Chapter Twenty-One: Splinters

-x-x-x-x-x-

Grief still hung over what Krista had nicknamed the "Prophecy Crew."

Braun, of course, had been altered in a very noticeable way. His tongue had become sharp, and his eyes were hard. Someone always tried to stay near him, but few could deal with his harshness for long. And there was only so much time they could spend helping him "better his fighting ability."

Sanar had not been especially close to Veras, either while they had been part of the Resistance together or while on their journey through Prophecy. It did not come even close to what she had with Jaina or even Zekk. But she and Veras had shared very common ground, and the same fear/knowledge of what Pucijir's Order could do to them. In Sanar's eyes, Veras' death made her paranoia warranted. Besides that, bad things came in threes. One comrade had gone down—who would be next? Jaina, who constantly threw herself into situations that would someday drain the infamous Solo luck? Clayra, who could barely fight, but who came on a potentially-suicidal mission anyway? Or even—

But she always stopped herself there, and wondered why Prophecy had to make Kyp Durron so vital to saving her planet.

The others, although less emotionally involved, were still greatly affected by Veras' loss. Kyp blamed himself; Miko worried about their situation, and his gut feelings. Krista kept an even closer eye on Miko, pounced on every shadow, and avoided Sanar; when someone mentioned it, she made jokes that were too tense to be funny. Clayra and Gantik wrote datachips of letters to "their" son.

Divisions began to form, and then they grew even wider.

Supplies were running low. For obvious reasons, they had not been able to stock up in Gaza. At their frantic pace, they had crossed back into full-out desert a few days ago, and food was scarce.

The Sildar was becoming louder, thirstier, and the Force-sensitive travelers were beginning to pick up on it.

Sanar, in particular.

Tensions ran high, supplies disappeared, and they began to fall apart—

And there was still over half a year left.

-x-x-x-x-x-

One-two-three-four-five, turn.

Braun stared at the fire as his stomach tightened in hunger. His throat was dry, but so was everyone else's; he refused to be the first to surrender to his thirst. They had little enough water as it was. In any case, the pain almost took away the…rest of it.

Tonight, they had caught a desert haer—an increasingly rare meal. Na'Lein haers were larger and hardier than those on Braun's home planet of Gorlois. So long as they rationed it properly, their crew of seven would eat. Tonight.

One-two-three-four-five, turn.

There had been some lighter moments, such as when Kyp tried to figure out how to skin the haer. A lightsaber wasn't made for close-up work, and only in the hands of great experience and practice could wrist movements be deft enough to remove an animal skin. A legendary warrior Kyp may be, but he couldn't do subtle to save his life.

One-two-three-four-five, turn.

Braun had never learned the skill himself. (He never needed to; Veras had known.) But he had wordlessly given Kyp his dagger.

One-two-three-four-five, turn.

Sanar had been put in charge of cooking the haer, and she turned the skewer with exact movements over the fire. He could see her lips move as she counted under her breath.

One-two-three-four-five, turn.

Just like that.

One-two-three-four-five, turn.

It was getting on Braun's nerves, honestly. Just…something about it.

Crackle…slice.

He wasn't too fond of when she checked the haer for doneness, either. Something about the way she poked it with the dagger, and the lack of emotion in her eyes.

She missed a turn. Braun jumped a little in relief.

"I think it's almost done," she told them.

-five, turn.

Or maybe not.

"Could you just—stop that?" he exploded.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Besides being unlike the usually stoic man, it was the first time Braun had spoken since…that day.

He abruptly stood, and turned away from their startled looks. From the cooked animal that had been alive just a few hours ago. "We should keep going," he said, almost to himself. "We didn't have to stop." Anything to get back his control, he thought. He hadn't meant to talk, but now he was stuck with it. He couldn't stem the tide of his words—the protective dam was weakening, and soon it would all come flooding out… But if he talked about something secondary, maybe—maybe—

"No one else is killing Holy Brothers." Miko spoke calmly, but with a subtle edge to his voice. The man had been a Dark Jedi once, and some of that Dark command…and knowledge, judging by his look…remained within him. "You will have plenty of opportunity for revenge."

"We should keep going," Braun snapped, undaunted. "How many people, do you think, die every day in Pucijir's Order?"

Launching herself to her feet, Sanar lashed out before Miko could reply. "How many more do you think will die if we do?"

"One of us already did!" And oh gods, he had actually said it out loud.

From the look on her face, Braun expected Sanar to stumble backward. She managed to stay on her feet. That fact reminded him—just a little—of Veras.

"Yes," Sanar said. "One of us did." Once recovered, her self-control stayed firmly in place.

At that moment, everything boiled over in Braun's mind, and he wanted nothing more than to shatter Sanar's self-control. How could she remain so detached? Veras was— They had been friends, at least in Veras' point of view.

He laced his words with venom. "Veras always said you didn't care about anything but Clayra and this planet. I expected that, but she claimed you knew what you were doing."

Sanar flinched, deeply.

"She only came because of you, you know." The words were quieter; his mind almost managed to stop his broken heart from letting them into the open.

This time, Sanar did stumble—as she tried to run away. When she regained her footing, her eyes were wide.

She looked stunned. Wrecked. Lost.

It didn't even begin to compare to how Braun felt.

Back in control, now, he looked away. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

But Sanar had already left.

He slumped back down in front of the fire, ignoring the others.

-x-x-x-x-x-

That night, Sanar's thoughts spun dizzyingly. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, and even then it was restless.

Whispers taunted her stricken heart while guilt consumed her.

Braun's words earlier had penetrated, but Sanar had heard far worse. She had recognized what he had been doing, and knew she would have done the same, in his situation.

But no one could hurt Sanar Klis the way Sanar Klis could—and did.

"It's not your fault, Brownie."

But of course it was.

She gave into Horaire's estimation of her because she hated him. She killed him, and failed Clayra with that one selfish act. Because she got herself exiled, her sister was forced to marry Gantik.

Then Devnos…her adored older brother…. But she had been too hurt to see what was really happening. And he died. He withered into something his younger, chip-less self would have hated, then died because she finally decided she had to know the truth, and lafit the consequences.

He died right in front of her. Because of her.

And she did nothing.

Zekk got put to trial, and sitting through it had left Jaina sobbing in Sanar's arms more than once.

She had dismissed Jaina's anxiety about Perdita; now the red-haired niftyax was "married" to the love of her sister's life.

And now Veras…

Veras was dead.

Just like Devnos.

(And Daddy.)

In service of Prophecy, but dead because of her. She brought death to the ones she cared about, and trouble to everyone. Maybe Jaina hadn't re-died yet, but with Sanar around…

It was only a matter of time.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Gasping, Sanar woke and threw herself out of her sleeping pallet. She instinctively shoved her fist in her mouth to hold back her sobs. The last thing she needed was an awakened, and pitying, Krista.

With shaking hands, she grabbed her jacket before half-stumbling out of the tent. The night desert air nipped at her exposed skin. Sanar ignored it as she worked to get a handle back on her self-control.

The urge to be sick came strong, and she only managed to push it back when she was bent over the ground. She stayed on her hands and knees for several minutes.

Just a dream, she told herself. It only has as much power over you as you let it. Spitting out the taste of her gag, Sanar stood on still somewhat-unsteady legs.

Disgusting, she told herself. It was disgusting that she could react this strongly to such a relatively pitiful nightmare. She had lived through far worse, after all. It had been a walk in the park compared to some of the things Horaire—

Stealthily, almost as if trying to hide it from even herself, Sanar reached out to Jaina. The younger woman was just falling asleep, and she poked back drowsily. Somehow feeling better (and how did that work?), Sanar withdrew a little. She settled herself at just the edges of her Sanar/Jaina part, though. The warmth that lay there helped push away her grief for Veras.

With most of her equilibrium regained, Sanar was about to return to her tent when she noticed that the campfire still burned. Someone—one of the men, judging by the stature—sat with his back to her. When she poked at his Force presence, the person turned around to look at her.

"Sanar." At her distance, his voice sounded like a whisper. "What—what are you…" He shook his head as if rejecting the question. Instead, he motioned for her to join him.

After a brief hesitation, she acquiesced. She probably should talk to him at some point, after all. And if it got too personal, she could always plead temporary insanity from grief, and then run away screaming.

"Couldn't sleep?" Durron asked when she sat down across from him.

She let her eyes flick downward to where the Sildar lay across his lap. The dying fire made the metal gleam even more hellishly than usual. "Something like that," she muttered. "What are you doing up?"

He stared at the Sildar for a moment, then carefully set it down on the ground beside him. She didn't miss the way he winced. "Just…thinking." He grinned ruefully. "I do that, on occasion."

"About?" she pressed.

"Vengeance. Justice." He paused. "And the difference—or similarity—between them."

She snorted. "You know you've reached a certain age when…"

Strangely, he didn't rise to the bait—only stared at her until she became uncomfortable.

"Growing up the way I did…I know how guys think," she said.

Durron shook his head. "If you're comparing my entire gender—who make up roughly half of the galaxy's two-gender population—to several thousand people here, you obviously don't."

"Everyone has a beast in them," she replied, a tad defensively. "Even—" Even I do, she thought. But it was such an honest thought…one far more vulnerable than she had ever spoken to him. She caught it just before she let it escape. Instead, she settled on saying, "I know that better than anyone."

"I'm not arguing with that," he replied, just as seriously. "I—I have more than my share of inner demons. You know that." He paused, and might have given her look, but she resolutely avoided his eyes.

"I'm just saying…the Holy Brothers and their visions of the 'ideal' male attitude…they are not those of every man, by any means. You don't expect it of—for example—Zekk, do you?"

The dark-haired woman snorted. "Well, of course not. Jaina could more than handle him even if he wasn't completely lovesick over her."

"But you trust him, don't you?" Kyp persisted. "With Jaina, and anyone else he may come across. You know he wouldn't put up with the ideologies of Pucijir's Order."

"Well…yeah, but Zekk is—"

"What about Garik?" he interrupted before she could give an excuse. "You trust him, right? What about Tiran? Braun? Han?"

She swallowed. "I guess."

"What about me?" he asked. This time, his gaze rested so heavily on her that she did look up.

Sanar knew the answer to that one:

Yes. Mujir help me, somewhere along the line…

She thought of saying it out loud—but she didn't. That would definitely be too much.

"Who's the girl you're in love with?" she asked without warning.

Kyp's eyes goggled, and he rocked back in shock. "Wha—What?"

Her eyebrow raised in genuine amusement. "You okay there? You look like you just got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror."

He stared at her, green eyes still impossibly wide. "Wh-where did you…? Who told you I…?"

"What, like I couldn't figure it out on my own?" Sanar smirked. "You are so transparent."

Kyp managed to blink. Quite the feat, for someone who acted like he'd just been told that Rafintair was actually a giant rubber chicken.

"Okay. I had no idea until Krista told me," she relented. "Everyone else has been really twitchy about it." Taking a little pity on him (nothing personal, of course—he just looked so horrified), she added, "No one will tell me who she is, though. Y'know, if it makes you feel any better. Even Jaina kept your secret."

Finally, he let out a long sigh. "By all the gods, Sanar."

"What?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. It's no big deal. People fall in love all the time, you know. Just give me a hint—like, her name. I'm not going to hurt her, or anything."

"I never said you would."

"So tell me."

Kyp studied her for a moment before next speaking. "I'll answer one question—so long as it has nothing to do with her name—if you tell me who you love." His voice became, strangely, harder. "Who is he? How do you know him?"

She rolled her eyes again. "That isn't a fair trade," she informed him, somewhat impatiently. "I'll tell you the last one."

Sanar paused, then looked down at her hand. She only barely—foggily—understood why she needed to know about Kyp's ladylove. So why was she about to tell him something only Jaina knew? "I haven't…technically…met him in the flesh," she admitted. "I just—I mean…" Frustrated with something she had never had to explain, Sanar cursed. How could she say this without sounding completely insane? "Look. Ever since my dad died, this…guy…he's been in my dreams. I-it's consistent, and he never contradicts what's happened in previous dreams, and…he's not some figment of my imagination. He's real. And you…you know the other important stuff. He loves me. I love him." Almost expecting him to laugh at her, she raised her chin in defiance.

Kyp was silent for so long, she began to think he'd fallen asleep.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "So, what's your question?"

She thought of asking him identity-revealing questions—how did you meet, what does she look like, who's her family.

Strangely, that didn't seem quite so important in this moment. Maybe if he had laughed at her, or called her crazy, she would have lashed out at him until he told her the truth. But, despite his odd reaction, Kyp had been respectful of her love.

"What would you do for her?"

Funny. She blurted it out before she even knew what she was saying. Why did it matter to her whether or not Kyp's love was genuine?

(Rightful.)

Kyp's hand dropped to the Sildar. He paused, but she didn't think it was out of uncertainty. "Anything," he said. "Everything."

She frowned. "Then what are you doing here? Why aren't you with her?"

Slowly, his trademark smirk appeared.

"What?" It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. "It's a reasonable question! If you're so—so devoted her, why aren't you with her, trying to protect her from the war's aftermath?"

The smirk just kept on growing.

"Unless—" She pulled out a ridiculous idea. "Are you in love with someone who came?" Her eyes widened. "Like, Krista? Cerasy? Is that why you agreed to let Cerasy stay behind? 'Cause then she'd be safe? Mujir, Kyp, she's married! And—"

Kyp stood, his hand firmly on the Sildar's pommel. His eyes—

(somewhere deep, deep inside…she knew those eyes better than her own)

—danced with mischief. "You got your one question, Sanar."

"Hey!" she protested. "I told you practically everything. The least you could do is answer one of those questions."

His grin had faded, but he sat down again. This time, he was closer to her—still slanted away, but…

"You know her," he confessed after a moment, interrupting her thoughts. "If I told you much more, you would know everything."

"Does Jaina know?"

Kyp laughed. "Of course she does. She knows way more about the people around her than is healthy. Resurrected, remember?"

"So are you," she retorted. "I thought that sort of levelled the playing ground."

He hesitated. "Jaina's situation…varies from mine. She is less changed, yet far more so. It marked her life, but not." His hand tightened on the Sildar. "She was brought back, and kept here, by love, and unbroken ties. I…"

You were brought back for and by Prophecy, she silently finished. But what would happen, after?

Another thought sucker-punched her, even before she could really wonder about Kyp's situation.

Jaina was brought back by her ties to, first and foremost, Zekk.

(And Sanar, her heart insisted.)

What could that mean? If Zekk turned out to be what Sanar had expected five years ago, and not what she knew him to be now…if he turned his back on Jaina… Would that mean anything? Would it mean more than even Jaina's broken heart? Oh, Larifx, what if—

Sanar's gut tightened, and she couldn't help racing into her bond with Jaina. She wouldn't let it happen…not to Jaina. Somehow, she'd tie Jaina close enough to keep her safe and strong, and—

"Don't." Kyp's voice, although firm, was gentle. Just like the hand he placed on her arm. "Sanar, you needn't worry about Jaina—at least, no more than normal. You and she are made out of the same stuff. She'll make it through just about anything."

Sanar blinked back unexpected tears, both at the thought of losing Jaina, and at his surprisingly tender reassurances. "I can't lose her," Sanar whispered. "Mujir, if—"

"You won't lose her." He shifted closer to the Na'Lein woman, and his hand moved from her arm to her back. "No matter what happens… She will always be there. For you and Zekk, especially, if for no other reason than that the three of you literally share pieces of your souls. You and Jaina in particular."

"But what if—" She stumbled. "I—I mean…"

He just continued to watch her.

She had the sudden realization of who she was talking to, and it brought her above her grief for a second. Wasn't she trying to avoid Durron? Didn't part of her find it ghastly to trust him with her vulnerability? Mujir, it was Durron—that…that was supposed to…mean something, right? Right?

But this time she couldn't stop the words from escaping. "I've—I've done…so many unforgivable things." She pressed her lips together in a way that was supposed to be a smile. It came out a grimace. "Maybe not as many as you, but…" The tide of her emotional exhaustion rose. "I-is this my punishment, do you think?"

He jerked back to stare at her in astonishment. "What?"

"People I care about keep dying," she explained as she desperately clung to the last shreds of her pride. "My dad, Devnos…now Veras… How much longer until Clayra or—" Her voice broke. "O-or Jaina… Maybe it's my fault."

Kyp's reaction was slow from his shock, but it soon morphed into a peculiar shade of fury. "Where the hell did you get an insane idea like that?" he demanded.

She didn't look at him, but fidgeted nervously. "I wasn't strong enough," she whispered. "I'm…I'm supposed to be the strong one, the one who looks out for everybody. But I keep…failing everyone—Daddy, Devnos, Veras…"

"You are failing no one," Kyp snapped, his voice sharpened with something akin to desperation. "Who told you that?" When she didn't answer, he moved so he was right in front of her. His face was tight with anger, but not for her. "You couldn't possibly think…"

When she spoke, Sanar's voice was so small she barely recognized it. "They don't need me anymore."

"Who doesn't?"

"Anyone. They all… I'm useless." She swallowed hard. "When I was little, I had the visions and everything—if someone lost something, they'd come to me to see if I knew where it was. I usually did. Then—when Daddy died—Clayra needed me. It didn't matter what Horaire did to me…what he put me through, it didn't hurt…because Clayra needed me.

"But now…" She took a shuddering breath, expelling it quickly and cursing silently as she felt a few tears leak from her eyes. "No one needs me. Devnos is dead because I was blind; Clayra has Gantik, of all people. Jaina…" she hesitated briefly, "she doesn't need me—leastways, I need her more. If no one needs me, why am I here? Why?" A sob broke free, and she covered her face, humiliated that she was falling apart in front of Kyp.

Crying in front of Jaina and spilling secrets to her was one thing; Kyp was… She had hated him for so long, even past the point where she gave up on thinking he was to blame. But he was also the Kavishka, a being that she had always loved, from her childhood. She tried to make herself stop—she used her anger, her bitterness, everything she had—but still the lafit tears kept drip-dripping down from her eyes, making marks on her face, trailing down her neck and nestling in her collar bone.

Rough hands wiped the wetness away, the touch painstakingly gentle despite the skin's rough texture. Arms came around her, pulling her in close, and she breathed in the smell of earth, soap, sweat and spices. She didn't try to identify the person by the scent—didn't even let herself think of them—only worked to pull herself back together.

Big girls don't cry.

But what if they aren't needed? Does it matter then, what big girls do?

"I need you," the embrace's voice whispered, and she barely caught it.

But it meant everything that she had, and that he had said it—even if it wasn't true.

She was just letting herself fall into him when Kyp's arms suddenly tightened around her. Where before his embrace had been comforting, it suddenly became secure—steel bands meant to keep her safe, never mind that she could well-defend herself.

Years of experience had her immediately stiffening, and halting her tears. The time to give in had clearly passed. Although she didn't physically move, Sanar was separated from Durron. Her body tensed, preparing to fight or flee, depending on the odds. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned as far as she could without moving. She listened carefully for any—

The sound of feet sliding down a sandy slope—across from their makeshift campsite.

Ever so slowly, Durron began to move away from her.

Half a shadow—there—caught by Clayra and Gantik's tent, and only barely within the light of the moon and the fire.

The Kavishka's grip tightened on the Sildar. He did not make any sign of discomfort, but Sanar knew it hurt.

(How?)

Close to her own, she felt his heart speed up. She wondered if it was just the normal pre-fight adrenaline…or the Sildar, calling gleefully for blood.

"She said we would find you here."

And suddenly, a woman stood before them. She spoke in Basic, though with the heavy accent that Sanar had only mostly discarded over the past decade. She wore a dark veil, which covered most of her face and neck, though not in any way her eyes.

Durron had stayed his hand in confusion—it seemed rather unlikely that Rafintair would send a female assassin.

Carefully, Sanar detangled herself from Durron. She stood with slow ease, despite her adrenaline-filled body's desire to attack. She may have gone from half-breaking down in Kyp Durron's arms, to facing off with a possible threat, but she wasn't stupid. At least, not that stupid. She'd heard the stories, the same as anyone else from NLY.

"She?" Sanar cautiously asked.

"Niha." The woman smiled. The light of the dying fire caught the darkness of her eyes. "The mother."

Sanar almost choked. Her face paled, and her eyes widened. "Who—"

"My name is Dejah." The woman tipped her head in respect before removing her veil. "And I am here to bring you to the haven."

Between Kyp, Sanar, and their intruder, the fire sparked. When it calmed once again, six more women had arranged themselves in a semi-circle around Dejah.

All wore the garments of Mujir's servants.