Chapter 9
Tama hovered in the midst of the pliable and amorphous boundary between awareness and the null void of unconsciousness for what seemed like weeks on end, never fully immersed in either. Her world had become a kaleidoscope of disjointed images and colors, interspersed with periods of darkness and mind-bending stretches of altered reality that could only be dreams and nightmares. When she woke, it was only temporarily, and she was never able to gain enough awareness that she registered anything of note, or remembered specific details. A small, distant voice in her head kept reminding her to catalogue and record everything, to look for clues and information that would prove advantageous in her predicament. But the drugs still coursing through her veins prevented her from this self-assigned mission, plunging her into restless sleep.
Tama only began to notice a change slowly, barely registering in her consciousness as her wakeful mind began to reassert itself. Her mind was finally becoming aware of itself over her faculties as her body processed the last of the drugs that coursed through her internal systems. The periods of awareness grew longer in duration, and she began to remember actual sights, sounds, and smells.
Eventually, she became aware enough of her surroundings to find herself in a dim, musty room, the atmosphere moist, so humid it felt like a warm, sticky cloth on her skin. She was lying on her side, her neck experiencing great pain along the vertebrae and the tendons, indicating that her head had been lying at an awkward angle for several hours, at least. She blinked her eyes rapidly and slowly curled inward, assuming a fetal position as her stomach began to twist and knot itself, threatening to rebel and disgorge whatever she had last eaten. She lay like that for tedious, lengthy moments, readjusting to the sensations of being awake, gritting her teeth at the soreness and pain she felt undulating within her body. It started to fade as she lay there, whimpering slightly, slowly feeling more assured of herself, more comfortable in her own skin.
Tama forced herself into a sitting position slowly, then finally got to her feet. Vertigo struck her immediately, and she dropped to one knee, nearly regurgitating once more, but forcing herself through the disorientation and illness. She struggled to her feet again, and stood still for a moment, allowing herself time to take in her new and unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a dark, dank room of unknown purpose, devoid of furniture, accoutrements, or windows. The architecture suggested Clone Wars-era prefab structure, though she could not begin to give an actual approximation of its age. A single door was the only exit or entrance to the room, and the dark walls were spattered and plastered with healthy colonies of mold. Above her head was a series of moldering pipes, one of which had a hairline fracture in the seals around one of its couplings, causing a steady drip of water to fall to the floor, forming a sizable puddle on the metal beneath her feet, which was smeared with mud and rotting fungal matter.
Tama shook her head multiple times to clear her vision, initially believing her surroundings to be another dream. But when the supposed illusion did not go away, and the clarity of her awareness only increased, she decided to accept the room she was housed within as reality. She strode tentatively to the door and looked for an access panel or latch with which she might open the barrier. But there was none to be found. Banging and pushing on the door yielded no positive results, either. She even called for help, called for anyone who might be beyond the uncaring metal surface, but no one answered.
Tama felt fear creeping through her gut, worming its way into her esophagus and drawing her breath into ragged gasps. She appeared to be a prisoner, but of who, or where, she could not say. There were no vibrations in the walls or low hums on the periphery of her hearing, so she doubted that she was still aboard the starship she had been taken to by her kidnappers. So she was probably on a planet or moon of some sort, one that had a humid, moisture-laden atmosphere in the region her cell was located, one that experienced an abundant amount of fungal growth. She could already feel her sinuses clogging with the close, cloying air and the spores that were thick about the room, and she inevitably sneezed. She knew these were important clues as to where in the galaxy she was located, but all her knowledge regarding the countless worlds that existed in the galaxy had come from the unreliable, half-inebriated tales of spacers and smugglers. She could no more reliably identify her present location than she could walk through the solid door.
Time passed slowly for Tama in the dim, cramped cell, long stretches of empty time only separated by brief, fitful periods of sleep. She had no sense of day or night, though she knew that days must be passing her by. The only light in the cell was a small, red glow panel set above the door, which intermittently dimmed or flashed, seemingly at random, as if its power supply was unstable. The dilapidated state of the room suggested it had not seen frequent use in a long time; she was surprised there was anything electronic still functioning at all. She passed the time mostly pacing around her cell, memorizing every detail of its form and structure, noting the daily differences in the mold colonies' conquest of all available wall space. The fungi were akin to a clock for her, in place of standard chronometers, but for all she knew, the mold spread in mere minutes, not a day at a time, which was the assumption she was operating on.
By what she assumed to be the third day, she was weak enough she could barely stand. She had not had food in at least that amount of time. Her only source of water was the steadily dripping droplets from the rusty, mouldering pipe above her head. the heady, rank scents exuded by the mold in the room were being overtaken by the stench of her own urine and defecation, though her extensive lack of food had made certain that her digestive processes had slowed to near nonexistence. There was a horrible, hollow feeling that began in her stomach and was steadily spreading out throughout her body. That "night", instead of sleeping, she began practicing the deep, meditative trance that Foyi had taught her in one of their many training sessions. This Force ability would allow her to achieve something similar to the regenerative benefits of sleep, as well as spread the healing warmth of the Living Force to her very extremities. Her hunger and thirst diminished, while the lingering pain and dull ache in her muscles began to fade. She felt herself fall into the Force, turning her enhanced senses inward, falling deeper within herself and the comforting expanse that was the Force beyond her, allowing it to fill her with peace, calm, and contentedness, even in her untenable position.
She lost track of time's passage. The pain in her sinuses and the odors in her nostrils faded as the sound of the infernal consistency of dripping water disappeared. Slowly, gently, she became one with the Force, floating free in the blissful sensation of subconscious detachment. And as the Force reached into her, she reached out with it, expanding her conscious mind past her mortal shell, reaching out to taste, to touch the Force and all its aspects, to find its unique signature upon this unknown world.
Tama nearly tumbled from her meditative state when the full brunt of the Force and its unique flavors and sensations struck her fully in the face. The world she was on was teeming with life, the presences of thousands of unknown creatures radiating like bright constellations on a background of blackness, for the Force felt...ill, twisted, warped. She felt the Dark Side in a thousand nattering whispers, felt its cold wind on her face, its thick, slimy fingers caressing her skin, tempting her with dark and forbidden pleasures and powers she could experience if she only gave up her soul. The Light was present as well, but it was small, beaten, cowering before the onslaught of the Dark Side's tempest, roaring across the world, soaking and corrupting everything that stayed too long in its shadow. Even the miniature lights that represented the presences of the creatures that walked the world's surface blinked and fluctuated in her extrasensory perception, as if the darkness was constantly assaulting their beings, trying to crush the lights of Life. But the majority of these presences were already corrupted, their existences scarred and warped by the Dark Side's infernal touch, only adding to the power of the brooding storm.
Tama snapped out of her meditative trance, shivering despite the stifling humidity in the cell. She closed herself off from the Force in fear of being discovered, or alerting the attention of a hostile presence capable of sensing her own Force signature. But the overwhelming darkness she had felt enveloping the world had not come from a single source, but rather from a countless multitude, as if the Dark Side was everywhere and everything on this world. Instead of creating a stifling, intelligent malevolence, however, the world around her merely felt injured and diseased, as if it had suffered a mortal wound in its recent past, and was slowly succumbing to it. It was one of the most horrible feelings she had ever experienced, and it took her several hours before she was able to calm herself enough to try and attempt another healing trance. And this one she kept confined to herself, drawing the Force about her like a cloak and hiding within its embrace.
Tama had completely lost track of time or sensation beyond herself and her immediate, physical presence when she was aroused from her deep, relatively peaceful meditation by what sounded like a whisper or intermediate breath of wind. Awareness came to her immediately, and she felt as though she were no longer alone, even though there was no one else in her cell, and no unique presences in the Force that she could sense within the few meters around her. She blinked, ignoring the hungry grumbling and gnawing of her stomach, as if the organ were attempting to consume itself for want of sustenance. Tama stood, much more sure on her feet than she had been in days, the soreness in her limbs that had remained in one position for countless hours gone. She crept quietly to the door and pressed her ear against the grimy metal, certain she had heard a voice, perhaps articulate words or phrases. She listened for several long, agonizing moments, but heard nothing but the shrill sound of a wind, a distant hissing through a confined space, and the clicks and clangs of metal creaking and settling in its inevitable loss to the overwhelming conquest of erosion. Perplexed, Tama stepped away from the door and hobbled about the perimeter of her cell once more, pausing at regular intervals to listen for any noises leaking through the walls. She had similar results, and no further answers.
Tama shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She had never been awake for days on end, though she knew that malnutrition and improper rest was a potent combination for the degradation of one's mental state and grasp on reality. Perhaps she was merely hearing things. Though how she could hear anything when she had so deadened her senses to the world was beyond her. Maybe her connection to the Force was growing stronger through this tribulation.
And maybe she was just going crazy.
Tama curled in the corner farthest from the one she had designated as the spot to relieve herself, though the smell barely registered with her anymore, so clogged by spores and mucus were her olfactory passageways. She closed her eyes, willing her breathing to slow to a steady, even pace, her heart to settle to a consistent, slowing beat. She was already hovering on the edge of blissful sleep when the whisper came again, shocking her awake once more. But this time, she heard it clearly, not as a sound, but rather a voice in her head, a deep, guttural tone resonating like a shipboard klaxon through her mind. It said one word, repeated with various inflections and syllabic stress. It took her a moment to recognize the word, and when she did, she felt the blood in her veins turn to ice.
Tamam'buma. Tama. Tama. Taaammmmaaaa.
Tama rose to a sitting position, staring out at the dim confines of her cell, at the darkness that now seemed so much closer and grasping than it had moments before. She licked her lips, fear fluttering through her chest, too afraid to respond. But the voice was insistent; it would not be ignored. Tama. Tama. Taaama.
"What do you want?" Tama asked aloud, her voice shockingly loud in the normally quiet cell. She swallowed past a clump of mucus stuck in her throat. "Who—who are you?"
I am sin in skin, birthed in fire and blood. Savior of the fruits of loins, traveler of the Deep Black. Black and burnt on the inside, cold and lost on the outside. What does it matter? It doesn't understand, how could it? Tama's sins are not yet realized, but we'll see, yes we will. We all will. Tama, Tama. Pretty Tama. Evil Tama. Tired Tama. How does it feel; I know not. Doesn't matter, why should it?
Tama tried to follow along with the rambling sentences, but it was as if the voice were speaking of knowledge only known to itself, and she could only hear its words out of context. Not that she actually wanted to hear the words; they made her feel uncomfortable to say the least, dirty and violated to hear the voice slithering through her head and thoughts like a dianoga's tentacles. And yet, a part of her wanted to maintain and develop whatever relationship she might have with this voice. It was the first meaningful social contact she had experienced in over a week, and despite that short amount of time, she found herself starved for the presence of others.
The thought occurred to her that her psyche had merely snapped, and she was holding a conversation with the insane portion of her mind. But this thought did not deter her from attempting to answer the irrational, disjointed words uttered by the voice. "Wh—Where am I? What is this place? Why...am I here?"
This is your crucible, Tama.
Tama was momentarily taken aback by the short, straight-forward response. She had been expecting another rambling discourse of barely coherent speech. She found herself standing, her gaze moving from ceiling to floor to walls, though she found no sign of the voice's owner. "What do you mean, 'crucible'? Is this some kind of sick test? Some kind of game? Does this amuse you?!"
There was a discordant flash of pain along her temples, and she realized the voice had given its version of a psychic chuckle. Tama, Tama, you have yet to realize. It is well, do not worry, I am not angry with your confusion. You have a sin, an evil growing within you like drochs skittering and dancing beneath the skin, covering you from head to toe like a feasting, slurping Mikan. It is so ripe, rotten, smelly to me I can almost taste it, and it makes me shudder, makes me cringe. Oh please, we don't want to do it, it's too terrible, not again...Forgive me, forgive me, it did not mean it, it wasn't what we wanted...You needn't feel bad, but you must recognize. Tama, you are diseased, infected, with depravity and pustular darkness, like all your kind, and the only way you must recognize it is through trial and tribulation. Only through pain can the soul be cleansed and purified. It must know now, yes? Oh, it will be difficult and lengthy, there may not be any survivors.
Tama felt her heart hammering in her chest. The voice was clearly mad, and whoever it belonged to obviously did not have her best interests at heart. She was unable to identify the creatures or places the voice had been referring to when discussing her "inner evil", which she took as a sign that the voice was not from her own mind, and therefore, she was still sane. For now. This was not an entirely comforting thought, though, for it did not serve to explain her current situation, or the actual reason for why she had been brought and deposited here in this dank cell. The possibility that the voice that so addressed and tormented her may have something to do with the stifling overabundance of the Dark Side had not eluded her frantic thoughts. Perhaps she was speaking to an unseen Force spirit allied with the Dark Side. Perhaps she was speaking to the Dark Side itself. She knew very little about the darker aspects of the Force, and thus, anything regarding the Dark Side could be possible and must be considered.
More rational thoughts finally surfaced from the broiling sea of fear in her mind, and she grimaced at herself for letting her emotions and exhaustion overrule her logical thinking. No, she had been taken by slavers and mercenaries, thugs with blasters and ships, working in illicit trades with criminals. Whoever the voice belonged to had to be flesh and blood, a being with nefarious purposes, but not some ancient Sith alchemist or cacodemon from myth and legend. She knew little about the majority of sentient species that populated the galaxy, but the stories she had gleaned from Pash and others had featured telepaths and mind-readers and aliens with all manner of abilities. Most likely, a being with such abilities was what she faced now in the disembodies speaker. She recognized this as a fear tactic, to keep her cowering and off-balance, just as the days of isolation and starvation had been meant to make her slump into hopeless despair and mind-numbing terror.
With a clearer, more conscious mindset, she focused on the voice again, which seemed to be humming inside her head. "What are you even talking about? What evil? And who are you to judge me?"
I am your Savior, Tama. I see your sins past, your sins to come. You are unclean, savage, unworthy, unwashed. I will make you whole, release your pain and your darkness. You will be one of the few beings in the entire universe that could claim to be pure in body, mind, and soul.
Tama felt the need to explain herself, her mind wracking her memories for everything in her past that could be considered a sin. Her lekku twitched as her deepest and earlier memories were dredged out of the depths of the half-remembered past, but she stopped herself, for she feared that the voice in her head could probably read her thoughts as well, most likely had already done so for some time now. She steeled her mind, calling upon the Force to solidify her mental defenses, like durasteel walls rising to surround her despite her exhausted state. Anger and indignation bolstered those walls; she had no need to justify herself to her captor.
Defiance, the voice hissed through her mind, like a kouhun through her frontal lobe. Very expected, solid walls, yes. You are like so many, thinking yourself not truly in need of salvation, that you are no worse than most others. Truth, lies, everywhere. You will learn truth, small Tama. You will understand the nature of your own evil, and when the skin has finally been peeled back and you see your sins for the ugly beast they are, you will beg me to save you. And with the final phrase, a heady pressure in her head was finally relieved. Tama knew not how she knew, but she realized that the voice was "gone". Whether that meant the speaker had moved out of range of her, or was no longer interested in speaking to her, she had no clue. But perhaps she would experience some peace and quiet now. At least, as much as she could experience in the hellish conditions she had found herself in.
Tama spent the next hour or so either pacing about the cell, or stretching out tentatively with her senses to try and pinpoint the source of the voice that had violated the sanctity of her mind, amongst the countless presences upon the world. She made little headway with this, however, as the Dark Side, so thick and virulent it suffused the very atmosphere, made all of her senses cloudy and indistinct. She could barely tell anything about the presences she felt, nor distinguish particular ones from the dark morass that seemed to hover over everything. And so hours became a day, and she heard no more from the voice that day.
Until she lay herself down to sleep. And then the voice was back, muttering and chatting incoherently in her thoughts, sometimes speaking long monologues in an alien language, sometimes just making sounds and gibberish, as if it were in love with hearing itself speak. And try as she might, she could not block out the sound of its incessant, insane chatter, as the voice existed only in her head, and thus had no audio quality that could be blocked or muted.
Tama found no sleep that night, sitting against one of the walls of her cell, trying to remember happier times with her sister, holding onto that shred of comfort. But it was like holding a candle up to ward the falling night, and the darkness threatened to overtake it completely.