Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction - okay, with a side of myth-making - and I am not making any profit from any of it.

Author's notes:

1)This chapter dedicated to LJ's attanagra, for thematic reasons.

2) If the advice Kit gives to Ryn is familiar, that's because it is substantially similar to the description of kingship the king gives to his son in C.S. Lewis's The Horse and His Boy. It stuck with me. If the other stuff in the chapter seems familiar, that's probably because it's a lot like The Silmarillion crossed with Celtic hero cycles seasoned with a dash of Every Fairy Tale You've Ever Read Anywhere. Yeah, that's how I roll.

3) I'm still not happy with the third goddess's name. But here I try my hand at intertextual myth-making, and I hope you enjoy it …

CHAPTER SIX

Sarta turned from the balcony as his sister stepped out of the shadows behind.

"Have you felt it?" she asked him, her voice hushed.

Sarta looked out at the lowering clouds. "What does it mean?"

"Someone has raised the land."

He frowned at her over his shoulder. "Again I ask."

Gunryth frowned in turn. "The land itself is roused to anger: all the life on this planet." She took in his uncomprehending look and tried again: "There is a disturbance in the Force."

"Oh." Sarta looked at her. "And it's affecting the planet?"

"No," said Gunryth. A lesser woman would have been stamping her foot. "Life creates the Force."

"Right," said Sarta, not following at all.

"And now someone has raised Loreth to arms."

"Right," Sarta said again.

"Thereby causing a disturbance in the Force," Gunryth finished, watching him expectantly.

"So ..." Sarta prompted.

Gunryth looked a little wild around the eyes. "So we could lose the whole planet!"

Sarta blinked at her. "What?"

"Do you not see that storm building?" She pointed across the hills to the south.

"Yes," said Sarta.

"That is happening all over Loreth," Gunryth said - sounding, for the first tie since he could remember, a little shaken. "It may be happening in the planetary core, for all I know. I told you, Loreth is at war."

He stared at her. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know." Gunryth hovered on the verge of tears. "It was said the ancient ylfe had that power, but ... I have never believed it."

"The gods," Sarta said, suppressing a tremor of fear.

"Hush," said Gunryth severely. "Don't call them that. But the Iluhari of old ... yes, that is possible."

Sarta sucked in a breath. "The only one left is ..."

Gunryth met his eyes. "Yes. I fear that, too."

"What ..." he cleared his throat. "What can we do? Have you spoken to our father?"

Gunryth's full lips twisted wryly. "It is easier to see forgiveness than permission, my brother."

Sarta resisted the urge to close his eyes in despair. It wasn't as if he hadn't known her long enough to know better. "What do you want me to do?" he asked resignedly.

Gunryth smiled tightly. "Ride North," she commanded him. "Find Areth'ryn."

Sarta jerked in surprise. "Ryn? But -"

"I have a hunch," said Gunryth, effectively silencing his protests. "Take few men and ride hard. Don't look back."

That's not ominous at all, Sarta thought, and left to do his sister's bidding.

He'd been moved. Probably several times. But this time, when he opened his eyes and sat up, groaning, something was different.

In the first place, his hands were bound, and this was the first time that had happened. But besides that ... the air felt different. There was a draught. And ... dampness.

Most important of all, he could sense the Force.

As a matter of fact, he could feel it almost too much. Instead of a steady stream, comforting in its presence, the Force charged through like a sudden flood, threatening to obliterate everything in its path. The sheer violence of it was intoxicating, dangerous.

This is a very bad sign.

Ryn groaned as she dragged herself from her blankets. It wasn't that said blankets were all that comfortable - they were soaked through and itchy on top of it - but the prospect of another day in the saddle held even less appeal. But the key to being a leader, Kit had always insisted, was not to be better than everyone else, it was to be more willing. Men - and presumably women - would follow you damn near anywhere if they knew you were heading there faster yourself.

I could give you all kinds of advice, Kit had told her, years ago. But none of it would mean a damn, except this: there is no such thing as leading from behind. Being a leader means you take the risks. It means you head every doomed charge, and you act as rearguard in every faltering retreat. It means that whatever is dangerous and difficult and dirty, that's what you do more of than anyone else. He'd grinned at her then, his fatalistic humor glimmering. And eventually you'll get killed doing it, but it's not a bad way to go.

See? Ryn thought now, scrambling to her feet. I did listen. I am trying, Kit.

Except that she wasn't actually the first on her feet this morning. Anakin had beaten her to it and was already kneeling over the fire, keeping it sheltered from the wind and rain with the Force while he made the strong stimulant tea they carried on campaign.

Ryn squelched an irrational surge of resentment at being outdone - it is not a competition; you're on the same side, damn it - and made her way across the camp to him, assessing the shadows under is eyes so she couldn't think about anything else, like the way his hands moved over the tea equipment, strong and sure and steady.

"Hey," she said, when she was close enough to speak without rousing the others. "You're up early."

"Hey," Anakin answered. "I couldn't sleep." He glanced up at her, fingering a cup. "You take your tea straight, right?"

I'd like to take you straight, Ryn thought, and bit her lip against a rush of heat. Cut it out, Orun. You sound like the heroine of a bad romance.

Anakin was still watching her expectantly.

Right.

"Honey," she choked, because she needed all the calories she could get right now.

Anakin nodded, just the flicker of surprise on his unusually still face, and added a dollop of honey to the cup before pouring tea. "Here," he said, holding it out to her, and Ryn reached automatically to take it from him.

Their hands touched, and it felt like being struck by lightning, the crackle of energy as every nerve she had sprang to life.

Stop that, she told herself sharply. You've never been struck by lightning in the first place.

And then it registered that Anakin was still holding onto the cup, staring at their hands. Ryn tugged gently and he let go, still looking at little stunned.

Okay, Ryn thought, looking away so she could breathe again. It wasn't just me. He felt it, too. That's new.

New, but not something any of them could afford to worry about right now. Ryn took a sip of the tea, closing her eyes as she felt the stimulant penetrate its way into her system.

Do not think about penetration.

"Did you get any rest at all last night?" she asked Anakin, searching for a distraction.

It might even work, provided Anakin had suddenly gone deaf, blind, and stupid.

"I ... yeah, a little," he said, regarding her warily.

So that would be a 'no', then, Ryn surmised, discarding all hope of preserving her dignity. It had been on the critical list pretty much since she met him, anyway.

You met him by splatting your ass all over the the Temple floor, she reminded herself acerbically. Nobody finds that impressive.

He was still staring at her, probably wondering when she'd lost her mind.

Ryn sipped her tea to buy some time, and finally came out with, "I think we could make a good sixty leagues today, if we push."

Anakin nodded slowly, watching her. "I have no idea what that means."

Right. Because the Republic didn't use leagues, and neither did the Hutts. "We'll reach the seal over the Womb of Death within the week," she summarized.

Anakin's eyes widened as his eyebrows went up. "The 'Womb of Death'?"

"We're a poetic people."

Anakin's expression told her without words what he thought of that. "What will we do when we get there?"

"Descend to the underworld, battle some demons, hopefully rescue Obi-Wan."

Anakin stared at her. "The underworld? Seriously? We're not living in some ... myth, Ryn."

"That's probably what the heroes of the myths thought, too," Ryn pointed out. He looked frustrated, so she took a breath and tried to explain. "Loreth is a very ... real ... kind of place," she said, but that clearly made no sense to Anakin. Okay. Try this again ... "You know how Yoda says that 'luminous beings are we'?" she asked, and waited for his nod. "Think of Loreth as a place ... a point of convergence, if you like ... where matter and energy and spirit are less separate than what you know." He was listening to her now, at least. "I am more present - in every sense of the word; more here, more now, than anyone else you will ever meet."

Anakin watched her for a moment, then cast his eyes across the sleeping figures of the camp. "Evinne?"

Ryn shook her head. "No. We share much ancestry, but ... the old line runs strong in me." She looked to the East, feeling the change in her bones. "I am one of the old kind, and we are dying out." The wind of dawn stirred her hair and spat rain in her face; it felt like a sign. "The gods will not walk among us, after this."

There was a clatter; Ryn jerked her eyes away from the future to find that Anakin had dropped his own teacup in to the fire, dousing some of the flames.

"I - wha - I'm sorry," he managed, retrieving the metal cup from the ash with the help of the Force. "Did you just say ... the gods?"

Oh. Right. Well.

"It's a long story," Ryn said, knowing that wasn't much of an answer. "We are dying. But we have to try and save the galaxy first, one last time."

"We?" Anakin said, his eyes too sharp. "Who's we?"

Ryn inhaled slowly. "The Guardians of Loreth, the few who are left of us."

Anakin was not taking this news well. "You're telling me you are a god?"

"Descendant," Ryn said wearily. She took another hit of her tea for fortification. "So is Evinne, really, it's just that -"

"She didn't inherit whatever god-stuff you inherited."

"I'm not sure I'd put it like that. She inherited something, after all. But ... close enough, I guess."

"And you don't think you might have mentioned this a little sooner?"

"No," Ryn said, gazing at him over the rim of her cup, "I really don't."

"Ryn, you don't - you can't - the gods aren't real.'

Ryn sipped again. "I'm real enough."

"But -"

"It's a pretty rough translation," she said, and felt something ease inside him - notagod - so she kept going. "They were powerful beings, and some of the ancients worshipped them. You've heard of them before; these days we call them Powers or Saints."

"I've heard you say both," Anakin said. "At once, I mean. Powers-and-Saints. I thought it was a curse."

"No, they're different, it's ..." Ryn tightened her grip on the metal cup, trying to find the words. "They were the Guardians of Loreth, as I said. They were not creators, but they were caretakers. Sort of ... deputies, I guess you could say. And the Saints, originally, were the heroes who were raised after death to join them. But ... the ancient ylfe, long ago, lost their way, and began to worship the Guardians in their own right, instead of honoring them as emissaries of the Lifegiver. And some of the Guardians betrayed their duty, and accepted the worship, and became not guides but rulers, demanding tribute." She cast another glance at the sky. "The first of the athelani."

"And those were ... your ancestors?" Anakin guessed warily.

"No ... well, in a way. The true Guardians tried to make it right. Three were chosen to go among the ylfe and teach them the old ways again. But ... it didn't quite work."

"The people didn't believe them?"

Ryn grimaced. "Khalî was one of the three."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. The others - Vashtu and Arret - failed to restrain her. Vashtu couldn't exactly nurture Khalî into submission, and Arret, who should have been the warrior ... had other priorities."

"What happened?"

Ryn tore her gaze from the sky and let it rest on him, carrying the weight of inherited duty. "She fell in love," Ryn answered softly. "With a hero."

"And that meant she couldn't fight herself?" Anakin sounded skeptical.

"She didn't want to fight. She loved her hero more than anything; too much. She made herself as one of the ylfe for him, let herself be bound in her flesh to love him better." Ryn couldn't hold his gaze; she spoke her last words into the fire instead. "She forsook her duty, and chose him over Loreth."

Anakin's touch on her wrist startled her; she almost dropped her cup. "Ryn," he said, tugging gently until she looked up and met his eyes, reluctantly. "You're not like her. You're not Arret. You're not."

"I never said ..." The look in his eyes stopped her, the unwanted insight, the knowledge of everything she hadn't said. "All right, fine, I'm not." She pulled her hand away to scrub the tears from her face and pretend they were only rain. "But I'll need to be, if I have to go head-to-head with Khalî."

"You're a good person," Anakin told her, his earnestness heartbreaking. "The best person I know. You'll do the right thing."

Some days I don't even know what that is. Ryn looked back at him, meaning to point out that his faith in her was a little alarming, but ... "I love you," she said, before she could stop herself.

Anakin favored her with a slightly sad smile, his presence awash with the bittersweetness of them. "I know."

He took her breath away, kneeling there in the rain.

No. No no no no no no no no. "I ... I have to go," Ryn said brokenly, and shoved her empty cup into his hands, hurrying off as though she could run away from her own feelings.

As though anything could save her now.