up and indicated at the bowl. "What's the blood for?"
"It's a porthole to witness events of the past so I can tell, and show you, the truth."
"How?"
"The essence of Vitiate is within you. Touch your index finger to the surface, connect with the blood and we shall see."
Reluctantly, after observing the bowl with suspicion, she followed his instruction and dipped a finger in. The smooth, sanguine surface rippled, graciously at first until Markos spoke the words to summon the memoirs of Vitiate.
"S'dies, Tenebrae."
Violently the ripples grew, simmering and churning to a boil and a silver cloud of steam spat up when the blood rose. It painted an image of a young, deeply crimson Pureblood man gazing into the amber eyes of a Pureblood woman he held to him like a treasure.
"Before we start you must know, in those days it was common for a male Sith to have at least one lover in addition to his wife—a mistress," Markos began sharing a piece of history with her, "Marriage was never more than a business arrangement between powerful families and once a wife had given birth to a rightful heir who could carry on the name, the wealth, and power, the man would be free to accept a mistress."
"That's archaic," Eliza mumbled.
"Perhaps, to your generation," he conceded and indicated at the image hovering between them, "But it wasn't to them—Lord Andros Ignis and his mistress Neviah. After Lord Andros conceived a male heir with his wife, he pursued his childhood sweetheart Neviah who'd been deemed unsuitable as a candidate for marriage and won her heart. Engaging in a relationship built on love, passion, absolute devotion and together, they too had a child."
"Tenebrae?"
"Close, but not quite. They named their son Dramath, after Neviah's father, and Andros loved his child dearly, far more than his rightful heir. Doting on the boy and though he could not give the child his name, he did provide for his education and raised his standing to Lord. Providing riches and prestige."
The memory they witnessed changed scenes and a now much older Andros was shown fighting alongside a young man with yellow eyes, a light crimson skin and sleek, black, combed back hair.
"Now, in our family, the gift passes on only to the eldest child in each new generation which meant that Dramath's older half-brother inherited the blessing of fire while Dramath was left envious. To make up for that fact, Andros helped Dramath conquer a neighboring planet to rule—Medriaas."
Eliza drew in a sharp breath and gasped, "Nathema?!"
"Precisely," said Markos and once more the vision changed, now showing Dramath as Lord and ruler of Medriaas in the prime of his life.
Markos carried on while Eliza felt herself thirsting for the climax of his story, the one piece of information to complete the puzzle—her mind a maze of information difficult to digest.
"Much like his father, Dramath took a wife and after the birth of his first son, went in search of a mistress of his own, hoping to find a woman as formidable as his own mother had been. For a time, he engaged in an affair with a lowly farm woman he'd met, one who'd aided his recovery after a battle and while he never found love with her, they did have a child together—Tenebrae."
Sheer bewilderment widened Eliza's eyes and her mind buzzed loudly when all at once, everything fell into place. "We share the same blood…"
"Yes. While Tenebrae, is not part of our family and merely the bastard child of a bastard, he was born from the same blood as you were and it is therefore that you cannot use your gift against him or his children. Why he cannot possess you without your compliance."
The steam puffing above the bowl erupted into a mushroom cloud and evaporated while the blood stilled to a smooth substance, the visage of Vitiate in his original Pureblood form, as Tenebrae, reflecting in the surface and smirking up at Eliza.
A heavy gasp blew past her lips and she leaned forward, gripping the bowl between her fingers to steady herself. "But, the prophecy foretold a child born from the ancient flames would be his undoing… how, oh…"
A gentle smile graced Markos' otherwise stern features while he joined at her side. "Born from the flames, yes, but not by use of the gift."
"Then, how? I have failed at every attempt and now he is a part of me. I don't know how to expel or defeat him."
"You'll need the help of something, someone, already in your possession."
"Huh?"
"After Tenebrae terrorized his village and went on a murderous journey, Dramath tracked him down and confronted the bastard son he never knew. They battled and Tenebrae stripped him of his power before killing him and trapping his spirit as punishment.
"Lord Dramath the Second, Tenebrae's elder half-brother, stole the prison Tenebrae had fashioned around their father's spirit and fled the planet to return to his grandfather, Lord Andros, to whom he entrusted the object for safekeeping. A holocron I believe you have inherited from Tamas."
"The holocron?!" she shrieked and still found herself falling from one confounding revelation into the next, "but I was told it holds the spirit of—"
"My father, Lord Tyvon, and by releasing him you could be freed from our family's gift?"
"Yes."
Markos nodded and linked an arm with her, walking to lead her back toward the surface. "A fable spun by Lord Andros. While Tenebrae rose to power and received the title of Lord Vitiate, Andros was shown in a dream that one day, the daughter of the flame would bring about the end of Vitiate's reign and life.
"Andros decided then that the holocron should never be opened until that daughter—you—was born. He fashioned a story that would discourage generations to come from ever accessing the holocron. After all, no Sith would ever risk losing such a unique power, even at its cost."
"Clever… Does Vitiate know any of this?"
"Today, he knows some of the story. He wasn't raised by Dramath and killed him so swiftly he never got to hear about his grandfather or our family, not until a vision set him on your grandfather's path years ago and the truth of the holocron has been our best-kept secret until now."
They stepped back outside where Horuset, Korriban's sun, greeted them eagerly and Eliza blinked her eyes a few times.
"How do I use it?"
"That is something I do not know, only Dramath himself can aid you there. The holocron is sealed with a spell, you'll find it written on two halves of a scroll hidden in the pummels of your lightsabers."
"Incredible…" she breathed in a heavy whisper.
They reunited with Basir and Lord Cytharat and Eliza immediately sunk herself into her cousin's embrace, overwhelmed by the discord in her own mind.
He tenderly inspected her face and held her. "Did you find what we need?"
"Oh, more than. So much…"
"You should both return now," Basir pointed out and he cast his gaze to the setting sun behind them, "once darkness falls, you'll be trapped here and your physical bodies will die."
"Thank you… both of you," said Eliza and though they'd had a bitter start, she gave Basir a courteous nod before turning her focus to Markos one last time.
"One final question… well, two—is there a way to free myself of the gift and, when will my daughter inherit it?"
"No, you cannot be relieved of the gift and it manifests only in one living Ignis at a time. Your daughter will not receive the blessing of the fire until you're no longer alive."
While Eliza still found herself in a state of befuddlement, the time came to say their goodbyes and all four linked hands as Basir and Markos spoke the incantation to return Eliza and Lord Cytharat to the world of the living, armed with far more information than she'd ever bargained for.
