Chapter Thirty-Six: Surgery and the Scent of Secrets

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They had said that it would only hurt a bit, and they were right—if gut-wrenching agony that made him want to die counted as "a bit".

He had been put under for the surgery, but still the pain lanced through him, tearing him apart. Devnos knew they did that on purpose. Feeling them dig around in his brain wasn't enough punishment for a traitor; they scraped nerves and were clumsy with tools. Sadism was instinct, for them.

When at last it was over, the inefficient drugs wore off quickly, and Devnos woke in even more pain that he had already endured. The following day was spent with him coming back to consciousness, only to faint again, and then revive…over and over again.

Gaffil watched it all, and, more often than not, Devnos fell back into blackness even faster at the sight of Gaffil's sneer.

It was the sneer of a victor.

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He had done something very much like this before; Devnos supposed he shouldn't be nervous. He knew how excruciating the procedure could be, and approximately how long it would all take. This was not the same as the one before, and that could only work in his favour. For all he knew, he might be properly knocked out for the surgery.

But terror choked and suffocated him, like a pillow pressed against his face in the dark. Worst-possible scenarios jeered at him in his imagination: IT rebelling, sending Devnos into a fury mid-surgery; IT exploding, killing Devnos and the doctors, stopping Devnos before he could explain everything to Sanar. Gaffil's soul was as crooked as the minds of his witches and scientists; who knew what they had put in his head? Who knew what else IT was programmed to do? Especially if IT was to be stopped from doing its job?

Devnos had wondered about removing I—the chip—before, although he had never known for sure what it was. Poison, drugs, pressure on some precise point…IT could have been anything. Devnos had no head for science, and brain science was certainly above him. All he knew was that IT was there, killing his soul slowly. And that he wanted – needed –IT gone.

Oh, stars how he had wondered about ITs removal! Before the thought was even half-formed, however, he had been paralysed by pain. Countless other times, IT had probably wiped his memory of scientists who had possessed potential. The mind was a delicate thing, prone to protest if tampered with, and Gaffil's best interests lay in keeping Devnos' brain working at top condition. Sometimes, though, forced loyalty was considered more important than science.

But when Sanar just asked Devnos if he wanted IT removed…

Very rarely was Devnos able to find the strength to rebel against IT. Usually, there was no point to it – all he or anyone got was torture. Rebellion was a kamikaze attempt with no cause to justify it.

Usually.

Devnos – the whole Klis family, even those who refused to acknowledge it – was fighting a war. After Jarran's death, they had lost a needed element, and indefinite defeat came hard and heavy.

It only made sense that Sanar, of all people, set the battlefield for the decision of all their fates.

Thank Muj—

IT squealed, ITs anger sending shocks through Devnos' system.

That was just one of the many, many reasons Devnos could find the strength to keep quiet against ITs will.

Thank Pucijir, then, he thought, mocking IT, for Sanar.

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Devnos looked exactly as he did every day. His sister, in the viewing room, wondered what – if anything – that meant; was he nervous about the procedure and the chances of failure? Had she read his opinion of the surgery wrong, and now he cursed her for putting him through this?

It wasn't like Sanar to be torn, or even to particularly care what Devnos thought. She, personally, needed to see that micro-chip removed from Devnos' brain, and to have proof, once and for all, of Devnos' innocence or monstrosity. Despite the guilt that generally came with her measures of getting what she wanted, Sanar fought for her desires. Call it a flaw.

It was that very flaw that killed Horaire, wasn't it? You murderer, a dark part of her whispered, taunting her. You didn't want Clayra to be corrupted; you wanted to sacrifice yourself. Deny that you're a hero – say that you despise such people! But you love being a martyr. Why else would you kill Horaire for giving up on breaking you?

Shut up, she replied, stone-faced.

Forcing her mind back to the current event, Sanar scrutinized her brother for a moment longer, then turned hesitantly to the doctor, who was conversing with Jaina and a scientist. "Ex—excuse me?"

Surgeon Qov turned, making his metal plating, which covered a side of his face and a machine that enhanced his mind, glint. Any sympathy he seemed to want to project for his patient's sister was lost in the coldness of that metal. "Yes, Miss Klis?"

"I – just – " She fumbled for words before remembering that she didn't care. Tossing her hair, she told the man, in a blasé voice, "Devnos has always been a big baby when it comes to pain, and…I have the feeling he'll really need extra drugs. You know, so he doesn't feel anything."

"Miss Klis!" Qov exclaimed condescendingly. "This is brain surgery. I assure you: your brother should feel very little. However, he will be on the brink of a coma, rather than wake up at an inopportune moment, or…"

She tuned him out as he listed the reasons. Stupid, in-another-language, aggravating reasons. They meant nothing when her brother could very well die in the next twelve hours.

Supposedly, Devnos wouldn't feel much because of his brain being tampered with, and Sanar could rest easy. But…it was brain surgery, and…

No matter what he had done, Devnos was still her brother.

She looked up when Jaina tapped her on the shoulder. "Time to go," the Jedi informed Sanar.

"I – but – I want to stay here," Sanar stammered.

Jaina shook her head. "Brain surgery takes quite a while," she explained tiredly. "Up to twenty-four hours, apparently. And…well, I don't know about you, but I really don't think I could handle seeing Devnos'…headbeingdissected," Jaina finished with a rush and a shudder.

At the blunt reminder, Sanar felt her stomach flip. "I'm suddenly not feeling so well."

Placing a firm hand on Sanar's shoulder, Jaina nodded. "I know the feeling. Come on. The waiting room isn't actually that bad."

With a last look at Devnos' now pale face, Sanar let herself be ushered away.

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It had been eleven hours.

Eleven nail-biting, frantic, draining, nervous, very, very long hours.

Jaina wondered if the drama would ever end. Considering that, in the past seven months, her twin had died, Zekk had come back from the Dark side, Jaina had died and been resurrected, Leia had been revealed as pregnant, and Sanar had been poisoned and become a part of Jaina's family, and – well, a long list of other things – she doubted it.

All in the job description of being a Solo, she thought, rubbing her temples with a weary sigh.

As if in response to the sound, Sanar startled, mumbled, twisted, and then fell back asleep, now in an even more uncomfortable position than before. Still, she looked relatively peaceful, and so Jaina only adjusted Sanar's blanket so that it covered her a bit more. Someone had turned on the air conditioning in the room and, while it had initially been pleasant, the waiting room had since become something of an icebox.

Tucking the blanket under Sanar's head, just in case she slipped a little, Jaina started to sit back into her chair when she noticed a book that had fallen from Sanar's grasp. Picking it up, Jaina retreated to her seat before studying the cover.

Soul: A Collection of Triumph

By Devnos Klis.

With a bittersweet smile, Jaina realized what it must be. Her Sanar-part recognized it, whispering something about long hours of scribbling down Devnos' every word when he had spun his rich tales of heroes and love and freedom. Tracing her fingers over the raised title, Jaina savoured the familiar-but-not texture of the book.

Then, glancing up to the 'fresher where Zekk had disappeared, and then to Sanar's sleeping form, she opened the book to read.

Was it so wrong to need this connection to one who was all but her brother, too?

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Devnos might be dying, and she was sleeping. I'm a horrible sister, Sanar lamented.

"Not at all," a voice soothed.

She turned to recognize him, and her features softened into a relieved sigh. "You."

"Of course me," her love responded, moving closer and taking her into his arms.

"I missed you," she managed to confess.

His arms tightened around her. "And I you," he responded tenderly, placing a kiss on her crown. "But for now…just rest. I'll watch – over you, and for news of Devnos."

Sanar let herself drift in the love he provided.

"I promise it will be okay."

She believed him.

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Jaina stared at the words, willed them to change, begged them to be other than what she suspected.

Nothing happened.

Jane fell, thus freeing her beloved from the shackles of Darkness. In the fury of release and the grief of his love's death, Mek struck down his once-master. He did not kill him, for the gods held him back, knowing that such an act would send the apprentice once again down a road from which Jane could no longer free him. Instead, Mek cast the Darkness and his traitor-master from his heart and soul, reclaiming the control that had so long eluded him.

"Jay? Are you alright?"

When Zekk spoke, she jumped almost a foot in the air, then released her breath in surprise. "I – I'm…" But she couldn't say the words, couldn't claim she was fine, when she was most certainly not fine.

"Jaina?" Setting aside the bottle of water he had purchased, Zekk sat next to his girlfriend, rubbing her back reassuringly. "What is it?"

She swallowed, trying to find the words. Giving up, she shoved the book into his hands. "Read this part out – from 'reclaiming the control that had so long eluded him'."

Pulling his concerned gaze from her, Zekk read, " 'However, this would not be a love story if it ended here. Instead, this would be a tragedy.

"'Even the gods do not like a tragedy – particularly when two warriors such as these are bitterly affected. Because one warrior would be gone, and the other would be a shell of his former self, the gods endowed a woman, named Sarah, with uncommon strength of soul. Touched by the grief in Mek's eyes, Sarah was able to touch the River and – ' "

Startled, Zekk's eyes raised to Jaina's. "What is this?" he demanded.

"Finish it."

He cleared his throat, then fell into silence, staring at the words as she had, moments ago. Finally, he continued. " '…Sarah was able to touch the River and guide Jane through the act of crossing from the Land of the Dead back to the Land of the Living. Through this gift, however, the strength-endowed woman and the knight were forever tied in a bond closer than sisterhood, but stranger and stronger than anything before seen.

"'Mek and Jane escaped to a remote location, where they renewed their strength until they could once again join the fight to free their home. In the months following – ' "

Jaina slapped a hand over the words. "Don't read anymore," she ordered, desperate. "We can't."

The wind knocked out of him, Zekk flipped further ahead, but did not read the words. "It goes on for pages and pages," he said hoarsely, as if in a trance. "Stang. Jay…there's even a part two, three, four…" Closing the book, he stared at the cover without seeing it. "What is this?" he whispered, looking up at Jaina.

He knew, of course. How could he not? But he needed to hear it from her. Needed to be assured that he wasn't crazy.

"It's our story," she managed to say through a sound that was half-sob, half-choke. "Our story."

Zekk swallowed hard; he tried to release the book but, although his hands shook, he couldn't. "Who – what – "

"Devnos wrote it," Jaina croaked. "Years ago. When Sanar – when I was…three at the most."

The couple stared at each other, then at the book.

"He knew," Jaina whispered at last. "Before…everything…Devnos knew."

It made no more sense when she said it.

Jaina and Zekk could not tear their eyes away from the book.

Then Zekk's hands gave way, and the book tumbled to the ground with an eerie, final sounding thud.

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(Beyond the River)

"How much do you understand?"

Kyp stalled. "Of the prophecy? Well, I know the basics – the goal."

"But not the means," the other man finished wearily.

"I need to know," Kyp pushed. "And I need to…understand. Why? Why me?"

The other man, years dead after his own failure, studied his replacement. "You know that I was the original choice. You shouldn't have been burdened with this."

"But I killed you, and Sanar…Sanar couldn't bring you back."

"No body entails no return, and so a new man was required." Kyp's companion gave a humourless smile. "Sanar is a good girl, but…" His mind drifted to the beyond and the past for a moment. "Perhaps it is better this way. Caesarea wasn't ready – "

"What does she have to do with this?" Kyp demanded, catching the scent of a secret.

" – and I didn't fit the Sildar's requirements perfectly," the other finished, ignoring Kyp's question.

Distracted from his suspicion, Kyp argued, "You were – are – a far better man than I."

"That is Sanar's opinion," the man corrected fondly, "and somewhat distorted by my position in her life. But the Sildar demands more than integrity, anyway. Sucking someone's soul in vengeance…judgement and damnation…it requires great strength, and much more, to exact that sort of thing, and stay alive, let alone sane."

"Like…?"

"Power," the other replied, simply. "Death on your hands – three counts of it: personal, murder, annihilation of some kind."

Kyp stepped back as if he had been punched in the gut. "That's why I was chosen?" The demand was weak, hoarse. "Because I'm a monster?"

"No! No…although it was through your darkest moment that you received this task. You were chosen because you are the only possible alternative. You killed me, and so you shouldered my responsibility. Do you think this hasn't been planned out from the very beginning? Your make-up, your weakness in the face of Exar Kun, even your years in the spice mines? Everything in your life moulds you into the person you must be.

"The reason you were chosen is because the Strings – the Force – will gamble, every once in a while, if it must. What are the chances of me being killed by the one other person who fits the Sildar's requirements? Incredible. But what are the chances of you repeating such an event?" The other man sobered. "Impossible."

Kyp raised his chin. "I won't fail."

Jarran Klis smiled tiredly. "Good."

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Please R&R :)

.Tjz