Abeloth's Planet; 44 ABY

They had been given nothing to drink since departing Coruscant, and the dark waters of the Font of Power were starting to tempt even Ben. The journey had taken days, and Abeloth had refused to allow her captives either water or food, urging them instead to throw off the shackles of mortality and claim their destiny. Ben, she insisted, was to become the eternal Prince of Light, and he would keep burning the twin flames of justice and forgiveness. Vestara was to become the irresistible Daughter of the Night. She would guard the forbidden mysteries of the Force—and she would bring life to the galaxy by filling dreams with images of beauty and desire. Together, the three of them would become the Ones, and they would live forever and remake the galaxy however it suited them.

Ben and Vestara had made the mistake of telling Abeloth they would rather die than become part of her insanity, and now they were standing back-to-back in the yellow fog that surrounded the Font of Power. Their noses and throats were raw from its caustic steam, and their eyes were burning, but they were so dehydrated that their bodies were imploring them to drink—and it did not matter that the water was so tainted with dark side energy that it made them shudder inside. Their heads were pounding and their vision was blurring, and their thoughts were coming slow and muddled. They had to drink or die—and when faced with those choices, the body always chose to drink.

Vestara's shoulder shifted against Ben's, and he could tell that she was looking toward the Font . . . no doubt wondering the same thing he was, what would happen if they drank, whether there was any way they could risk even a sip.

"Don't do it, Ves." Ben's throat was so dry and swollen that words came out as a croak. "That has to be what she wants, why she didn't let us drink on the trip. So we'd drink from the Font."

Vestara's shoulder did not shift back. "That might be better than dying, Ben."

"Think so?" Ben asked. "You remember what happened to Taalon, right?"

"That was the Pool of Knowledge," Vestara pointed out. "And he fell in."

"And this is the Font of Power," Ben replied. "I can feel the dark side gushing out. Do you really think you can touch that and not turn into the kind of freak he became?"

"That might be better than dying," Vestara repeated.

A swirl appeared in the fog a few meters ahead, and Abeloth spoke in her multiple voices. "You see, Ben? She cannot be trusted to resist temptation." The swirl approached closer and resolved into a ghostly face. The face had tiny silver eyes and a too-wide mouth, full of pointed fangs. "That is why I brought you here—so that you would learn whom you can truly trust."

Vestara pivoted around to stand at Ben's side. "And that would be you?"

"I am not the one hiding my betrayal from him," Abeloth replied.

"If you're talking about the attack on the Falcon," Ben said, "I know all about it. Vestara told me what happened."

"Yes, but did she tell you everything?" Abeloth asked. "Did she tell you about—"

"Of course I did." Vestara looked over and caught Ben's eye. "You can't listen to her, Ben. She's just trying to drive a wedge between us."

"No worries, Ves, it's not going to work," Ben said. "All we've got is each other—and no way am I letting that go on her word."

"Good, Ben," Vestara said. "We just have to remember who's holding us captive."

"You are holding yourself captive, Vestara," Abeloth said. She raised an arm, and four fluttering tentacles pointed toward the churning fountain next to them. "The power you crave is there. It is Ben holding you back—not I."

Vestara glanced past Ben toward the pillar of dark waters, then shook her head. "No, Ben's right," she said. "Drinking from the Font would destroy us, not save us."

Abeloth lowered her arm. "The choice is yours to live with." She withdrew into the fog. "Or to die from."

Ben waited until even the swirl of her retreat had vanished, then said, "Good job, Ves. We can get through this as long as we stand firm—and stand together."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Ben, but that's a load of poodoo." Vestara pivoted to stand back-to-back again. "In case you didn't notice the last hundred times we tried to leave the courtyard, we're kind of outclassed here. No way are we getting past Abeloth to safe water."

"Probably not." Ben tipped his head as far as he could toward Vestara, then whispered, "But we just have to hold on. Dad's on his way—I can feel him reaching out to me in the Force."

Vestara whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Would I lie about something like that?" Ben asked. "Trust me. He'll be here."

"When?"

"As soon as he can," Ben said. "I tried to let him know we're desperate."

"Well, that's something, I guess."

"It's hope," Ben replied quickly. "And hope is enough to get us through this . . . as long as we stick together."

Vestara fell silent for a moment, then said, "I'm with you, Ben. That's not going to chaaa . . . aaaigh!"

Vestara screamed as she stumbled back into Ben. He spun around instantly and found Abeloth already on Vestara, tentacles probing for her mouth and nose. Lacking a lightsaber or any other sort of weapon, Ben stepped into the melee and slammed a palm-heel into the center of Abeloth's chest, at the same time hitting her with a panic-fueled blast of Force energy.

Abeloth went flying, doubled over, trailing a spray of bloody bile. Vestara recovered her footing and stepped forward into a fighting crouch, her arms raised and ready to attack, either hand-to-hand or with the Force. Ben found himself staring in amazement at the cone of red mist that Abeloth had left behind, surprised by the power of the Force blast he had just unleashed. He felt cold and queasy from the effects of so much dark-side energy, and had he not been so thoroughly dehydrated already, he probably would have vomited.

"Ben?" Vestara grabbed his arm and stepped in close, propping him up. "Are you okay?"

"I will be, as soon as I get rid of this rot inside," he said.

"Rot?"

Ben jerked a thumb toward the Font of Power. "The Force is corrupt this close to the fountain," he said. "All dark side."

Vestara turned toward the pillar of dark water. "We may have to use it anyway, Ben. The Force is all we have to protect ourselves with."

"No—it's like poison," Ben said. "We can't use the Force until we get out of this fog."

Vestara shook her head. "You know that isn't going to happen," she said. "That's why Abeloth is keeping us here. She's trying to corrupt us."

"We won't let her," Ben said. "We won't use the Force."

"Ben, we're going to have to," Vestara said. "It's the only way to hold her off until your father arrives."

Ben fell silent. Just a small taste of the Font's dark side energies had convinced him that it would be better to die than to let himself be corrupted by its power. But of course, they wouldn't die. Abeloth would take them as her avatars, just as she had done with Callista and Akanah and countless others, and they would learn the literal meaning of a fate worse than death.

"Then we're going to have to make a run for it," Ben said. "She can't be in two places at once, so at least one of us should be able to get clear."

"And then what?" Vestara asked.

"And then we make sure that she doesn't make an avatar out of the one who falls behind," Ben said. "We've used the Force here before, so we know that the fountain's corruption doesn't extend for more than a few meters. Once we're both clear, we can fight with the Force again."

"So one of us is almost sure to die?" Vestara asked. "And the other one is going to have to do the killing?"

"Probably," Ben said. "But it has to be better than the alternative."

Vestara turned toward the Font. "That's one way to look at it, I guess."

Ben frowned, unsure of what Vestara was suggesting. "If you have another way, I'm all ears."

"Maybe dying isn't the best thing." Vestara turned back to Ben and touched her hand to his chest. "Maybe there's a reason we're here . . . a reason that we were brought together in the first place."

Ben's frown grew deeper. "Like what?"

Vestara stepped back, as though his stern tone had pushed her away. "We need to follow the will of the Force, Ben."

"And you know what that will is?"

Vestara nodded, turned toward the Font of Power. "I think I do, Ben."

"I don't like where this is headed," Ben said, following her gaze. "Ves, you can't be serious."

Vestara continued to gaze into the Font's dark waters. "But I am, Ben. If we both drank, together we would be stronger than Abeloth—probably strong enough to destroy her." She reached out and took Ben's hand. "And wouldn't that be the best thing for the galaxy?"

If anything, the steam had grown thicker. Ben was only five meters from the Font of Power, and he could tell its location only by the sound of its gurgling waters. Even Vestara, standing halfway between him and the fountain, looked more like a gray Force shadow than the woman he loved.

"Ves, we're not drinking," Ben said. "You saw what happened to Taalon after he fell into the pool. The same thing—or something even worse—will happen to us if we drink from the Font. You know that!"

"Maybe we're meant to change," Vestara said. "Abeloth is the Destroyer of Keshiri legend, and we're the Protectors, Ben—you and me. That's why the Force brought us together in the first place. We're the only ones who can stop her."

Ben shook his head. "Not by drinking from the Font." He stepped closer to Vestara and pointed toward the fountain behind her. "That thing is a dark side nexus—probably the most potent one in the entire galaxy. You don't use something that powerful. It uses you."

"So instead we let Abeloth just take us?" Vestara countered. "Use our bodies to raze the galaxy?"

"No, Ves—we fight back," Ben said. "But we do it without drawing on the font—without touching the dark side at all. That's the only way we don't become the thing we're trying to destroy."

Vestara studied Ben with a look that was equal parts pity and admiration, then finally said, "You're a noble fool, Ben." She turned away and started toward the fountain. "But I'm through discussing this. We can't beat Abeloth without the Font's power."

Ben remained where he was. "And you can't beat her alone, Ves."

He waited for her to glance back, or at least to hesitate. When she didn't, he turned away . . . straight into Abeloth.

Her tentacles were on him before he could cry out, entwining his body and pulling him close, slithering over his eyes and probing at his ears, sliding past his lips and into his mouth.

Ben bit down hard and felt a gristly tip about the size of his small finger come off. Immediately, his mouth was filled with a thin, foul-tasting oil. He exhaled fiercely, spewing both the tentacle tip and the rancid blood into Abeloth's bottomless eye sockets.

She only pulled him closer. A tentacle curled around the back of his neck, then slithered into his nose and started to ascend. He punched and kicked, slamming fists and elbows into her body and stomping at her legs, driving knees into her thighs and abdomen. But he was still too close to the Font to use the Force, and without the Force his blows were nothing to her. Abeloth took them all without flinching or groaning—with no reaction save a smile. The tentacle wormed its way up Ben's nose into his sinuses, and his face flared with unbearable pressure and pain.

"You will drink, young Skywalker, or you will serve me another way," Abeloth said, speaking in her multitude of voices. "That choice is the only—"

The threat came to a crashing end, and Abeloth's tentacle tore free as she went flying backward on a bolt of Force lightning as thick as Ben's leg. He dropped to his knees, his agony fading quickly. Blood poured from his nose.

Abeloth dropped to the ground about three meters ahead, limned in blue and still pinned against the cobblestones by the Force lightning. As she writhed, her tentacles were twining around themselves, coalescing back into arms. Her long golden hair grew silky and dark, her eyes became oblong and normal, and her skin darkened into the lavender tones of a Keshiri Sith.

Vestara came up beside Ben. Her hands were still extended toward Abeloth, pouring Force lightning into the fallen Keshiri.

"Ben?" Vestara asked. "Are you hurt?"

Instead of replying, Ben continued to kneel on the cobblestones, looking up at Vestara. Her hair and clothes remained relatively dry, and he saw no redness in her face or hands to suggest she had actually put them into the steaming waters and drunk. But as she continued to pour Force lightning into the Keshiri, he could feel the font's dark energy flowing across the courtyard, swirling over him and through him, filling him with the cold queasy ache of its corrupting power.

"Ben?" Vestara asked again. "Answer me!"

"I'm fine," he said.

"Then get up!" Vestara said. There was a glow in her face, and Ben kept telling himself that it was not joy, that it had to reflect something other than the usual Sith thirst for power. "Together, we can kill Abeloth."

Ben spun on his knees and wrapped one arm around Vestara's legs. He rose to his feet, throwing her over his shoulders and using his free hand to catch her far arm and hold her in place.

"No." He started across the courtyard, away from the Font of Power. "Not like this, we can't."

The Keshiri was trembling in agony. Greasy dark smoke was rising from a shoulder that had been so badly scorched it looked like a burned nerf roast. Her cheeks were hollow, her complexion was so wan it was pale blue, and her sunken eyes were rimmed in red.

But she was still standing, coming at them across the courtyard's mossy cobblestones.

Even knowing what the woman was, Ben could barely believe his eyes. Vestara had hit her with a bolt of Force lightning powerful enough to take out a Canderous-class hovertank. Still, the avatar had returned to her feet the instant Vestara had been carried too far away from the Font of Power to continue drawing on its power. And now Vestara was standing at his side, shaking even worse than the Keshiri, her complexion still shadowed by its dark energy, her eyes dulled by Force overload.

When the Keshiri snatched her lightsaber off its belt hook and ignited its crimson blade, Ben was almost relieved. It was such a mundane threat that it made him think perhaps Vestara's attack had driven out Abeloth after all—perhaps all they had to fight now was a simple Sith Lord.

Then the Keshiri spoke, and his hope evaporated. "We are done with patience," she said in a thousand voices. "Drink together—or die together."

Ben opened himself to the Force completely, shielding himself from the Font of Power's darkness by drawing its energies through the power of all he loved in the galaxy, through his faith in the Jedi purpose and the promise of the future—through his confidence in Vestara and the sure knowledge that she would soon join him in the ranks of the Jedi Knights. The Force came pouring into Ben from all sides, irresistible and pure, a flood of light and purpose that no being in the galaxy could deny. He felt himself become the Force, a swirl of power and energy, and he focused all that he was on the approaching Keshiri, hitting her with a Force blast that would have knocked a frigate out of orbit.

The blast caught the avatar square in the chest and rocked her shoulders back at least a couple of centimeters. She paused almost noticeably before she took her next step.

Ben staggered back, exhausted, and nearly fell before Vestara's hand clamped around his biceps. She pulled him to his feet and began to retreat, pulling him toward the cloud of steam still enveloping the Font of Power.

"So, Ben, what was that supposed to be?" she asked. "The power of the light side?"

"You didn't do much better," Ben replied. He pulled his arm free and stopped a few meters outside the steam. "And you were drawing on the font."

"Yeah … because I'd kind of like to survive this," Vestara replied, reluctantly stopping with him. "What's your point?"

"That we don't have to surrender to her," Ben whispered. He glanced across the courtyard toward the ruined arcade, then used the Force to lift a section of broken pillar and bring it spinning toward the back of the avatar's head. "We just have to work together."

There was no time for Vestara to waste with a witty reply. She simply raised her hands and unleashed another fork of Force lightning, this one far less powerful than when she had been drawing on the font's power. The Keshiri's hand rose so fast that Ben barely even saw it move, and he realized their ploy could actually work—that even an avatar could fall prey to a tactical diversion.

The Keshiri caught the lightning bolt in the palm of her hand, and its white-hot energy dwindled to a spark. But the pillar kept coming, striking the back of her head with a sickening thud and sending a bloody spray of skull and brain all the way across the courtyard to splatter Ben and Vestara's legs.

The avatar did not instantly drop dead. She staggered a few steps forward, carried by the momentum of the impact, then raised her smashed head to reveal that one eye had been knocked free of the socket and was now dangling on her cheek.

The other eye fixed its gaze on Ben.

"Sheeka, Ben!" Vestara took a step away from him—not because she was abandoning him, Ben felt sure, but because it was the smart tactical move. "I think you really made her mad."

"Let's make her even madder," Ben said, reaching out for another section of pillar. "Hit her agai … rrgh!"

The order came to a strangled end as he felt himself flying back into the arcade. His shoulders hit a pillar dead-center, folding so far backward that both shoulder blades touched stone. Then a tremendous crack sounded inside his skull, and his head exploded into dark pain. He felt himself sliding down the pillar toward the cobblestones below, and the last thing he saw was Vestara retreating toward the Font of Power, disappearing into the yellow steam with the avatar close behind.

Author's Note: Full disclosure, and since you've probably read the books before this, you already know, I lifted everything in this chapter out of Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Apocalypse by Troy Denning. The whole point of this story is what would have happened if Ben and Vestara had drunk from the Font of Power, so I more or less needed to veer the story off at some point after they got to the planet. Denning wrote it well enough that I didn't feel any real need to change anything leading up to my alteration, so I didn't. For obvious reasons, though, I'm putting up this chapter and the next simultaneously.