Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction, from which I am not making any profit.

Author's note: Battles, myths, and hallucinations … Also, thanks to the lovely people who gave me feedback last time! You are rewarded (or punished) with another long and eventful chapter!

CHAPTER SEVEN

"There is a disturbance in the Force."

Dooku's hologram inclines its head. "I have felt it, my Master."

You probably thought it was indigestion, Sidious thinks uncharitably.

Well. He does everything uncharitably, so perhaps that's no great surprise. Still. He's feeling positively waspish today.

He is a Dark Lord of the Sith; instead of squashing those feelings, or allowing them to annoy him in their inconvenience, he draws on them, letting them swell like the dark blush of fetid arousal.

"Lord Tyranus, this disturbance is not of our design."

"No, my lord." Tyranus sounds suspiciously as though he feels his agreement might carry some weight with his Master.

"But it may prove useful to us," Sidious continues.

"As you say, my lord."

Pompous ass. Well, he'd known when he accepted Dooku as an apprentice that the man's delusional belief in inherited gentility - namely his own - would prove an irritant. "Lord Tyranus, my work keeps me here, on Coruscant."

"A troubling necessity, my lord."

"No, my apprentice, it troubles me not," Sidious chides him, letting a silky edge of chastisement grace his tone. "For I have you to assist me in our mutual travails, have I not?"

Dooku's eyes widen, just slightly, at the threat unspoken behind his words. "Assuredly, my Master. What is thy bidding?"

Much better. "Go to the Outer Rim," Sidious instructs him. "Discover the source of this disturbance, but let none guess at your presence there. Then report back to me."

The Count of Serenno bows in acquiescence. "It shall be done, my Master."

(Lord Vader, years later, is the only one to say, over and over again, as you wish.)

Sarta hoists himself higher in the saddle and cranes his neck to survey the terrain through the gathering storm.

"Scouts?" his lieutenant suggests, not for the first time.

Sarta shakes his head as he settles back into normal riding position, much to his mount's relief. "No need," he tells her tersely. "Nothing to see." He doesn't say - doesn't have to say - that the real danger now is the kind that can't be seen. There's nothing they can do about it from here, anyway.

They change mounts at the first fort and keep riding.

There is noise, filtering down through the passageways: voices, the tramp of feet, the distant sound of running water. Obi-Wan feels fairly safe in hazarding that he is in some sort of system of caves.

The air is chill, dank and drafty rather than warm and stale, so probably they are not far underground. That's good, he tells himself at regular intervals. But it's hard to feel cheerful about much of anything when the background noises of the caves are punctuated by long-drawn screams.

Whatever they have holding the bars across the opening of his own cell, they resist his use of the Force. Drawing on it earned him a beating the last time, from some scaly being with fetid breath whose species Obi-Wan couldn't identify. Not humanoid, for certain, and he doesn't think Trandoshan or Rodian, either, but that's not much to go on.

So most of the time he lies still in the dark and dreams of Anakin, even when technically he's awake.

Sometimes the draughts of air smell like blood.

It was near midday by the time Anakin finally nudged his sleipnir closer to Ryn's to ask her the question that had been bothering him since breakfast.

Ryn caught his look and sent the warriors riding near her a sharp glance that made them fall back and leave some space. "Yes?" she asked, terse but not unfriendly.

"So." Anakin shifted in his saddle. "How are you going to use your special god powers to rescue Obi-Wan?" And how come you haven't been using them to get out of messes up to now?

Ryn kept her gaze focused straight ahead. "I don't have any special god powers."

"But you said -"

"My birthright is a connection to this land, and a duty to defend it." Ryn tightened her grip on the reins in a way that said, all too clearly, that he was not getting it. "It runs strong in me, that's true. But that doesn't make me powerful, not in the way you mean. You've already seen everything I can do." She twitched irritably. "The Adepts at the Temple couldn't even teach me to use the Force properly. I failed their tests three times before they gave up and sent me to learn fighting instead." She drew a sharp, unhappy breath. "I was pretty good at that part, at least."

You wanted to be a Healer, Anakin thought at her. And you were good at that, too. But arguing with Ryn about her past was like arguing with Obi-Wan about Jedi rules, or trying to explain to Watto that it wasn't his fault the coolant valves had blown once again: being right wouldn't earn him any points. So he set his teeth and tried to move on: "Your empathy -"

"Has been useful when?"

Okay. Anakin tried hard not to strangle her. "So what is the plan, exactly? I mean, why tell me all that god stuff?"

"Because it is ... significant," Ryn answered slowly. "Thanks to the Guardians - and the athelani - Loreth is not like any other place you know." She frowned. "Unless you've been to Korriban."

"Korriban?"

"Never mind that, it's not really the same." She took a deep breath. "It's like this: I inherited duty, not power. The same goes for all the athelani, those who survive. Our strength lies in our connection to this land, so we rely on it pretty heavily." She cut him a quick, sideways glance. "You may have noticed, I'm not all that impressive off-world."

"You're impressive," Anakin said, remembering the girl he'd thought he'd known. "You're Ryn Orun. That's pretty stanging impressive."

Ryn didn't quite roll her eyes. "Thanks."

That didn't seem to be going anywhere, so Anakin circled back to his earlier question: "So how is all this going to help us save Obi-Wan?"

Ryn grimaced. "Well, we managed to raise the land against Khalî, for a start."

Anakin glanced around at the - yes, decidedly angry - landscape. "I'm still not sure how that helps us," he said, feeling a little bitter about the excessive rain.

Ryn exhaled slowly. "If we've done it right, it may disrupt Khalî's own connection to Loreth's ecosystem."

Patience, said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Obi-Wan's. I'm trying, Anakin thought, carefully unclenching his jaw. "And that will ..."

"Impair her awareness of things, weaken her powers." Ryn gave the hills a somewhat dubious look of her own. "Maybe." She shook herself and got back to the explanation. "Evinne and I together are still no match for her. But with the Force ... you might be."

The Chosen One again, Anakin thought. He sensed ... something ... behind her statement, but he was way over his limit on Lorethan mysticism for the day, so he ignored that. "And if I'm not?"

Ryn shrugged. "I don't have a backup plan."

"That's ... not very reassuring," Anakin pointed out.

"For me, either," Ryn agreed. She sounded ... tired.

Anakin blew out a breath. I hate this planet. Obi-Wan would tell him that was irrational, that it wasn't the planet's fault, and he needed to release his feelings into the Force. But I want Ryn back. My Ryn. Ryn who was sharp and funny and kind and loved me, not this stranger who didn't even seem to care about anything that mattered. Just her myths and her land and her damn duty, whatever that was.

You can't inherit your duty, Anakin thought at her. You take care of people because you love them, not because your ancestors did something wrong. But Ryn didn't listen to him any more. So he sucked it up and asked, "So how do we find Obi-Wan?"

Ryn made a face, not a good sign. "If you can't feel him yet, I suspect it must be because someone is dampening his signature. That could be Khalî herself, of course, but ... I doubt it."

"The sorceress's apprentice," Anakin guessed. "The one who ran away with Omega."

"Probably."

"So ... we have to find the sorceress first."

Ryn lifted one corner of her mouth. "And I do have a plan for that."

"Finally," Anakin muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "So tell me."

Ryn tries, but it still sounds a little shaky to Anakin. Her plan, so far as he understands it, is to locate the entrance to this Womb of Death - she keeps calling it the underworld, but the best Anakin can tell, it's actually a network of caves, permeated by Khalî's dark energy: a sort of Dark Side Ilum, without the crystals - in pretty much the same way starship scanners locate black holes: by sensing the energy as it's drained away. After that, she says, they'll have to fight their way into some kind of underground temple.

"We have stories," Ryn says finally. "But they're all from thousands of years ago, before humans ever came to this planet. They're mangled and confusing and even if they were clear, there's no guarantee that Khalî's lair is now as it was then."

"That's encouraging," Anakin says, not very graciously.

"I can't change history," Ryn points out, with exaggerated patience. "It's not my fault that -"

But she never gets the chance to tell him what wasn't her fault, because suddenly she tenses, and a shout behind them sounds the alarm: "Dhraghol!"

"What?" said Anakin, and Ryn leaned in the saddle to point past him to the East.

"Dhraghol," she repeated, the word guttural in her steady voice. "Flying demons."

Obi-Wan would probably have said that there were no such things as demons. (He'd initially been skeptical of the angels on the moons of Iego, too.) But Obi-Wan wasn't here, and the monsters looked real enough.

"What do we do?" he shouted to Ryn.

"Hold your lightsaber over your head!" she answered, already activating hers. "They don't like light."

"Will a lightsaber kill them?"

"If you get a good hit."

There were a fair number of archers in the party, hunters who had been trained to take their prey in the ancient way, and they flanked the others now, bowstrings singing in the failing rain.

Several of the oncoming dhraghol fell, but the others came on undeterred, heedless of their companions. Anakin could hear Ryn cursing, a steady susurration under the shrieking cries of their attackers.

They swept low, monstrous creatures like dark, overgrown mynocks with giant claws and gaping maws in place of sucking mouths.

"Shit," said Ryn, with feeling. "Anakin, I have to -" She cut herself off and shouted an order at a nearby Lorethan: stay close to Skywalker!

Anger rose in his throat at being dismissed like a child, but there was no time, for anything. Ryn was already riding away, fanning out with other warriors armed with lightsabers, forming a vanguard as the dhraghol swooped in for another pass.

"Watch them!" the Lorethan next to him shouted, and Anakin couldn't do anything else.

The vanguard moved as one, kicking out of their stirrups to stand upright on the saddle. Ryn led the charge, reins dangling loosely from one hand as she balanced on the sleipnir's moving back, lightsaber held aloft.

They took the onslaught head-on, lightsabers shearing through deadly arcs overhead, scorching their way through pungent flesh.

"Fall back!" Ryn shouted, her voice threading through the tumult as the dhraghol wheeled again. "Fall back to Skywalker's position and regroup!"

And then they were all around him, a churning sea of sleipniri and hard-eyed Lorethans, some of them still doing the balancing act.

"I don't need to be protected!" Anakin snapped at Ryn as she came in range.

She shook her head as she dropped back into the saddle. "Force."

It took him a second to realize that wasn't a curse, but an explanation: Ryn was pointing frantically in the direction of the oncoming dhraghol.

He barely gathered his concentration in time to deflect any of the creatures, but at least now he could see what she wanted. Well, sort of. Ryn was already wheeling her mount and shouting orders to form the vanguard again, while the other Lorethans raised whatever weapons they had and crowded as close to Anakin as they possibly could.

This time when the frontrunners broke the force of the dharghol's dive, Anakin was ready. He threw the Force at the survivors, hurling them backward, throwing them off-course. It was harder to do with living beings than with objects, but the dhraghol were not particularly intelligent or strong-willed, and the Force was everywhere.

They spun from this unexpected resistance, sweeping back into the warriors ...

... and then one caught Ryn, practically in her face. Distracted, trying to reach a warrior who was having trouble with his mount, she didn't react quickly enough. She took the force of the dhraghol's clumsy charge straight in her chest and stumbled, dropping her lightsaber.

She grabbed for her sword, but the dhraghol was faster. It seized her in its huge talons, pinning her sword arm to her side as Ryn flailed uselessly.

"Ryn!" Anakin heard himself scream. It seemed only fair; other people all around him were shouting variations on the same theme. "No! Ryn..."

The vanguard faltered, uncertain, not knowing how to help their leader or whether they should try.

Evinne was shouting orders, taking charge, but Anakin couldn't hear anything but the dhraghol's shrieking, couldn't see anything but Ryn's pale, despairing face.

"Cover me!" he yelled, and kneed his mount through the ranks as startled sleipniri shuffled aside to make way. And then he was in the clear, galloping to where the dhraghol struggled to make off with its prey - while Ryn, still tethered to her sleipnir by the reins caught around one wrist, made increasingly weaker attempts to get away.

It was impossible to find a vital mark amidst the beating wings: if he aimed for a killing stroke, he would hit Ryn. So instead Anakin raised himself in the stirrups, stretched ... and sheared of one of those foul-smelling, hideous wings.

The creature screamed, an ear-rending sound, dropping its prey as it fell. Anakin kneed his mount closer, to finish it off -

and Ryn's frightened sleipnir took off, dragging her by the reins.

Evinne formed the vanguard again, somewhere behind him, and charged once more; as she passed, Anakin could hear her screaming at him in frustration, but he couldn't make out the words.

And then she was running down Ryn's mount, grabbing the reins and dragging it into a turn, back toward the main force.

The dhraghol attacked again, but they were weakening; the Lorethan vanguard broke their force with ease this time, and the dhraghol wheeled uncertainly in the air, fetid with their stink.

Evinne hauled Ryn's sleipnir behind the line and dropped from her saddle to kneel beside her friend's body in the muck. "Shorty?" she asked, reaching out to touch Ryn's shoulder. "Shorty, can you hear me?"

A shriek in the air made their mounts dance; Evinne looked up and locked eyes with Anakin. "Get rid of those things!" she snapped, the recrimination in her gaze scorching.

Ryn was already struggling painfully to her knees; Anakin turned his attention to the approaching dhraghol, throwing them back again with the Force.

This time it broke them for good. They swept around in no very good order and beat their wings heavily, shrieking into the distance as suddenly as they had appeared.

Evinne hauled Ryn to her feet, where she stood shuddering with pain, one hand pressed to her abdomen as blood welled past her fingers.

"Come on," Evinne said, not ungently. "You need to get that tended."

"Soon." Ryn spat blood and spoke again, more clearly: "Give us a minute, will you?"

Evinne nodded and turned back to the others, leading both their mounts. Ryn stepped closer to Anakin, swaying on her feet, practically shaking with fury.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, keeping her voice down so the rest of the war-band could not hear.

"You were in trouble," Anakin said, startled. "I saved you! I -"

"No," Ryn hissed, pressing her hand tighter against the wound in her side. "You do not risk lives to save me, ever." Anakin started to speak and she cut him off, ruthless. "Ever." She drew a breath, paling a little as it pulled at her injuries. "This isn't like being with Obi-Wan," she went on, hoarsely, her fury fading. "If the two of you are on a mission and you drop everything to save him ... it may all still turn out okay, because it's just the two of you, and you've got each other's backs." She breathed in again, looking a little sick. "But in a war-band, it's different. Your duty is to hold your own ground first. Help the guy next to you if you can. But if you go charging off after someone else ... you weaken the whole defense. I need to know ... I can count on you ... to hold the line." She was forcing the words out between clenched teeth now, her face white with pain.

"You can, Ryn," Anakin insisted. "We didn't lose. You can count on me, I'll -" always be there for you, but she didn't let him say it, shaking her head.

"We got lucky," she told him quietly. She nodded at the war-band, standing around awkwardly and pretending not to watch them. "In a real fight, against something more dangerous than dhraghol ... we could have lost the entire force." She looked up at him, her face streaked with mud and rain. "I love you, Anakin. The gods help me, I do. But I need to know I can trust you."

She limped off without waiting for his response.

"I'm fine," Ryn told the Healer, trying to hold still for the examination.

"You have a puncture wound to the abdomen and a dislocated shoulder," the Healer answered, unimpressed. "That's not fine."

She wasn't lying. Restoring her shoulder joint to its traditional location produced a wave of pain so intense it threw Ryn forward, retching helplessly. She heard herself scream, and then someone - Evinne - was thrusting a flask between her teeth.

The alcohol burned its way down, potent, and Ryn pulled back, gasping, to glare at her. "You couldn't have given me that first?"

"I didn't know you were going to hurl on us," Evinne said testily. "Take another swig, we've got the stomach wound yet."

Ryn fought back a wave of nausea and did as she was told.

Then they took the flask back and poured it in the wound, and Ryn couldn't help it: she screamed again, struggling uselessly - Skywalker, hold her - and she recognized the sharp tang of Anakin's sweat as the darkness surged up and dragged her under.

She woke slowly, to failing light and a taste in her mouth that suggested they'd given her something else, after the alcohol. They had moved, while she was unconscious; the shape of the hills was unfamiliar, and Ryn was still lying prone on a makeshift travois.

That's a lot, for a little claw-mark, Ryn thought, briefly embarrassed, and then discarded the feeling. There was nothing she could do about it now, anyway.

Carefully she flattened her good hand to the ground beside her and tried to rise, inducing a wave of dizziness that swirled in her head and her gut and her limbs, dragging her back down. She lay still and prayed she wouldn't be sick again and choke to death on her own vomit.

"Easy," a familiar voice said, and Ryn's heart leapt in response. "You've had a rough time. Just lie still."

Something niggled at the back of her mind, a reason why this particular voice shouldn't be so reassuring. But remembering was too hard, and Ryn settled back against the travois and let her eyes drift shut.

"Anakin," she said decisively. The name set off all sorts of jangling alarms, but Ryn ignored them, because it also felt good. There was heat and light and safety, and she reached for it -

Only to have her hand caught in a warm, steady grasp. "I'm here," Anakin's voice said again. "I've got you. How are you feeling?"

That was a depressing question. "Gurgh," Ryn decided, and tugged her hand free so she could touch him better. He was more interesting than the pain, anyway. "Lots of babies."

"Uh," said Anakin. "Babies?"

"Mmm," Ryn agreed, running her hand up the inside of his thigh, feeling the strength there. Oh. She wriggled a little, just in the hips, and heard herself moan.

"Uh, Ryn," Anakin said, capturing her hand again, "I don't think ..."

This felt important, although she couldn't exactly remember why. Ryn pried her eyes open - somewhat reluctantly - and blinked until she could bring his face into focus. "God, you're pretty," she said fondly, although she was pretty sure she'd been trying to say something else ...

"Ryn ..."

Oh. Right. She squinted up at him through the haze, watching as the last rays of the setting sun kindled his hair to golden flame, the reckless young hero of a thousand legends, and felt the recognition settle into her bones even though she'd tried so hard to run away. You, I love you, it's always been you. "I don't have any maternal instincts," she warned him, remembering. Some other voice, long ago: Areth'ryn, you're not made for love. "But I want to have your babies." There; now he knew. Maybe he could fix her. Anakin was good at fixing things; maybe he would fix her so she could be good at love. "Is that ... wrong?"

"No," said Anakin. He sounded choked, like it was hard for him to speak. "It's not wrong, Ryn, but ... I can't."

Oh. Ryn's heart gave one hard little thud of acknowledgement. Maybe she was so broken that nobody could fix her. But Anakin felt ... upset, like maybe his heart was thudding, too. And there was something wrong with his face: it kept twisting, and it was wet.

He's crying, she thought, perplexed: if she was the one who was broken, why was Anakin crying?

It hit her in a sudden flash of memory: standing in a lift at the Temple, teasing him about -

"It's okay," she told him. "You can't fix everything."

Anakin cried harder, until it made him breathe funny. "You need help," he told her, which Ryn knew was true because everything hurt so much. "And I will fix this, Ryn. Somehow. I promise."

You can't fix me, Ryn thought, listening to him yell for Evinne. I'm too broken. In too many places. Maybe there were places where she didn't even have places any more. That would explain why she felt so empty.

"Ryn, just ... hold on, okay? Help is coming. And I'm right here, I'm going to take care of you ..."

She wanted to shake her head, but it was too heavy. "I fell in love," she whispered, trying to make him understand - the words in Basic strangely right, for once saying exactly what she felt, "and it was a long way down."

"Shhh," Anakin answered, holding her hand tighter. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ryn..."

"It's not your fault," she tried to explain, I got broken, but her voice didn't sound right, and Anakin was still crying.

"Ryn, just hang on, it's going to be ..."

She opened her mouth to tell Anakin that it was okay, it wasn't his fault - I know you tried, I know you tried to fix me - but the darkness was coming again, and she was too tired to fight it this time.

"Kainen," she mumbled wearily, and let go.