The room was empty, free from the usual guards and patrols, but that didn't mean it was safe. If anything, Revan thought, such places were more dangerous, more likely to lull them into a false sense of complacency or let them believe that they could pause and rest. Even now, the Force quivered around him, vibrating like a plucked bowstring.
Shira paused at the room's threshold, gesturing to Sandor to remain still. "What do you think, Revan? I say it's another trap."
"Almost certainly," he replied.
He cast a suspicious eye over the decadent gold mirrors decorating the walls on either side of the room and the spiked chandeliers that dangled from the ceilings. In every room and down every hallway, there were at least a hundred different ways to die.
The Xendrin base was a veritable labyrinth, with intricate clusters of rooms built to disorient infiltrators and conceal deadly traps. They had already encountered dead-end corridors venting poisonous gas, staircases that led to guillotines and boardrooms dissected by sharp, almost invisible wires. Sandor had nearly blundered into the center of a gallery where footfalls triggered stone archers to unleash genuine arrows.
Sometimes the traps were all too apparent because they had already been triggered. They found Sith victims sprawled on the floor, their bodies bloated by poison or mutilated by blades, their shocked faces stamped with agony. One got the feeling that game-rooms such as these were not really defenses so much as simply more entertainment for Asmortis and his followers, another way to cull the strong from the weak.
Revan stooped down, squinting at the decorative tiles on the room's floor. At the edge of each tile, there was a tiny red mark.
He glanced up at Shira. "What does this look like to you?"
Shira crouched down beside him and looked at the red mark. "It looks like a 'Z' shape. You think it's some kind of code?"
"I think it's our way across this room," Revan replied. He pointed to the tiles, his finger tracing out a zigzag shape across the floor.
"Alright, so we stick to the 'Z' pattern," Shira said. "Makes sense. I just hope it works."
She shot an anxious glance up at the chandeliers, which resembled maces hanging from rusted chains. "I'm still keeping an eye on those spiky things. I can't say I'm too fond of the interior décor around here."
"Yeah, yeah, you've got a bad feeling about this. I get it," Revan laughed. "This galaxy is running out of optimists."
Shira smirked. "Probably because they keep turning up dead. You want to try walking the room?"
Revan tilted his head in Sandor's direction. "Let him do it first."
"He tested the last one."
Revan gave her his best boyish smile. "So? Let Sandor do it again. He's good at it."
"I think what you mean to say," Shira retorted, "is that he's expendable, mainly because he isn't the Great and Powerful Revan."
"Maybe. Look, I'm all for protecting the innocent, but that Chiss isn't innocent, not by a long shot. I'm just -"
Before Revan could finish his sentence, Shira leaped out onto the furthest tile on the floor, the first square in the 'Z' pattern. There was a breathless second when they waited for electricity to surge through the floor or an axe to plummet from the ceiling. Nothing happened.
Shira looked back at him, her face triumphant. "Sandor isn't innocent, Revan? Well, neither are we. I'm going first this time. Next trap we run into, it'll be your turn."
Atton dodged another shot from HK, grabbing his weapon from under the lapel of his jacket. He ignited the blue lightsaber, its steady beam a marked contrast from the wavering golden one he was used to wielding.
Mical's lightsaber.
When Atton had stolen it during that last confrontation on The Direstar, he certainly hadn't expected that it would save his life. It had been a last vengeance, a petty trophy he could gloat over. He'd stowed it away and barely given it a second thought until the suspicious disappearance of his own 'saber.
HK seemed undeterred by this latest development. He simply changed strategies, utilizing his flamethrower to put a wall of fire between himself and his opponent. Atton leaped back just in time to escape being scorched by the flames.
"[Observation:] I appear to have underestimated the number of lightsabers in your possession, Meatbag. But I think you will find that I also possess an assortment of elimination protocols that you have not anticipated."
"What?" Atton laughed. "You have a watergun too?"
He tried to execute a Destroy Droid attack, but it fizzled miserably. Evidently, he hadn't been paying enough attention when Shira had taught that lesson to her class of overgrown padawans. He vaguely remembered spending the bulk of that afternoon tabulating his most recent pazaak winnings, contemplating new methods of aggravating Mical and trying to get an eyeful down Shira's robe.
Tongues of flames burst forth from HK's flamethrower, licking at Atton's arms.
Atton gasped, not at the heat of the flames, but because one of the tiered shoulders of his jacket had just burned away. He whirled the blue 'saber around and hit the droid with a quick flurry, sending him staggering backwards.
"I'm going to have a lot of fun ripping out your vocabulator," Atton panted.
He advanced on HK with his lightsaber held at ready. "Sithspit, I can't believe you burned my jacket. You got any idea how much a quality garment like this costs?"
"[Statement:] Factoring in current trade conditions and the competitive nature of the galactic market, I would estimate no more than five credits."
HK's reply was followed by a surge of electricity that knocked Atton flat on his back.
He scrambled to his feet and managed to sidestep HK's next attack on quavering legs, still feeling the electric current jolting through his body.
Force, he was angry. It was one thing to steal his lightsaber and try to kill him. Atton probably could have forgiven that in time. Some things, however, were unforgivable, unconscionable.
.Nobody, not droid, Sith, Jedi or twi'lek dancing girl, was going to get away with wrecking his favorite jacket.
Shira was the first to descend the ramp into the catacombs below the base. She edged down the steep, slippery incline, her back pressed against the stone wall. Behind her, Revan and Sandor were grappling with the same treacherous footing.
She reached the edge of the platform and peered around the side of wall. In the center of the room, seven Sith officers were seated around a mahogany table, devouring meat off the bone and guzzling drinks from golden goblets. It was a revolting spectacle. The Sith officers' food gave off a thick, pungent odor, slathered their lips with smears of oil and greased their fingers.
Shira turned back towards Revan and held up her hand, signaling the need for stealth. Revan nodded and unsheathed his lightsaber, creeping further down the ramp to join her.
The first two Sith barely had time to swallow their meat before the Jedi 'sabers were in their backs.
Shira withdrew her beam from the fat body of the seated Sith and leaped across the table, ready to strike down another of the officers. Her beam hissed through the air, but the officer parried the blow with his black 'saber.
Chairs crashed to the floor, plates shattered against the stone walls and knives flew through the air, their steely points directed at Revan. He dodged the blades and flung them back with greater force, driving one of them into an officer's forehead.
Morsels from the Sith feast toppled from the table, only to be trampled by heavy boots as the fighting progressed. From behind the ramp wall, Sandor attacked the remaining officers with rapid blaster fire, shots that sparked through the dank room and careened off the ceiling.
Shira could hear the Force screaming around her, its open mouth hungry, greedy for life and for death. The candles lighting the catacombs flickered as if troubled by the wind and the fighters' bodies cast long, lurid shadows on the walls.
More Sith soldiers poured into the room to challenge her and Revan. Three of them jostled together and jabbed their weapons at Shira's chest.
She threw one of them backwards against the wall and contended with the other two, dancing away from their scorching beams and countering their attacks with quick flourishes of her lightsaber.
Spotting a break in one of the Sith's defenses, she lunged forward and stabbed him in the shoulder. He groaned as she sliced downwards, cutting towards his heart.
The other Sith, a tall woman with lank yellow hair, was a better fighter, more assured with her blade, more talented in using the Force. As they fought, she smiled at Shira, exposing purple-veined gums, and licked her black lips in anticipation of a kill.
The stink of rotten meat only became more apparent the deeper they moved into the room. It made Shira light-headed and nauseated, even though she knew how necessary it was to concentrate, to calm herself and the power of the Force roiling around her.
She breathed deeply and attempted to clear her mind, focusing only on the task before her. Everything began to move more slowly, as though it were all happening deep underwater, where the sunlight existed only as a distant dream. Drawing strength from the Force, Shira overturned the mahogany dinner table, gold platters and red wine spilling on the floor, and rolled it at the Sith woman, pinning her into a corner.
The woman snarled in protest, thrashing against the weight of the table. It took one slash through the neck to finish her. She slumped to the floor, her body wedged behind the thick wood surface.
On the stone wall, the shadows shifted again, configuring themselves into ominous silhouettes and grotesque clumps. Shira suddenly realized that the third Sith had picked himself up off the ground and flanked her, but the knowledge came a second too late. When she reeled around, his black lightsaber was already descending upon her.
Atton swerved to the right, evading another spray of fire from HK's flamethrower.
"You know what I said about cutting out your vocabulator? I meant it. I'm going to tear it out, wrap it up and give it to Revan as a Life Day present."
"[Statement:] I will miss your threats, Meatbag. Perhaps you will utter a few more before you die, so that I may store them in my memory banks. No doubt my master will find your speeches most entertaining."
Fire scorched the black earth and singed Atton's hands. The air seemed to boil around him. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he slashed HK with the blue lightsaber.
The droid recoiled, sending a current of electricity dancing towards Atton's legs.
This time, Atton was quick enough to avoid it.
Before HK could take aim at him again, Atton delivered a flurry of attacks at the droid's metal visor.
HK attempt to lift his flamethrower, but the blue lightsaber struck him again and again, searing his bronze plating
The yellow light in HK's photoreceptors flickered and dimmed. His vocabulator wheezed and when he spoke, his voice came out deep and slow, a bizarre distortion.
"[Diagnostic:] Systems failing…systems failing…shutting down….shutting…down."
The droid staggered forward a few steps and then dropped to his mechanical knees. He tottered for a moment and then fell flat onto his visor, his gawky bronze frame laid out on the burnt earth.
Atton crouched down and managed to roll the damaged droid over. He was surprised how much he was going to miss the crazy contraption. It was quite likely that he'd never hear the word 'meatbag' again.
It happened in one breath, one gasp, one sinister hiss of a Sith 'saber slicing flesh. Shira felt the blade searing through her chest, its scorching heat rippling over her skin.
But the pain was not her pain. It did not belong to her. It was Sandor's.
He'd flung himself between her and the black lightsaber and taken the full force of the blow. The beam cut into him, charring his deep blue skin. He didn't make a sound, just dropped to the floor.
It was Shira who was left to scream, feeling the force bond rupture inside her like a bursting heart. She struck out at the Sith and cut his head clean from his shoulders. She gave her war cry and then her voice faltered, died in her throat, and the only sound she heard was her own blood pounding in her ears.
She knelt on the ground beside Sandor. He was still alive and coughing up dark blood. The blade had burned through his tunic, cutting deep between his ribs so that she could glimpse sloped bone peeking out through seared flesh.
"I can heal you," she said. She pressed her hands against his hot cheeks and tried to strengthen his flagging pulse.
Sandor looked up at her, his eyes glazed with pain, and shook his head. More blood burbled from his mouth
Her force powers were drained from the battle and there was little left to offer him. She tried again.
Sandor grabbed her hands and pushed them back, shaking his head again. "Forgive," he rasped.
"There is forgiveness in the Force," Shira said. "You already have it. It can save you."
Sandor reached down and prodded his wound gently with his fingers. Shira watched him, hoping that as a healer, he would be able to tell her what to do, how to save his life. Sandor winced and let his hand fall to the ground. He sighed.
"I…die…I die…slow. Please."
Shira gazed down at him and gave a slow nod. She understood. Cradling Sandor's head in her hands, she leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead.
"May the Force be with you," she whispered.
Her hands twisted Sandor's head with one swift, practiced motion.
His neck snapped.
When she got back to her feet, she realized Revan was studying her intently, unflinchingly. His hawk-like eyes and their pinprick pupils were so focused that it startled her.
"Do you honestly believe that?"
She paused for a moment. "I want to."
"It's a nice thing to believe in," he said. "If I ever have to die in your arms, I want you to tell me the same sweet lies."
"Maybe they're true."
"Maybe," Revan said, turning his back on her. He strode towards the door, moving so quickly that she almost didn't catch the last words he mumbled under his breath. "I never realized you were so good at breaking necks."
Shira wiped her bloody hands on the front of her robe, leaving two red smears on the fabric.
"Something I learned in the war," she said. "If they have to die, there's no reason to make them suffer."
The portal was enormous and shaped like a dragon's maw. It was the strangest doorway Revan had ever seen, impractical but imperial, misguided but magnificent. Its extravagance epitomized the excess of the Xendrin base and its delusions of grandeur. Looking at it, he had no doubt that this was the way to Asmortis, the tyrant who reigned over these Sith.
Overhead, the dragon's crystalline eyes glimmered, its scales carved from the iridescent enamel of shells. The door, constructed from the dragon's mouth, was shut and its grim teeth seemed calculated to menace any who might venture to break the door's lock.
"Frack, it's hideous," Shira said. "This whole place is grotesque. It's a wonder the Sith don't claw their own eyes out."
"Actually, I rather like it," Revan replied. "But I'm not here to argue aesthetics. We should probably be searching for some kind of mechanism to unlock the door."
Shira pointed at a black button in the center of the dragon's claw. "Problem solved." She jabbed it with her finger.
Two beams of light gleamed down upon them, refracted through the eyes of the dragon door. The fuzzy blue beams met in mid-air, slowly melding into a single holo-image. Revan recognized what it was almost immediately, but he had no idea how such an artifact might come into the possession of Asmortis and his Sith followers.
"What is it?" Shira asked.
Revan stared at the image. "It's a Rakatan Icon. I could explain its importance, but it would mean a two-hour lecture on intergalactic history."
"That sounds terribly educational," Shira replied. "Why don't you give me the short version?"
"The Rakata used to rule the entire galaxy. They don't anymore."
Shira gave him a droll smile. "Thank you, Revan. Very informative."
"Oh, and I can speak their language too." He knew that would infuriate her even more. Shira envied his Force-given flair for alien languages almost as much as she coveted it.
She groaned. "Well, you damned polyglot, why don't you try talking to it?"
It wasn't a bad idea. He took a few steps forward, examining the Icon, and then spoke to it in precise Rakatan.
"[Greetings. What must we do to pass through this door?]"
The Icon's lips moved, the voice appearing slightly out of sync with its mouth.
"[The lock has been activated. The authorization codes are required in order to pass.]"
"[I don't have any codes. Are you sure there are no alternatives?]"
"[There is one way, but I don't think you will like it. It is a traditional challenge of the Rakata]"
"[A riddle contest.]"
"[Indeed,]" The Icon said, his fishy eyes swiveling around. "[But with an important difference. If you are defeated, the floor underneath your feet will give way and you will fall into the pit where the Sith toss their corpses.]"
"What's he saying?" Shira asked.
Revan chuckled. "He wants to know if you're good at riddles."
"I'm not."
"That's not the answer I was looking for," Revan said. "We'll have to try."
He turned back to the Icon. "[Okay, you're on. What are the rules?]"
"[The first one who fails to answer the riddle loses. I begin,]" the holo-image answered.
"He's going to give us our first riddle," Revan muttered, responding to Shira's questioning look.
The Icon revolved in a slow circle, speaking the riddle in a lilting cadence.
Revan repeated his words, translating them for Shira.
"Here's what he said:
'You know my name and loathe my face
when I am far away.
But when you yield to my embrace,
you do not know
that I have come to stay.
What am I?'
What do you think? I have an idea, but I wish there were a few more clues."
Shira furrowed her brow. "What's your guess?"
He leaned down and whispered it in her ear.
She nodded. "That works. I can't think of anything better."
Revan took a deep breath and then spoke to the Icon.
"[I have the answer to your riddle. You are 'Death'. We fear death when we are alive, but when we are dead, we are longer aware that it exists.]"
The Icon gave a tight-lipped smile. "[Yes, you are correct. I began with an easy one, too easy, perhaps. You may propose your riddle now.]"
Revan remembered a bit of verse he used to read from a yellowed old volume on Lehon. It was silly doggerel, but the Rakatan archivist had treated it with solemnity, as great wisdom.
"[Here is your riddle:
'I turn tongues into knives,
I twist names and sully lives,
I can be white, pale with good intention,
Unpleasant things I cannot mention.
I may live for many other reasons too,
But whatever I am, I cannot be true.
What am I?']"
The Icon paused and scratched his head. "[This is an old riddle of my people, little-known now. If my system memory serves me, the answer is this: You are 'a Lie'. Whether you work for good or evil, whether you serve a just cause or an evil one, you cannot be true.]"
"[That's right,]" Revan said, suddenly wishing that he'd taken time in his studies to memorize more riddles. He'd just used the last of his extremely limited supply. "[Go ahead. Ask me the next one.]"
The Icon rattled off his riddle quickly this time, so quickly that Revan had to ask him to repeat several lines. Finally he managed to make enough sense of the verse to translate it back to Shira, who was looking increasingly puzzled.
"Okay, this is what he asked us:
'I am not a river but I flow through dark country
When I am captive, you are safe
When I escape, then you will fear
When there is suffering, you will see me
And feel the wings of death beat near.
What am I?'"
Shira frowned. "Why don't we take the clues slowly and process them line by line. I'm thinking that it's something liquid because it 'flows', right?"
"Okay, we'll work from that assumption," Revan said. "It's something liquid, and it seems to be dangerous, to cause deaths."
"But the verse doesn't necessarily say that. It just says that if this liquid needs to be kept inside something and if it isn't, then there'll be danger."
The Icon watched them, a slow smile twitching across his elongated face. "[Your time is running out. If you cannot answer me in another 45 seconds, I will have to declare a victory.]"
"[Fine,]" Revan snapped. ["But our time isn't up yet"]
"It's something that will bring you close to death if it escapes," Shira murmured. She fidgeted with the long sleeves of her robe, letting the fabric flutter and trail.
Revan stared at the two dark red stains streaking down the blue garment and all of a sudden, an idea clicked into place. A good idea. He was so grateful that, if Shira's cheeks weren't smeared with dirt, he might have kissed her.
"That's it! Force, it's so simple." He pointed to the bloodstains on Shira's robe. "It's blood."
Shira laughed. "So, the answer was hidden in plain sight."
Revan turned back to address the Icon. "[The answer is 'Blood'.]"
"[Ah, very good,]" the Icon nodded. "[This will be a better contest than I had expected. Give me your riddle.]"
The look of triumph on Revan's face turned into one of chagrin. He didn't know any other riddles and it would be difficult to come up with one difficult enough to stump the Icon off the top of his head.
"Shira, we need another riddle. Please tell me you know one."
"Rev, I told you, I'm not good at these kind of things. It used to frustrate me so much when Master Vandar made us study them."
"Come on, you don't know even one? We need to win this contest."
Shira shrugged. "So we lose. We'll just find another way through the door."
"It's not that simple. I should have said something before, but if we don't win, our life expectancy – well, it drops significantly."
"What?" She stared at him. Her green eyes were bright, wide and very angry. "What in the hell have you gotten us into this time?"
"[I am waiting,]" the Icon said. "[Do you wish to forfeit?]"
"[No,]" Revan replied. "[Just give us a moment]."
He glanced over at Shira and concentrated on looking appropriately repentant.
"I'm sorry, I know - I should have said something before I got us into this. But come on, I know you remember at least one of Vandar's old riddles."
Shira sighed, her dark head bowed and her hand resting on her chin as she mulled over the problem. "I'm trying, I'm trying. There was one that I used to like, one that I thought was quite pretty actually, but I have to remember the clues."
"[I will not wait much longer,"] the Icon said. "[You must present a question soon or face the consequences of defeat.]"
Revan ground his teeth together. "[I get it. Be patient a couple more seconds. We'll get your riddle.]"
"Okay, okay, I've got it figured out," Shira gasped. "I just need you to translate for me."
Revan fixed his eyes on her intently. "Alright, go ahead."
"This is what I can remember:
'The more you hoard me, the less you'll keep.
If you give me to another, the more of me you reap.
I am said to be gentle,
I am said to be cruel,
Because I humble the wise man
And smile on the fool.'
That's it."
Revan repeated the verse in Rakatan for the Icon's benefit, although he was sure some of the meaning was lost in translation.
The Icon paused in his slow holo-image rotation. "[Hmm, this is not a riddle of Rakata. I must ponder this.]"
"What did he say?" Shira asked.
"He's thinking about it," Revan replied. "What's the answer?"
She whispered the solution into his ear. Like all riddles, the answer was almost absurdly obvious once it was explained.
"I always thought it was a nice little poem," Shira said. "It was one of the few riddles that actually made sense to me."
Revan laughed incredulously. "You learned this in the Enclave? If you ask me, it comes dangerously close to contradicting the Jedi Code. And Vandar used to repeat that in front of the younglings?"
"Yes, I believe that's where I learned it. I mean, I'm sure he didn't tell it when Master Vrook was around, but it's hardly offensive."
"A trifle sentimental perhaps. Not what I'd expect from Vandar. If I were going to pick a candidate for that kind of defiance, it would have been Kavar."
Revan was surprised when Shira blushed. He'd forgotten that there was an awkward story there.
"No, not Kavar," Shira said. "In spite of the rumors and that manner of his, he – he was quite conventional in his way."
"Conventional enough to let Mandalorians destroy Republic worlds," Revan muttered. "I haven't forgotten that."
Revan glanced over at the Icon, whose holo-image had become blurry in his bafflement. "[So? What's the answer? We've given you long enough.]"
The Icon gave Revan a sly, sidelong stare. "[Very well. Your answer. It is…Justice?]"
The grin began as a sharp glint in Revan's eyes and then spread out along his lips.
"[No. Wrong. You lose.]"
"[You jest.]"
"[I don't. You lost. Now unlock the door as you promised.]"
The Icon blinked twice, gaping at Revan and scratching his conical head.
"[Very well,]" he conceded. "[But first, you must tell me the answer, the solution to your riddle.]"
"[The answer is 'Love',]" Revan said. "[And if you ask me, it's the greatest riddle of all. Now open the door.]"
The holo-image flickered off and the crystalline eyes of the dragon dimmed. They heard a rumbling from beneath the floor, the sound of powerful stone gears grinding together. The whole room seemed to quake under their feet.
The dragon's jaws wrenched apart. The toothed door was open.
Fear bristled through Revan's body. He felt it clouding his lungs and constricting his throat. He knew that this terror was his enemy, that it would drive him to the worst extremes, the most desperate measures. Above all things, he needed to remain calm and purposeful. Soon they would confront Asmortis and fate of the galaxy would be forever altered. Soon they would either vindicate the Force or dissolve into its boundless night.