Tech sat down near the heat lamp, then leaned stiffly against the wall as he let his datapad slide to the floor beside him. It had only been one hour and twenty-six minutes since Quinlan had cut him free of the statue, so Tech was not exactly surprised by his continuing inability to lift, hold, or maneuver things as usual. It was becoming a bit irritating, though. His fingers were clumsy; as a result, it was taking him eleven point three times longer than it normally did to access and activate various scans.
Of course, it was not as though there was much to see. He frowned tiredly down at the datapad's dimmed screen. He wasn't sure what was more problematic – the lack of new information, or his current inability to make his hands work properly. Tech could push his way through a lot. In the past, he had been able to move despite intense pain; however, in this situation, even with the relatively mild discomfort, he could not move well. Perhaps the nerves between his hands and spine were not transmitting properly.
Tech let out his breath and tried not to think about how little information he currently had about the situation. He was accustomed, perhaps too accustomed, to having knowledge at his fingertips. As an extension, the others were also accustomed to that, since he provided them with information. And Hunter was used to having knowledge quite literally at his fingertips, as his enhancement often allowed him to discover things about his surroundings by touching a nearby surface – rather like echolocation, except without soundwaves.
Another spasm of pain shot up Tech's arms into his upper back, and he gritted his teeth until it died away. The muscle spasms were coming with less frequency than before; that was good, but not quite good enough. Somehow, Tech needed to get himself back to his usual level of functionality.
With this in mind, Tech held his hands toward the heat lamp – at least, he did so until they started shaking again. Then he shifted closer to the lamp and rested his hands in his lap.
Tilting his head back against the wall, he turned his attention to his teammates. Quinlan was pacing, seemingly unaware of the others. His left hand was clasped over his right elbow, right hand resting against his mouth as he stared unseeingly at the floor.
Crosshair was seated on the third-lowest step with his forearms on his knees, and Hunter was hovering nearby. . . Or at least, Hunter was standing at the base of the stairway, casting the sniper brief, worried glances on an average of once every eight seconds.
Tech considered, then smirked. Despite protestations to the contrary, Hunter did, in fact, tend to hover.
When Quinlan turned to stare yet again at the dark hole in the floor, Tech's amusement faded into concern. He wished he knew what Vythia was doing. Whatever it was, there was a possibility that she might inadvertently release another leviathan, or something worse. He was a bit surprised at how nervous he felt at the thought.
Wrecker, who had been standing against the wall beside Tech, suddenly slouched to the floor and picked up the discarded datapad. "Find anything out yet?" he asked in a low voice.
"No." Tech shot him a look. "Of course, it has been nearly two full minutes since I last looked."
"Uh-huh." Wrecker rolled his eyes, obviously amused. "Kinda funny, you saying that."
"Oh? Why?"
"Because you're always checkin' stuff every ten seconds."
"I am not," Tech argued. Feeling nervous always made him petulant, when there was nothing to do. It was unreasonable, but he was in no mood to agree with Wrecker's assessment of his actions, accurate as it was.
"Yeah, you are." Wrecker frowned a little.
"Not always, which is what you claimed." This argument was ridiculous, and knowing that only served to irritate him further.
"Oh yeah?" A tinge of annoyance had entered Wrecker's voice, too. "Bet you can't prove it's not always!"
"And you cannot prove your statement."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong."
"It certainly does not mean that you are right." Without warning, Tech's arms cramped violently. He turned deliberately away from Wrecker.
Hunter looked towards him, concern written all over his face, and Tech pressed his lips together and pretended not to notice.
"Yeah, well," Wrecker grumbled tiredly. "Doesn't mean you're right, either."
Tech took a quick breath, sweat prickling on his neck. Wrecker's voice was too loud.
"Tech?" Hunter said. "Are you feeling –?"
"I am feeling fine!" Tech answered harshly, suddenly aggravated well beyond endurance by the combination of everything – the sharp pain, Hunter's watchful gaze, Wrecker's loud voice, Quinlan's incessant pacing, and Crosshair's listless behavior.
Everyone in the room looked at him, and Tech's temper flared all over again, then vanished at the different levels of surprise in their expressions. He stared at the stone floor, waiting for them to stop watching him.
"Tech . . . " Hunter said, more hesitantly than before. "What's wrong?"
"I should think that our current situation would be enough of an answer," Tech muttered. "Or would you like me to summarize, Hunter?"
"No."
As silence fell, Tech's uncharacteristic irritation faded along with the pain until he felt nothing. He leaned back against the wall for a second time, wondering if it would be worth attempting to sleep. He should be prepared to leave on a moment's notice, in case the storm suddenly let up. . . At the same time, he was exhausted. Everyone was.
Tech was distracted from his thoughts when Quinlan went back to pacing. Wrecker fiddled with his blaster, then set it down. Hunter inhaled slowly, folded his arms and unfolded them. Then he also started walking, opposite to Quinlan.
Watching through half-closed eyes, Tech noted that Hunter took two steps to Quinlan's three, so they only matched up every other step or so. Crosshair was still on the stairs, leaning sideways against the wall, eyes vaguely following Quinlan or Hunter – whoever was closer to the stairs at the time.
Eventually, Wrecker nudged him, and Tech glanced up. "What is it?"
"You think the leviathan's still alive?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, I have no reason to think otherwise."
Wrecker frowned heavily and rubbed at his head.
Idly, Tech glanced down at his datapad and considered checking the scanners, then closed his eyes instead. He decided to return to what he'd been thinking about before he paused to observe his teammates . . . If he could remember his earlier thought process.
Ah, yes; he had been pointlessly contemplating the fact that he was accustomed to being able to discover dozens of useful – and useless – things about his surroundings within a few seconds. Now, the only information he had was a sort of negative information.
He knew where the storm wasn't; and he knew what he couldn't learn, given that the storm was hovering around the Marauder. He knew that it was preventing the team from leaving Trayus, but he didn't know why – he could neither discover nor ascertain anything specific about the storm itself, except that he was sure it wanted them to stay in Trayus. But why? And how could a storm want anything?
Given what he had seen of Malachor, Trayus, and the Sith, Tech decided that maybe he did not want to know the storm's reason for keeping them here, if it had a reason. Opening his eyes, Tech sighed and stared at the central pillar and its strange white flames.
"Are we gonna stay here?" Wrecker asked in a low voice.
Tech shifted into a more comfortable position against the wall. "I do not know."
They both looked at Hunter, who had finally stopped wandering around and was now standing motionless, halfway between the stairs and the makeshift camp.
"What is it?" their sergeant asked, noticing their looks immediately.
"Are we gonna stay here?" Wrecker asked.
Hunter shot a questioning look at Quinlan, who didn't acknowledge it, and said, "Do we have another option?"
"Well." Tech thought about it. "As I mentioned, we could move as close to the exit as is possible, and wait in one of the hallway rooms until the storm is over."
"Yeah . . ." Hunter folded his arms and jerked his head at the doorway. "Except that the storm isn't going to be over. At least, not any time soon."
"You are most likely correct." Tech cleared his throat slightly and glanced at Hunter again. "In the meantime: what about Vythia?"
Hunter paused, then blinked. "What about her?"
Tech tilted his head, slightly confused.
"What do you mean, what about her?" Quinlan finally stopped wandering around and turned to face the sergeant. "Hunter, she's down in the Core."
Hunter narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me you don't think we should go after her."
"No. . . No." Quinlan tapped his fingers restlessly against his biceps and hunched his shoulders. "Not down there. No. But we've got no idea what she's doing."
Crosshair straightened a little and glanced warily around the room. He'd been even quieter than usual.
"Yeah," Hunter said. "So – what is it you're afraid she's doing?"
"I . . . don't know." Quinlan's eyes darkened. "But it can't be anything good."
Wrecker stood unsteadily, keeping one hand back against the wall. "One of us could try an' find out," he offered.
"No!" Hunter and Quinlan snapped, then exchanged looks.
"Why not?" Tech asked.
"We aren't separating again," the Jedi said. "This place seems to want us separated, in case you haven't noticed."
"I have noticed that," Tech admitted. "But if Vythia intends to take an artifact that will do something harmful, such as release an ancient monster, I for one would like be aware of it beforehand."
"Yeah," said Quinlan. "But you probably can't even draw your pistol right now, let alone hold it steady."
Tech scowled at him.
Quinlan frowned back and muttered, "It's too dangerous."
"So . . ." Wrecker shifted his weight, glancing uneasily at the chasm. "Are we just gonna leave Vythia down there?"
"Yes," Hunter said shortly. "She went down on her own. We're not chasing after her this time."
"No." Wrecker shook his head, squinting his eyes against the resultant dizziness. "I didn't mean that, I meant – are we gonna let her stay down there?"
Crosshair glanced at him, but nobody answered.
The long silence that followed was eventually broken by a long, low-pitched cry that seemed to come from the floor just above them. The moan faded away as though whoever had caused it was running out of breath, until at last it cut off with a choked gasp.
Crosshair got up and looked up the stairway for several seconds before walking over and sitting down next to Tech. Wrecker, meanwhile, watched Quinlan, who was studying the empty hole in the floor and biting his lip. Hunter gazed at nothing as he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it a little as he tended to do when he was thinking and had no answers.
Tech opened and closed his still-uncooperative fingers a few times, then checked his chronometer. It had been thirty-five point two minutes since Vythia had disappeared.
Wrecker shifted again, then sat. "Guess that means we're staying here."
Hunter nodded. "Yeah – it's that, or move as close as we can to the main door."
"Better than staying here, maybe," Wrecker said.
There was a brief silence, and then Hunter looked at the floor. "Yeah . . . except for one thing."
Tilting his head, Tech followed Hunter's gaze. The ash was stirring slightly all across the stones, the grey flakes and particles tumbling over each other.
Quinlan narrowed his eyes, staring at the ash for a long moment. Then, walking slowly, he approached the main hallway. As he neared it, the movement of the ash increased; he broke into a run, and there was a wailing rush. When he stepped into the main hallway, a violent gust of wind swept past him and dissipated inside the vast hallway. By the time the wind reached the commandos, it was barely a breeze, but it roared around the Jedi, who was hardly ten meters from them.
Tech glanced at Wrecker and Crosshair, who appeared uncertain and wary; then he looked at Hunter. The sergeant's gaze moved slowly away from the hall and back to Quinlan, who had turned to face him.
As Tech realized that both Hunter and Quinlan were frightened, he became conscious of an unpleasant feeling in his stomach and throat. There is an enemy here, he thought. And it is not Vythia.
"We're – trapped," Crosshair said, in an oddly hoarse voice.
Wrecker glanced at him, but no one spoke. They were all watching the chasm.
Quinlan twisted onto his back and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Then he turned onto his left side, so he could keep an eye on the dark hole which Vythia had gone down. It was oh-one-forty, well over an hour since her disappearance. He'd felt nothing unusual, heard nothing – but somehow, he was sure she wasn't going to come back up those stairs.
Everyone was sleeping now, or at least trying to sleep, except for Hunter, who was on guard. The sergeant had attempted to enter the hallway, but before he'd taken two steps, the unnatural wind gusted just as severely against him as it did against Quinlan.
They had almost decided to try fighting their way through despite that, but with Wrecker dizzy and weak, Crosshair only half-cognizant, and Tech and Hunter and Quinlan exhausted, there wasn't much point. They might have made some headway despite the wind for a few dozen meters, but for what? They'd be completely exhausted before they even reached the halfway mark, unable to reach the Marauder, and unable to deal with whatever the storm – or whatever it really was – decided to throw at them next.
Better to rest while they could, Hunter had said before ordering everyone to get some sleep.
Now, Quinlan stared towards the corner of the room and wondered why he was even bothering to try. He couldn't sleep. He realized, suddenly, that the gaping hole was too dark. If something came out of it, he wouldn't see it until it was ready to emerge, and by then it would be too late.
None of these thoughts were helping at all. Quinlan turned abruptly onto his right side and shut his eyes determinedly. Hunter was on guard. Right now, the sergeant was the best suited to be on guard. His enhanced senses weren't as confused by this place as Quinlan's Force-senses were, or as limited as Tech's scanners were – although Quinlan was pretty sure the storm was limiting them quite a bit. At the very least, it was making Hunter jumpy, and Quinlan couldn't blame him. The near-constant lightning was tangible even to him.
Time continued to drift past, and even though Quinlan was exhausted, he couldn't sleep or even relax. There was nothing wrong with him, physically, except that he was a little stiff from being flung around during the fight with the leviathan, but his body didn't seem to believe him. Something small and slow crawled continually down the inside of his chest, and his back prickled with sweat.
He knew the symptoms. He was scared.
But knowing it didn't help at all when, a few minutes later, a sudden feeling of terror engulfed him. Suddenly he was convinced that all of Trayus was watching him intently, studying his thoughts, waiting for him to surrender, to give up – surrender to what? Give up what? He didn't know. All he knew was that at any moment, the dark of the academy would leap onto his back and strangle him and leave him alone. Or . . . or maybe, he already was alone, and the dark was waiting.
Quinlan clenched one hand until his nails dug into his skin. No. No. I'm not alone, Hunter's on guard, Wrecker and Crosshair and Tech are right behind me. They are, I know they are.
But did he know that? Were they right behind him, or had they been swallowed by the hovering, creeping darkness that was threatening to devour him? Quinlan realized, with a burning flash of fear and shame, that he didn't actually know whether the commandos were still there . . . and that he was too scared to look. What if they were gone?
Coward! he raged at himself. What if they need help? Open your eyes!
Finally, Quinlan did it – he opened his eyes, and then he stared at the pillar of flame until they ached. For a few seconds, he forgot why he'd been so sure he had to open them at all. To get away from the darkness, maybe . . .? Turning, he pressed his face into his sleeve and tried to take a deep breath. The distant, lonely feeling continued to claw at his chest, until suddenly he remembered the others. Without thinking, he turned over.
He was almost shocked to realize that the rest of his team was right where they'd been the last time he looked, and that all of them seemed perfectly fine.
Quinlan let out a sudden, shaky breath and stared at each of them, trying to find something to account for the surge of emotion that had just swallowed him, but nothing seemed to be wrong . . . At least, not more wrong than it already was.
Tech was asleep, lying on his side close to the heat lamp. Wrecker was opposite him, also sleeping. Crosshair was sitting, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed and one hand on his rifle. Hunter was still on guard, standing between the heat lamp and the pillar, but he wasn't truly alert.
Quinlan focused on him for several seconds, but Hunter didn't react. Usually the sergeant noticed immediately when someone was looking at him – even if his eyes were closed – but this time, he didn't seem to.
Hunter stared at the chasm, wondering what in space Vythia could have wanted down there. And why now? Why not when the statues first sank into the floor? Did she think Quinlan would try to stop her?
Whatever she wanted, it was apparently important enough that she'd been willing to go down into the Core of Trayus by herself. Hunter couldn't think of anything in the galaxy that would make him want to go down there, not even if he had an entire battalion of the GAR's best troopers with him.
And Vythia had gone down alone. Maybe one of the Sith artifacts she'd been carrying around had finally made her lose her mind. Or maybe she was just hiding down there, waiting until the rest of the team left, so that she could get whatever it was she was after and then return to her ship without being questioned.
Right, Hunter thought. Because that makes sense.
It was a struggle to keep his eyes focused. Hunter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then folded his arms and glanced down at his chronometer. He blinked, slightly disturbed when he realized it had been nearly five minutes since he'd started looking at the chasm. He needed to watch all four of the room's corners, not just one; if they all led down to the center, anything could come up through any of them at any moment.
"Hunter?"
The sergeant looked up, surprised. Quinlan was standing next to him, and he hadn't even noticed.
"Yeah?" he said.
A flicker of relief passed through the Jedi's eyes. "Just checking."
"Why?" Hunter cast a quick look at his sleeping teammates. "Nothing wrong, is there?"
"Nothing new. Far as I can tell." Despite his words, Quinlan held a lightsaber in one hand. "Look, I can't sleep, and you're practically falling over. Want me to take over the watch?"
Yes, Hunter thought, but shook his head. "I've got it handled."
"You do," Quinlan agreed. "That's why you jumped when I called you. Seriously, Hunter, there's no point in both of us standing guard."
"Yeah . . . guess not." Hunter was tired enough that he had already turned towards the heat lamp when he remembered. "Except for the – trance – you went into earlier."
"That happened because I was using the Force," Quinlan answered. "And I won't use it again, not here."
Hunter was pretty sure the Jedi had said something similar before. "But what if you have to use it?"
"I won't. Not here," Quinlan repeated, gesturing to the room. "If something comes in, believe me – I'll try killing it first and finding out about it later."
Quinlan sat, with his back to the wall, between the sleeping forms of Hunter and Tech and listened to the silence. In the half hour that had passed since he took over the watch, he'd heard nothing unusual except for one high-pitched whimper from somewhere in the upper levels . . . until now.
A slow, raspy shifting from a hallway in the level above them started, then stopped. The leviathan was still weak – incredibly weak – but it was healing. Right now, it was too weak to attack Quinlan or his teammates, unless they were stupid enough to get in its line of vision, and they weren't. But they had to get out of the academy before it healed, or they were dead.
The other option was to kill it, once and for all, but there wasn't a way to do that. Even if there had been, Quinlan and the others weren't desperate enough to go up against it, not again. Not unless they were stuck in the academy long enough that the leviathan had a real chance of healing.
Without warning, a new sound rang through the air – the slow, tolling echo of a distant bell, sounding from the depths of Trayus. Quinlan jumped, then stared at each of the four holes in the floor, one after the other. Nothing happened.
The bell rang again, mournfully. A hollow gust of cold wind blew through the room, carrying with it a cold darkness. Shadows from the white, half-translucent flames of the pillar danced and flickered across the walls, taking on half-human forms. Voices cried out pitifully, begging for their lives until the very instant they were ended.
The bell tolled.
Quinlan's vision slowly went dark, making the flames blur and dim until they appeared purple. Heart pounding, he grabbed at Hunter, barely feeling the sergeant's glove beneath his fingers as the bell rang louder.
In his mind, Quinlan was rising, moving toward the corner of the room. He couldn't break away, not this time – he fought, but it was useless. Something was dragging his mind towards the Trayus Core like when it had been dragged towards the leviathan, and he was powerless to stop it.
The heavy bell pealed again, and Quinlan suddenly understood that he was being summoned to the Heart of Trayus. He fought the heavy mental grip, terror exploding throughout his entire being. No – no –! Hunter, wake up!
He closed his fingers, squeezing with a painfully tight grip, but couldn't tell if Hunter moved in response or not. He couldn't even see his real surroundings any more. All he saw was the depths of the hole that led down to the Core. A narrow stairway wound down the perimeter of the rectangular tunnel. Only three faintly white lanterns lit the way.
Quinlan fought the grip on his mind desperately, only for a surge of pain to make his awareness black out.
When he recovered, he appeared to be standing at the base of the stairs. Beside him was the robed statue that had sunk into the depths. Its sparkling black eyes were uncovered and gazing out across a narrow bridge, which spanned the wide chasm before it and the pale green, flickering light that rose from its depths.
The deep, echoing clang of the bell from beneath him made Quinlan jerk, and his vision flickered and returned. Now he was standing at the opposite end of the bridge, which opened onto a wide, circular platform that was surrounded on all sides by the chasm. Directly in front of him was a huge, black pillar – one of five pillars, which looked just like the massive ones outside the academy. They bent out as they rose up, until, toward the top, they curved inward again, their tips pointing down at the highest point of a second set of pillars.
The central pillars were smaller than the first, barely three meters at the highest, and they also pointed inward. Quinlan's line of sight was blocked by the base of one of the largest pillars so that he couldn't see what the central pillars were pointing to. He didn't want to see –
Fighting again to free himself from the vision, he tried to physically move away, but he couldn't take a step backwards. Something let out a smoky laugh at his futile efforts. When he dragged his gaze up, he realized he was standing inside the first ring of pillars.
Now he could see, and sense, the heart of everything in Trayus.
A wide, rectangular altar of grey stone, the upper edge carved with Balc runes, stood directly beneath the knife-like points of the second ring of pillars. Impression after impression had been left here. Even though Quinlan wasn't touching anything, even though his Force senses were dulled, he felt them. At every pulse of Dark Side energy that throbbed through the center, he saw and heard and felt the past in split-second fragments that slammed into him from all directions. Inanimate objects, forcibly given a semblance of life – plants, twisted into predators – animals, natures deformed and warped to the will of their masters until they were able to feel malice – men and women, sacrificed to the dark by the lords of the Sith – vulturous rituals that enhanced the Sith's power through the terror and pain suffered by their victims – the overwhelming scent of blood, human and alien alike – heart-rending pleas – drawn-out deaths – flickering knives – hatred – hatred – hatred – Chaos . . .
Quinlan staggered in place, putting both hands out blindly for support as a chorus of inaudible screams rose from the depths of the glowing chasm. The bodies of all the sacrificed were down there –
For an instant everything whirled terribly before his gaze focused on the altar again, and on the Nautolan woman who stood beside it.
Then she was gone, replaced by three figures. Instantly, Quinlan recognized them as the Sith Triumvirate: an elderly, white-haired woman whose calm, bitter expression and blind eyes were half-hidden by black robes; a tall, empty suit of armor whose invisible face was covered by a white mask, marked with red lines over either eyehole; a muscular but horribly disfigured man with one eye, whose visible skin, from his waist to the top of his head, had turned completely grey. Where it was not covered by twisted, knotted scars, it was covered by cuts and cracks.
"You cannot kill what you cannot see, my apprentices," Darth Traya said contemptuously, turning to face them. Her eyes were solidly white and unseeing. "And power blinded you long ago. You are now less able to see than I. Did you think I did not know your intent in bringing me here, Lord of Hunger?"
Nihilus hissed out a strange, half-vocal phrase. The words ripped at Quinlan's thoughts, but Traya brushed them aside and turned to Darth Sion. "Hatred makes weak alliances, at best, Lord of Pain, but trust has no place here."
Sion and Nihilus ignited their crimson blades, and Traya drew her own. "I have long known this day was coming."
As the two apprentices attacked, the Triumvirate vanished, to be replaced by Sith after Sith – hundreds of them, their actions remembered across the ages by the dark that they had worshipped. They flashed past in an endless instant and disappeared, and for a moment the Core was silent again.
Quinlan tried to breathe and couldn't.
Vythia was leaning over the altar, studying an outline on its surface that had been recently drawn in fresh blood. It was scarlet. It couldn't be hers, Nautolans didn't have scarlet blood. Neither did clones.
Quinlan's gaze fell on an empty hypo that lay at her feet, and at the same instant, a piercing pain shot through the back of his left hand.
Green light swirled and shocked against the back of his eyes, and the image of three more Sith replaced Vythia, one after the other: a tall red Twi'lek male with black tattoos and long lekku that trailed past his knees – a graceful Togrutan woman with silver-blue eyes – a Zabrak with long horns – a scroll, a second scroll and a dagger, a mask.
Dark light muted everything, then faded.
Now Quinlan stood beside the altar, across from Vythia, who was examining the scrolls she had placed on its surface. Beside them lay an eyeless mask made out of gold; and the ceremonial blade, engraved with the rune 'hâsk'.
Overwhelming terror gripped at his soul, and Quinlan looked down. The symbol Vythia had painted on the altar was not a rune, and he'd never seen it before; but without recognizing it, he understood what it was.
Hunter had slept only a short while when he started to return to consciousness. He usually woke fully within an instant of being touched, but despite the painful grip someone had on the fingers of his right hand, he couldn't open his eyes. That meant it was a dream – those were harder to get out of – still, Hunter was vaguely aware that it might not be a dream.
But before he could try again to open his eyes, he slipped off; it felt like only a minute had passed when someone was grabbing at his shoulder. This time, he woke up immediately, and when he opened his eyes, it was to see Wrecker and the fearful expression he was wearing as he looked around the room.
Hunter was on his feet in an instant, instinctively reaching for his knife as he cast his gaze around. Crosshair was standing with Tech between the hallway door and the pillar, one hand clenched at his side and the other gripping his rifle.
All of Hunter's squad mates were staring at him now.
"What happened?" demanded Wrecker. "Where's Quinlan? Why'd he leave?"
The sergeant glanced at Crosshair, who shook his head once. Unwillingly, Hunter turned towards the other side of the room. Without speaking, the four commandos stared at the chasm.
