On Dathomir, everyone is up with the sun, and that means Sheev is awake far earlier than he likes. The damned place doesn't even have caf, so he has to start his day with fruit juice and a tankard of water as a chaser. It's so uncivilized. But that's the point of the Coven's crunchy 'back to nature' ethos—it rejects modern civilization. The witches would no sooner imbibe a morning jolt of caffeine than they would snort spice. And so, groggy Sheev stifles a yawn and presents himself to the Mother Witch like a good houseguest.
It's day two of the tour of witchville. This time, he will visit the Brothers' village to see what the men do when they aren't fucking in the meadow. Not that he cares, mind you. His real goal today is to evaluate Dathomir's warriors. Specifically, he wants to know whether they could be a threat to the Sith and whether one of them might be a suitable Apprentice candidate.
Young Maul dutifully trails behind. The boy doesn't complain, but his lack of enthusiasm is obvious. That bad attitude is sort of cutely endearing. Same, kid, same, Sheev thinks to himself. But outwardly, Sheev is all smiles and eagerness to learn more about the Coven.
Lilith is in her element as she squires him around. She takes great pride in her people, and she seems unusually determined to impress him. For his part, he gamely feigns interest. He asks a few questions, offers banal observations, and shakes a lot of hands. So, really, it's not that different from an average day back in the Senate. Well, except that this place is nothing like Coruscant.
The Brothers' village is far less ramshackle than the Sisters' version, but it's less pretty too. The Sisters plant flowering vines to twine around trellis roofs. They hang window boxes that spill over with lacey ferns. There are fishponds to contemplate while meditating and benches scattered about to invite friendly chats. None of those communal niceties are found in the male village. Here, all is orderly and uniformly plain. It's not ugly, so much as it is utilitarian. But maybe it's just that the Brothers' village by definition lacks a woman's touch to pretty things up.
The Brothers are industrious. Work is a virtue of the Coven, and no one is idle. Many of the men are skilled craftsmen. They are carpenters who build everything from houses, to wagons, to furniture. Others are metal workers who cast nails and silverware but also forge weaponry and farm equipment. There are stonemasons and pottery makers, too. But most of the male witches are manual laborers. They sow and reap the crops, and herd and tend to cattle. They dig drainage ditches and maintain wells. They chop down trees for firewood and haul lumber.
It's a lot of hard, backbreaking work. It's also very unnecessary to Sheev's Core World eyes. So much of what these men do could be automated with droids. But the Coven is clearly hostile to technology, so he keeps his opinions to himself. Lilith would probably tell him that droids are unnatural and therefore incompatible with her Old Ways.
He's similarly perplexed by why no one uses the Force to assist in their labors. What role does the Force play in village life? Sheev still isn't certain. The Force is a powerful advantage, and yet no one seems to care. Maybe that's because the Force is a fact of life among the witches. Everyone has it, so it's not special.
The fun non-artisanal jobs for Brothers involve hunting and fishing. A great deal of manpower is consumed with obtaining fresh meat and fish for the Coven. Every morning, bands of Brothers head out into the forest in search of prey. They bring home rabbits, pheasants, deer, and the occasional rancor. As with the Sisters, the Brothers have tasks reserved for the elderly. For apparently, there's no such thing as retirement at the Coven. The old men might not be able to swing an axe or shoot an arrow any longer, but they can repair fishing nets, sharpen swords and knives, and whittle toys for children.
There is an appealing esprit d'corps among the huntsmen, Sheev notices. And there is a master-apprentice vibe to many of the tradesmen. But the Brothers' village strikes him as serious, dreary place. Unlike the women, no one sings while they work. There isn't the chaos of children running everywhere. The men of the Coven are mostly the strong and silent type. But some of their reserve might be because he's in attendance. More than once, Sheev detects an undercurrent of suspicion aimed his direction. Everyone is polite, but few are truly welcoming. None show it openly, however, out of deference to the Mother Witch's hospitality.
Here, just as in the Sisters' village, Lilith Talzin is universally beloved. That's no small feat for a leader. In almost twenty years in the Senate, Sheev himself has never managed to gain that renown among his constituents. What's her secret? He's keen to learn it.
That's why Lilith herself holds his attention long after Sheev has seen and heard his fill about horticulture and animal husbandry. He may be bored with the Brothers' humdrum existence, but he finds the Goth queen of Dathomir to be engrossing. Sure, Lilith's witty and likes to flirt. And she's got that mysterious green Force magic. But beyond those obvious lures lurks a charismatic gravitas. She's . . . well, compelling. There's just something about her presence that won't let him look away.
Could that be the simultaneous attraction and repulsion of danger? Instinctively, Sheev knows that Lilith is dangerous. It makes her exciting.
But as the morning tour drags into mid-afternoon, she perceives that he's bored. "Seen enough irrigation?" she teases lightheartedly. "I know I have." Her eyes twinkle. "Go on. You can admit it."
Sheev won't be baited into saying anything less than complimentary. "The Brothers have an impressive operation," he observes. "It is meticulously organized." This is the smooth and bland politico-speak he learned at the Senate, where everyone says nice things they don't mean by default.
Lilith laps up the praise for her people, like usual. But she is ready to move on. She invites, "Shall we see the men brawl? They do so love to brawl." Braaaaaaaaaawlllll. She says the word with relish.
"By all means," Sheev immediately accepts. Assessing the Brothers' fighting skills is what he came for. Plus, violence always perks him up.
Lilith directs him towards an open-air gymnasium complex surrounded by fenced-off fighting rings. She narrates as they walk, while young Maul eagerly runs ahead. Finally, it seems, there is something to interest the boy.
"The Brothers protect and serve the Sisters, and for that they must keep their bodies in fighting form. They train a great deal." Lilith gestures up ahead to where Brothers of all ages practice combat moves and give and receive instruction on warfare.
As their rippling arms and thickly muscled shoulders promise, the male witches are indeed accomplished warriors. Their metal swords and padded arm-mounted shields might be primitive, but their skills appear plenty lethal. Their fighting style is aggressive and relentless, not unlike Sith combat techniques. Sheev starts watching closely to see if he can pick up some useful moves for himself.
"I see they have an audience." He nods at the small group of Sisters clustered together off to one side to watch the action.
Lilith smiles and waves hello to the women. Turning back to him, she explains, "Some nights, a Sister will choose two Brothers to fight over her. The champion wins her for the evening."
"And the loser?"
Lilith laughs. "He gets to try again another night. If he is invited, that is. Make a poor showing and you're a lonely Brother."
"I see." No sex for the losers. It's the same on Dathomir as it is back in the Republic, Sheev thinks with a smirk.
"Men do love to compete," Lilith muses, "so we encourage it. There are quarterly tournaments held on the solstice. All the Sisters turn out to cheer on their favorites."
"What do those winners earn?"
"Bragging rights for the season and," Lilith winks at him, "lots of invitations in the meadow."
Sheev nods. He gets it. The strongest Brothers get to sow their seed among the maximum number of Sisters. It's a form of natural selection, he surmises, even if he finds the whole concept a little distasteful. In general, he's all for sex. He's just not keen about the women always having the upper hand in the situation.
Look at them, he seethes inwardly as he glances at the Sisters ogling their future bedmates. It's so shameless. He's not used to women being so frank about their sexual desire. Sheev finds it unbecoming.
"Do you have enemies?" He wonders aloud now who the Brothers expect to be fighting. Is there a real threat? Or might the emphasis on combat be a pretext for the male witches to blow off steam? Perhaps it's all a ploy to keep the men tired, docile, and subservient to their women.
"Do we have enemies?" Lilith laughs off the question . . . sort of. Raising an eyebrow, she gently jeers, "You tell me, Sheeeev."
He ignores the implication. "Is there a rival tribe nearby? Who is there to fear?"
"We must be cautious," Lilith responds. "Everyone wants what we have here on Daaaath-o-meeeer."
Hardly. But he won't offend his hostess by making that point. Instead, he observes, "Those cudgel staffs and steel swords won't be much use against modern weapons."
"We have other weapons."
"Bows and arrows? That won't help much." If invaders come from off-world, the witches stand no chance.
"So certain, are you?"
Yes. "These men would be slaughtered by blaster fire and rockets before they ever came within range to engage their attackers." Sheev says this truth as respectfully as he can.
"Do not underestimate us," the Mother Witch pushes back.
"I don't. But I cannot see how your men can win."
"Then tell me this: how can a pair of Sith Lords topple the Republic and the Jedi Order?"
"That's different."
"Is it?"
"We won't be fighting the battles ourselves. Others we control will fight for us."
"Ah, yes." Lilith shoots him an amused and knowing look. "The civil war you are plotting."
"Correct." He doesn't bother to deny it. But how does the Mother Witch marooned out here know that when no one in the Senate or on the Jedi High Council suspects a thing?
"You will have influence on both sides of the coming war, yes? You Sith are notorious puppet masters." Lilith says this like a compliment.
Sheev grins despite himself. Her flattery always gets to him. "Got us figured out?"
"I hope so." Looking him in the eye, the Mother Witch tells him, "The Coven will have influence on both sides of the war as well."
Wait-is she implying that she will have influence over him? Sheev's eyes narrow at this bold assertion.
But the spooky bitch blithely assures him, "I have foreseen it," like whatever she knows is the checkmate move in a dejarik chess game.
Damn. Her boast sounds true. Sheev gulps. This woman confounds and disarms him, but in a good way. Well, mostly. Right now, he's not so sure.
Well, whatever. He's as Sith partisan as they come, and he can boast, too. "The Sith will rule the galaxy soon," he maintains, lifting his chin. "The Dark Side's time has come. The Force is with us." He believes this in the core of his being.
Lilith gently disagrees. "Sheeeeev, my good friend, you are gravely mistaken. The Force is with us. With the Old Ways."
"You're expecting your goddess to save you," he guesses. And wait, that came out sounding condescending.
"We will endure," Lillith replies solemnly. She gestures to the Brothers and insists, "Even if you are correct and these men fail to save us . . . even in defeat, we will endure. As a Sith, surely you can appreciate that concept, yes?"
"Yes." The brotherhood of the Sith has endured through defeat after defeat, and despite treachery and betrayal. Whether it was the ancient Sith Empire hiding out on the fringes of the galaxy or the modern post-Bane rule of two pairings skulking about the Republic in secret, the Sith have persisted. Dark Lords are stubborn motherfuckers, and Sheev's glad she knows it. "Darkness is eternal," he declares.
He catches Lilith's eye and anticipates her objection. "Going to tell me that there is no Dark Side, there is only the Force?" he smirks.
"No," she replies softly. Looking away, she murmurs, "In some ways, I hope you are right. I hope Darkness is eternal and the Sith collapse the Republic. In fact, I think I'm counting on it . . . "
Sheev follows her eyes to where she is gazing upon her son Maul.
Lilith falls silent now as they continue to watch the Brothers train. "They're good. Very good." Sheev pronounces more bland approval. It's mostly to say something pleasant as he ponders whether he might someday take a Brother for an Apprentice.
As Force-sensitives, the Brothers have extraordinary reflexes and superhuman speed. They fight by instinct with Force-guided timing. That can't be taught to a layman, no matter how much athletic grace he has. It is innate to a Force-sensitive, even if it must be practiced hundreds of times to be fully mastered. After watching three pairs of Brothers spar in mock battles, Sheev decides that any of the men-including the losers-are fully capable of achieving the physical and Force prowess of a Sith Lord.
But are they smart enough?
That matters. For the Sith are not butchers, they are architects of the future. Their violence is always intentional and appropriately limited to the circumstances. As leaders, the Sith must first think their way around a problem. They must solve complex scenarios and analyze multi-dimensional conflicts. Quite simply, you cannot rule the galaxy if you do not understand its nuances . . . in order to exploit them, of course.
That's why a modern Lord of the Sith must be an educated and sophisticated gentleman. He is never uncouth or ignorant. Darth Plagueis is insistent on this point, and Sheev has multiple university degrees and a resume of social credentials to show for it. For as his Master teaches, a Sith Lord must be adept at understanding all forms of power, whether it's financial, political, social, or military clout. Moreover, he must operate undetected at the highest levels, moving stealthily among the elite in all their various forums.
Could any of these illiterate Brothers comprehend the galaxy's capital markets, currency exchanges, and trade alliances? Could they work a room at a Coruscant cocktail party? Sheev worries the answer is no because these men are affable brutes. It's hard for him to envision a noble savage of Dathomir commanding anyone's respect back in the Republic.
Normally, Sith training commences no sooner than age eighteen, as only a young man on the cusp of adulthood can withstand the rigors of training. But that's not an option for a Brother Apprentice, Sheev judges. He would need to start with a malleable young boy who could be tutored intensely to erase the deficiencies of the Coven upbringing. The Force training and combat could wait until later. But the education and social polish could not.
Still, would a Brother even want to be a Sith Lord?
Putting aside the training issues, there is the very fundamental issue of temperament. Would a Brother have the necessary ambition to join the ranks of the Sith? Would he have the drive to persevere against impossible odds to achieve the incredible? That matters because, as Old Plagueis rightly says, to be a Sith Lord is to be an incurable optimist. You need grit and fortitude combined with dedication and confidence. That might be a problem for a Brother, Sheev judges.
He worries that these men are far too accepting of their secondary status to have the will to dominate the galaxy. These guys lack the requisite cheekiness-the innate rebellion-required to upend the status quo. Because for all their warrior prowess, the Brothers are rule followers, not disruptors. They are subservient and emasculated, and that's not very Sith. No, Sheev decides reluctantly, he could never take a Brother for an Apprentice. There's too much risk it wouldn't work out.
His eyes now fall on young Maul, who last night threatened to revolt from what was expected of him. That bad attitude is the sort of reflexive skepticism that is required of a Sith. It plants a sudden idea that takes root:
Maybe Maul should be his Apprentice.
It's a stroke of insight that immediately consumes Sheev's imagination. He banishes all abstract consideration of some generic Brother Apprentice to focus on the obvious candidate:
Should Maul be his pupil?
Fuck! Why didn't he see this possibility straightaway? Is he an idiot? Maybe the solution to all his problems is Lilith's kid. Maybe instead of killing the brat, he should train him. Sheev's mind now churns fast through the analysis.
Training Maul would place the biggest threat to the Sith firmly under Sith control.
It would also place the biggest threat to Darth Plagueis under his own personal tutelage.
He could do it in secret, Sheev plots. He could fake Maul's death, lie about it, and hide the kid on Naboo where Plagueis rarely ventures. He would make the kid loyal to himself alone. Raise the kid to love him and to want to help him, so that in the eventual battle with Plagueis the boy would be a steadfast ally. But he would have to hope-for years, no less-that his incredibly astute Master doesn't eventually notice a budding Force talent like Maul in his meditation.
The scheme would be extremely risky. Because if Plagueis finds out he's raising an unauthorized Apprentice who he specifically ordered to be executed, Sheev knows he is in big trouble. And what if the kid doesn't develop as expected? He might be risking everything for no upside.
"Want to spar?"
His thoughts are interrupted by a Brother witch approaching to offer a low key challenge.
"I hear you've got a laser sword. But will you swing one of ours?" The man offers him one of the Brothers' weapons. "Show us what you can do, Jeddai."
The words are spoken lightly and with a friendly smile, but Sheev detects the underlying hostility. This Brother, like so many other Brothers Sheev has met today, doesn't like him. It's because he is an outsider. And also, because of his Dark power. Sheev suspects that the Brothers instinctively sense his threat. He's been doing his usual wolf-in-sheep's-clothing routine here with the locals. But these guys are all Force sensitives who are finely attuned to danger. They're savvy enough to know that nothing alive on Dathomir—not even a rabid rancor-poses as much danger as the Sith Lord who's passing through.
And so, Sheev stares at the proffered sword hilt for a long moment, deciding how to handle this situation.
The guy must feel emboldened by his hesitation. He presses his challenge. "The last time a Jeddai fought a Brother, the Jeddai lost. Think you can win?"
Sheev is instantly curious about the Jedi he refers to. "This Jedi—did you fight him?"
"No. That was over ten years ago. Amfortas fought him. He was our reigning champion at the time."
"And you are the current reigning champion?" Sheev surmises.
The Brother nods. "I've won four out the last five tournaments."
"I see."
Sheev now looks to Lilith for permission. Will the Mother Witch put a stop to this?
She declines to intervene. Lilith shrugs and offers, "It's your call, my Lord," which Sheev interprets to be a de facto command to participate.
Is this a setup? Does Lilith want to see him in action? Could this be a disguised test, like he worries the meadow party last night was? Sheev is certain that he is being assessed and judged in all things. Which is fine because he's doing the same to Lilith and her Coven in return.
Little Maul pipes up now. "Say yes, my Lord! I want to see you fight!" The kid's eyes are bright and hopeful. It's the most animated he's been all day.
Sheev accepts the offered sword. He tests its heft and reach. It's a primitive tool that's shorter and heavier than his lightsaber. But he's trained to use a variety of conventional weapons. This sword is squarely within his comfort zone.
"Very well." He nods to his challenger. Time to show these witches the commanding Dark majesty of a Sith Lord.
"What are the rules?" Sheev asks his opponent.
"No pushes, no pulls, no freezes," excited Maul answers for the Brother.
"So . . . no Force?" Sheev concludes.
The Brother looks confused, so Lilith helpfully translates. "He means no magic."
"Correct," his challenger confirms. "No magic. This is a contest of skill, not of ichor."
So the fight is about use of weapons, not power. Fine. Bring it on. He can beat a henpecked, pussy-whipped witch guy any day. "Okay." Sheev accepts the terms.
"This is a sparring match, not a duel," Lilith sets the boundaries with a stern glance his direction. She's telling him that he can't kill the Brother, which he wouldn't do anyway. His goal in this stunt is to prove his supremacy, not to alienate his hosts. He needs only to win convincingly. The point is to impress and intimidate.
Young Maul declares himself to be Team Sith. He jumps up and down as he cheerleads, "You can do it, Lord Sidious!"
Sheev beams at the boy, appreciating the vote of confidence. "Is there a shield?" he asks.
There is. Sheev stands passively while the clunky contraption is slipped onto his left forearm. He moves a little with it to familiarize himself with the feel. It's awkward, but if the other guy is going to use one, so will he.
Sheev decides that he's ready. Nodding to his opponent, he announces, "Let's do this."
The contest immediately attracts attention. The moment he steps into the sparring ring, heads turn. All present are intrigued to see the Republic visitor fight. Soon, the wooden fence that encircles the ring is crowded with onlookers.
"Get him, Lord Sidious!" It's Maul cheerleading again. "You can do it!" Either the kid really likes him or it's more of the boy's contrarian streak showing.
Sheev sizes up his foe. His challenger looks to be younger than himself, but not excessively so. He's a few inches taller as well, and far more muscled. The Brothers are a brawny bunch, with broad necks and wide shoulders. Like all the rest, this Brother is crowned like a forest stag with a sharp set of horns. And just like aged Old Saul, he wears a breastplate and forearm gauntlets as armor.
Lilith gestures to that protective gear. "Marius, he is unprotected. Divest your armor. Make the fight fair."
"As you wish, Mother." The Brother unbuckles his gear and casts it to the ground. He's basically bare to the waist now. It gives Sheev a good look at the man's muddy yellow skin that is covered with a thick scrawl of alien tribal tattoos.
The dude looks intimidating.
"Mother, may we fight for your favor?" his challenger calls to Lilith.
What does that mean? Sheev isn't following. It sounds like gallantry from the days of old chivalry. Clearly, it means something important. Both the hopeful Brother and the audience look to Lilith for her answer.
"Yes," she beams, looking well pleased at the question.
The audience murmurs its approval to her consent. And now, it belatedly occurs to Sheev that the hostility he feels from the Brothers might be for Lilith's sake. Do they feel protective of their lady leader? Are they possessive of the Mother Witch and jealous for the attention she shows him?
Sheev doesn't get to ponder that thought long. Lilith kicks off the fight. "Begin!" she exhorts, raising both arms.
The small crowd around the ring cheers.
Sheev takes a deep breath and focuses his concentration. It's time to get down to business. He decides to hang back initially. He'll let the Brother be the aggressor.
Across the ring, his foe stalks back and forth like a predator preparing to attack. His shoulders are heaving. The guy is getting amped.
So is he, but Sheev doesn't show it. He stands calm and still, waiting for the opening move. But inwardly, his adrenaline is pumping hard. It fuels his power to sharpen his reflexes.
After a few more paces, the Brother leaps forward, his sword arcing and then stabbing fast.
Sheev easily dodges the assault, then whirls to confront his opponent, who is now behind him. He takes a swing of his own, and his weapon connects with the Brother's sword. It produces a sharp, metallic clang that reverberates.
The crowd approves with whistles and claps. The fight everyone wants to see has begun.
Sheev swings, then feints. He jabs, parries, thrusts, and ripostes. These are classic saber moves he's practiced many times.
The Brother knows the moves well, too. He answers swing for swing, even if he's slightly sluggish by comparison. Sheev doesn't have the brute power of his beefy opponent, but he has superior speed. The heavy metal sword feels clumsy in his hand compared to his lightsaber, but he's still faster than the Brother, who swings more for might than for precision.
His foe lunges, and Sheev leaps out of the way. The Brother lunges again and this time Sheev anticipates him with a well-placed stab.
He nearly gets his man, but the Brother falls and rolls away in the nick of time. It's a near-miss that his opponent takes in stride. He rebounds to his feet in the blink of an eye.
For his part, Sheev is unused to fighting with a defensive shield. Lightsabers cut through nearly everything, so you must fight to avoid contact. That's not his opponent's strategy. The Brother is fearless as he shoves his shield up to absorb Sheev's offensive blows. Rather than dodge and deflect attacks, the Brother meets them bodily with the shield. He moves it like an exoskeleton extension of himself.
Sheev quickly perceives that he's put himself at a disadvantage by trying to mimic his opponent's ways. So, a few minutes into the fight, he shrugs off his borrowed shield and casts it to the ground. There. That's better. He immediately feels more nimble for having shed the clunky defensive tool.
The duel quickly becomes a stylistic mismatch. Sheev is the smaller, faster, and more accurate warrior. He fights low to the ground with better footwork. But the Brother he faces is relentless with overpowering swings and effective shield blocks. What he lacks in form, he makes up with brute force. Sheev quickly perceives that unless he finds a way around that shield, he will fight to a draw, and not to a victory. And maybe a lesser man might be content with a tie, but Sheev feels he owes it to the dignity of the Sith brotherhood to win.
If this were a real fight, he would hang back defensively to let the Brother's physicality tire him out. But this sparring match has a time limit, and Sheev suspects his opponent won't even be panting by the time the allotted ten minutes elapses. It's clear he's going to have to knock the sword from the Brother's grasp to win. But that trick won't happen by sheer force-the Brother's grip strength is incredible. Sheev will need to disarm his foe with superior skill.
That's easier done with a meter long lightsaber than with the short sword he's wielding. Getting close enough to poke at the Brother's sword hilt puts Sheev within easy range of a kick. Sure enough, the first time he angles sufficiently near to make a swipe at the guy's wrist, Sheev receives a boot to his chest that sends him sprawling to the grass.
"Get up! Get up!" It's Maul, who alone comprises his cheering section. The rest of the onlookers are rooting for his opponent while Lilith looks on in silence.
Sheev rebounds back to his feet. He's scrappy and, in his own way, relentless. He just needs the right opening to get at the Brother's sword. If he can get his blade to hook on his foe's hilt sufficiently, then the right twist of the wrist might dislodge the weapon from his grip. But can he do that without getting kicked again or clobbered by the heavy shield? Sheev plots to approach from the side this time, not the front.
That strategy has him attempting to lure the Brother into a lunge. To get him to close some of the physical gap between them on his own. Sheev also must attack from the side without the shield. His foe is very effective blocking with that shield.
But as the fight continues, Sheev worries his chance is slipping away. He's getting frustrated. That's when the Brother viciously attacks. His overpowering style has a little too much oomph this time. The Brother ends up careening past Sheev from excess momentum when Sheev sidesteps the ambush, rather than parries.
It's the lucky break he needs. He's on the Brother's undefended side. So as he lurches past, Sheev has a split-second opportunity to swipe at his foe's sword grip. If this were a lightsaber, the guy might lose a hand. But these are metal swords and Sheev is using the flat side of his blade in a twisting motion. His goal is not to harm, but to disarm.
It works! The Brother's weapon is wrenched from his grip. It doesn't go far, but Sheev gets there first. He steps on the sword and stands his ground, with his own weapon menacing.
He's won. Right?
Wrong. His determined foe isn't done yet. The Brother now launches himself at Sheev bodily, his hands reaching for his sword grip. It's a move no one would dare against a lightsaber, but with metal swords, it's at least plausible, if foolhardy. Plus, the Brother still has his shield to wield. And so, thanks to Sheev's hesitation to skewer his opponent, he gets a hard knock to the chin by the shield. Then, they end up in a tussle for his own weapon.
He's still got his opponent's sword under his foot. As they struggle over his own sword, Sheev kicks the Brother's sword hard. It slides under the wooden fence out of the fighting ring. Then he kicks at his opponent.
The tug of war over his own sword doesn't end ideally. Sheev successfully jerks it up and away as he heaves his whole body back. But he falls, the Brother falls atop him, and the weapon is dislodged from both of their grips. It too flies out of the fighting ring.
The onlookers are ready to hand them both back their weapons-Maul has already climbed up on the top fence rung to offer him his sword. But his opponent decrees, "No swords! Just us!" as he climbs to his feet and strips off his shield.
Damn this dude. He won't accept defeat. The so-called friendly sparring match now morphs to hand-to-hand combat.
This is a welcome change as far as Sheev's concerned. He feels confident he can take the Brother down. Because if he can flip his three-hundred-pound, seven-foot Muun master in practice, he can take out this horned fucker who refuses to give up.
They crouch and circle one another now. The Brother attacks first, like Sheev knew he would. He goes for the single leg takedown and Sheev is ready for him. He sprawls hard on his opponent's torso and lands a punch. They both roll out and are back on their feet to engage again.
It's more of a wrestling match than fisticuffs, and that works to Sheev's advantage. He allows the Brother to land a punch as a ploy to lure him into a twisting combination of moves that ends with the Brother pinned face down in the grass.
"Yield!" Sheev shouts as he presses his knee down hard into the Brother's lower spine. He wants this fight to end.
The Brother isn't ready to acknowledge defeat, but Lilith does it for him. "He yields!" she calls out loudly. "Time is up anyway. Lord Sid-eeeee-us wins!"
There is an audible groan from the crowd. Only cheeky, grinning Maul is happy for him.
Sheev now relents. He releases his pinning hold and climbs to his feet. Then, because there is a crowd watching, he offers a magnanimous hand down to help the defeated Brother up. "Well done," panting Sheev commends. "You almost had me there once."
"Three times," his foe corrects him tersely.
And fuck him for being a sore loser. Sheev's been a politician long enough to know that the only thing worse than being a sore loser is being a bad winner. So, he smiles tightly and forces himself to reply, "You are an excellent warrior. I am honored to have fought you."
The Brother declines to return the compliment, but he does accept Sheev's handshake. It's only after an initial second or two of hesitation, however. Then, he collects his sword and shield and stalks off. He takes the huffing crowd with him.
That leaves just himself, Maul, and Lilith.
"You were good—really good!" the boy rushes up to him. "You didn't fight at all like he was used to, and he didn't know what to do. He kept trying the same thing over and over again . . . "
That's a very astute observation for a child so young. Sheev reaches to pat Maul on the shoulder. "If you can perceive that already, someday you will be an excellent warrior yourself. Most battles are won with the mind, not with muscles. Never forget that."
"Was it hard to fight without magic?" the boy wants to know.
"I didn't need the Force to win," Sheev boasts in reply.
"You're bleeding."
"It's a scratch." Sheev wipes at his chin.
"I can heal it," loyal Maul volunteers to help.
But they are interrupted now by a new Brother who rushes up to intercept Mother. Whatever news is whispered in her ear, Lilith immediately takes notice. Instantly, her attention is diverted. She sets off towards the cluster of structures that Sheev was informed earlier house the Brothers' living quarters.
Is something wrong? Feeling uncertain how to proceed, Sheev exchanges looks with Maul before they both opt to follow her.
"Will you teach me to fight?" Maul wants to know as they walk. The precocious kid skips by Sheev's side, happy-go-lucky as always. "I want to win," he declares. "Like you."
Sheev is charmed by the phrasing of the request. For the Sith will soon be the big winners in the upcoming battle for supremacy in the Force. At long last, they will reveal themselves to the Jedi as they usurp the Light Side's chokehold on the galaxy.
"Pleeeeeeaaaaase," Maul whines when he doesn't immediately answer. It should be annoying, but it's not. The hero worship in Maul's eyes is very gratifying. Plus, Sheev has been known to whine himself on occasion.
"We'll have to ask your mother," he answers noncommittally, his eyes pinned on the fast-walking form of the Mother Witch up ahead. Where is she going in such a hurry?
He and Maul follow her to a small hut that is surrounded by a crowd of witches. The hovering group appears pensive as they talk in low tones. The witches look up to nod solemnly at Mother's approach. But Lilith strides right past them through the door, so he and Maul do the same.
Inside the hut are more waiting witches. They hang against the walls, staring down at an ailing elder Brother who lays on a pallet, propped up with pillows.
Great. It's a deathbed scene. Sheev stifles a groan. He's killed plenty of times, but he hates death. It scares him to witness others' mortality. It's not for their sake, of course. It's for his own eventual demise, which is a topic he finds abhorrent to contemplate.
Lilith acts oblivious to his unease. Her focus is entirely on the dying Brother who she has abruptly dropped everything to visit.
"M-Mother." The ancient man flutters open his eyes and manages to smile a little.
Lilith sinks onto the empty stool by his bedside. "Leo."
"You came . . ."
"Did you ever doubt I would be here?"
"No."
"Good." Lilith reaches to grip the stricken Brother's hand. She presses a kiss into it and promises, "I will stay with you."
"It w-won't be l-long now," the man sputters back.
Lilith doesn't disagree with him. She smiles back wanly.
Feeling awkward to be witnessing the final goodbye of a complete stranger, Sheev's eyes keep finding the door. "I should go," he murmurs.
Lilith responds without looking. "No, stay. You too, Maul."
Ugh. That's exactly the response Sheev was hoping to avoid. How typical of the witches to make even death a communal activity.
"I'm going home soon," the dying man croaks out to Lilith. "The forever sleep . . . "
"You have earned it," Mother responds gently.
"I thought I would be afraid, but I'm not."
"Good," she approves. "Fear is for the living. Soon, you will be beyond fear, beyond pain, beyond dread."
"I hope so. Do you fear, Mother?" the man sighs out.
Lilith nods. "I do. I wish that I could say that I do not, but I do."
"You have seen the future again? You have seen what Saul and I see?"
"Yes. There are Sisters who have seen similar fates for us."
"Daka?"
"Yes. And Jocasta. Sybil, too."
"Are you worried?"
"Yes. But I will trust in the Old Ways to see us through."
The old guy cracks open his eyes again and dares to reprimand his leader. "Do more than that," he wheezes out.
"Oh, I will," she promises grimly.
"Make it good," the man admonishes.
"You know I will. Have I ever let the Coven down?"
"N-No. Never."
The dying dude now points a gnarled finger at him. Sheev suppresses the urge to squirm as all eyes in the room shift his direction. "That one doesn't share our ways." The ailing elder's words are a de facto accusation. "Who is that? Why is he here?"
"This is Lord Sidious, a visitor from Coruscant," Lilith explains.
Sheev executes his most respectful courtly Senate bow in the direction of the dying Brother.
It fails to impress. The bedridden man grunts and wheezes, "Don't trust him, Mother. Never trust a Jeddai."
Lilith glances towards him and concurs. "Those are wise words. For Lord Sidious admits that he deceives."
"You should kill him."
"He is our guest."
"You should still kill him. Like you should have killed the last one."
The Mother Witch shakes her head no. "He gets to live."
Again, the dying man grunts. But he does not contradict the Mother Witch. Instead, the man starts raving.
"Hang me on a low thorn. When the time comes to awaken, I want to be the first to hit the ground and start fighting . . . I'll be f-faster and s-stronger when I'm dead than I am now. Ever will I s-stand for the Coven . . . You can count on me when the chanting s-starts . . ."
Lilith nods and drops a kiss on the man's sweaty forehead. "Leo, you are steadfast and valiant. Woe be unto all who oppose you."
The valiant old guy is noticeably failing now. His voice is increasingly hoarse as his strength ebbs. "When the Jeddai army comes to Dathomir, I will slay more than my fair share . . ." he rasps.
Jedi army? Sheev's ears perk up at these words, but the Mother Witch seems unconcerned. "We don't have to win, we only need to survive. And," she adds cryptically, "there are many ways for the Old Ways to endure."
Now, Sheev is really interested in the subtext of this conversation. Especially when the dying Brother commands, "Do what must be done," sounding very much like a bloodthirsty Sith Master.
There is green ichor in Lilith's eyes as she replies, "No sacrifice is too great for the Coven."
This declaration is more than a trite platitude, clearly. For Lilith's voice is choked with emotion as she utters the words.
Suddenly, Sheev is especially intrigued. It feels meaningful to see the Mother Witch for once less than supremely confident.
"No one's ever really gone," the man responds softly. And now, who's comforting who? Sheev is confused as he looks between the dying man and suddenly vulnerable looking Lilith.
Still ignoring him, the Mother Witch agrees with the Brother. "No one's ever really gone . . . "
Thinking of the burial pods full of zombie witches that hang in the forest, Sheev shivers involuntarily. For yet again, these two witches don't seem to be speaking in feelgood throwaway parting sentiments; they fully believe whatever it is that they are saying. But the meaning is lost on him as an outsider.
Dying Leo croaks out, "I was there . . . when you held my grandmother's hand . . . when she died . . . "
"Kundry." Lilith supplies the name.
"Y-Yes. Y-You . . . re-remember . . . "
"Always." Lilith now volunteers, "I hope I will hold your grandsons' and granddaughters' hands too when it's their time."
It's yet another perplexing comment for interloper Sheev. It's also the first clue that Lilith Talzin might be far older than she appears.
The failing Brother falls silent now and his whole body seems to relax. His shallow breathing calms. After a long, quiet moment, the man dies peacefully with eyes closed. Sheev needs no announcement and neither do the man's attendant kinfolk. For they, like him, all sense the passing in the Force.
Ugh. Sheev hates the feeling with a visceral dislike far out of proportion to the loss of some random stranger. Mortality is the fate of all, he knows. Even his wily Muun Master who bluffs about being immortal just to psyche him out of attempting to kill him.
"Farewell, Leo Hess," Lilith intones softly before she releases the late Brother's hand.
"Farewell, Brother," the rest of the room murmurs in unison response.
Lilith rises and the others begin to crowd around the body. Will he have to stay to witness more of the funeral rites of the Coven? Thankfully, no. Lilith ushers him and Maul outside. Sheev doesn't bother to hide his relief.
As they exit, Lilith starts preaching her witchy catechism. Is it for her boy's benefit or for his own? Sheev suspects both. When it comes to the Force, Lilith isn't deliberately confrontational, but she makes her views known.
"Death is the way of things. All that lives will ultimately die. All creatures, all plants, and all people eventually end their mortal form, no matter how strong, how important, or how powerful they are. That passing is to be honored," the Mother Witch counsels. "You may grieve someone's death, but do not despair. Death is not an unhappy change for a person, even if it is hard for us survivors to accept their loss. Do you understand, Maul?"
"Yes, Mother," the boy dutifully pipes up. The youngling's enjoying this lecture about death about as much as he is, Sheev judges.
Lilith now summarizes the dead man, and it tells Sheev everything he needs to know about the masculine virtues for a witch: "Brother Leo was a good man, always ready to defend the Coven. He was a father of many children, who worked hard and was happy. May he rest in peace."
"Yes, Mother," Maul again automatically agrees. If the kid is sad about old Leo, it sure doesn't show. Mostly, Maul seems to want to get away. "Can I go play now?" the kid complains.
"Yes. Run along," Lilith dismisses her brat, who immediately heads back to where the Brothers are training. Sheev's not surprised. It's clear the kid is fascinated with fighting.
"The Sith bury their dead, do they not?" Lilith remarks as she watches him watching Maul.
"The ancient Sith, yes," he answers, thinking of the tombs of Exegol and Korriban. "But in the Republic, we mostly burn our dead like everyone else."
"Even the Jedi burn their dead?" The Mother Witch frowns.
"I believe so."
Lilith disapproves and she doesn't mince words. "That is desecration. Life should decay and return to the earth so that it can feed more life. The body renews itself in this way with death. It's like how the essence of the soul returns to the universe when we die. In time, someone new will be born from that energy. It is how we are all connected-past, present, and future. No one," she says emphatically, "is ever really gone."
It's more of her Old Ways talk. Sex and death seem to be Lilith's primary vocation. For in the nightly flesh parade of the meadow, the Mother Witch presides over the mysterious beginnings of life at conception. And just now with that dying Brother, Lilith gave grave witness to life's unknowable end. The Coven is very concerned with the body, Sheev realizes. For through the mortal, fallible, fragile body—through all nature, really-the witches experience the divine Force.
Now that they are alone, Sheev hazards a few questions about the death scene he just watched. "That dying Brother seemed very concerned about the future . . . and about me."
Lilith nods. "Leo had persistent troubling visions. Several here have had them."
"Am I in the visions?"
"No," she answers, and the Force confirms it's the truth. "Only I have foreseen you."
"Does that surprise you?" Sheev probes.
"No." Lilith tucks a comforting arm through his now, as is her habit. She likes to walk arm in arm, like they are bosom buddies. Leaning in, she urges, "Do not take offense from Leo's words. That was his dedication to the Coven showing, nothing more. His visions were frightening. He and others fear that outsiders will soon come to harm us."
The dying guy urged her to kill him. It was hardly nothing. But Sheev lets the point slide because his frenemy Lilith seems unpersuaded to act.
She keeps talking. "This is not the first time that our people have seen visions of an apocalypse."
"Did those visions come to pass?"
"No. I took care of things." It's a smug and cryptic statement that is very Lilith.
Sheev plays along. "Will you take care of things this time too?"
"I will try," she sighs. "The future is always in motion. Nothing is certain until it occurs."
"So true, so true . . . " Sheev laments as a fellow Force-user. Foresight is a confusing muddle usually, even for a superior Sith like himself.
"We do our best and trust in fate," Lilith murmurs, sounding and looking momentarily very forlorn. Whatever she and the other witches have foreseen, it clearly troubles the Mother Witch greatly. But she's trying to downplay it.
She abruptly changes the topic. "You fought well. I was very impressed. You are form-id-aaaahhhh-buullll, Lord Sid-eeeee-us."
He preens a little. "You should see me fight with my own sword."
"Perhaps someday I shall. You fought fairly, I noticed."
"Surprised?"
"A little."
"Disappointed?"
"Maybe." Enigmatic Lilith shrugs and amends, "More like confounded."
Sheev smiles at her consternation. "Trying to figure me out?"
"Oh, yes," she freely admits.
"Then know this: I actually prefer not to fight," he divulges the truth.
"Oh?" Lilith is intrigued. "And here I thought you Dark Jeddai craved violence . . ."
"I do, at times," he confesses. "But a man in my position must be careful. That's why I like to have others fight for me."
"But of course," Lilith chuckles low in her throat. She sounds deviously approving. "To be Ssssssith," she hisses the word, "is to mastermind." Maaaaahster-miiiiind. She draws out the syllables.
He likes that choice of verb. Lilith Talzin gets him. She really gets him. And she respects him. It's a welcome change from his trolling Master, whose approval is meager and begrudging.
"Today, my Lord, you were the victor."
"That's right." She's stroking his ego shamelessly, but he loves it.
"The only question now," Lilith posits, slanting come hither eyes his way, "is whether you will claim your prize."
His prize? "My prize? What prize?"
"To the victor," Lilith trills, "go the spoils."
"What did I win?" If there were stakes for the sparring match beyond bragging rights, Sheev is unaware of them.
The Mother Witch looks a little peeved at the question. She playfully pokes at him. "And here I hoped," she huffs, "that the prize was extra motivation to win."
"A Sith never needs motivation to win," he declares. "The Dark Side yearns to dominate and to control."
"Is that so?" She is shamelessly flirting with him now. "Well, then," she giggles, "I especially hope you will claim your prize."
"What is the prize?" He's still unclear.
The Mother Witch flashes a smile that is sly enough to be Sith. "Brother Marius stated the terms at the outset. Did you not hear? Sheeev, you won an evening with me."