Rage – 3660.024 BY
A dry breeze rustled Zanleya's hair, bringing with it dust and the faint smell of engine fumes from the dig site. Despite this her concentration did not lapse, all her attention focused on the rock before her. It hovered half a metre above the sandy ground, twitching and wobbling as if it were a baby orobird objecting to being picked up. Zanleya's brow furrowed as she endeavoured to lift it higher, attempting to bend the force to her will. Nevertheless, it would not budge, no matter how hard she tried the rock stubbornly refused to rise another single millimetre. Hands starting to shake from exertion she once more attempted to conjure thoughts of joy and happiness, pushing herself to focus on strong memories. She fixated on her sixth birthday when her mother had taken her to Wirixian's Holopark, the childish glee she had experienced racing through bright and vivid digital landscapes. However, it almost felt like the memory no longer belonged to her, that innocent little girl was somebody else, not the trainee Sith that stood upon Korriban. The rock faltered and dropped a hand span.
She tried again, this time drawing on the elation she had felt on first seeing the orange ball of Korriban from the window of Kharvak's spaceship. The emotion was strong, but it was not enough, the rock merely shuddered again. She switched focus to the enjoyment of the evening a couple of days back with Lady Gethen, relaxing and chatting freely, gossiping about young Lords and enjoying golden teardrops. Sluggishly the obstinate rock rose. Then she recalled the splitting headache she had suffered the following morning, having not been able to keep up with the amount of liquor Gethen could drink. The rock dropped and thudded into the sand.
"Gahhr! Stupid thing!" Zanleya raged, flinging her hands upward in irritation. Behind the frustration was her wellspring of anger, anger at Jensine, anger at Traz and his goons, anger at Bragga, anger at her father. The rock shot into the air, racing upward a good ten metres before reaching the apex of its climb and plummeting back down. Just as the mini meteorite dropped to head height she shoved one hand out, knocking it sideways and sending it hurtling into a cliff face. With a loud crack it exploded into a cloud of flying shards of shrapnel.
Zanleya grunted in vague satisfaction, dropped to her knees and sat down. It just did not work, she thought grumpily, she could not draw on joy or happiness to fuel her power. Kharvak had taught her a couple of weeks ago that the Sith code stated 'through passion I gain strength' and that passion could be many things, not purely hate and anger. However, her unsuccessful morning seemed to show that this was just not true, at least, not for her. Prior to that rather radical lesson she had never questioned her strength and connection to the force, but Kharvak had worried her. According to him, drawing on rage and anger could be detrimental as it could be blinding, clouding judgement and potentially bringing about one's downfall. Right now, with Jensine after her blood, she needed her mind as clear and attentive as possible, yet the alternative did not seem to be working. She had a bottomless store of rage, but apparently very little joy available to draw on.
"Oh what am I doing?" She chided herself. "Marka Ragnos didn't claim the throne of the old Empire by being calm and thinking happy thoughts! Maybe Gethen was right, perhaps Kharvak is too much of an idealist…" she said to the empty sands. Then after a pause… "But how does he do it? He's so controlled when he…" her mutterings were interrupted by the sharp report of a blaster, followed by another trio of rapid shots. Her head snapped round to face the excavation site where the offensive noise had originated. Leaping to her feet she started running toward it before even processing why.
She was in the mood for a fight, her wasted failure of a morning had her wound up and angry. Her practice had taken place in one of the canyons branching off from the Valley of the Dark Lords, near to one of the many dig sites dotting the recently reclaimed valley. The site itself was around the tomb of Ludo Kressh; a thousand years of neglect had taken its toll on Korriban. With no Sith present for the last millennia the tombs of the ancient Lords had lacked their custodians and curators. So now that they had finally reclaimed their home world, they had a lot of catching up to do. Ludo Kressh's tomb had been partially buried by landslides and teams of slaves were currently working to unbury and restore it… and it was from this worksite the shots had come.
Zanleya pondered the likely cause of the disturbance as she jogged toward it. She dismissed the idea of bandits or robbers, most of those had learnt early on that stealing from the Sith was a terminally bad idea. Another shot rang out. Wild beasts were probable, there could have been something inside the tomb, but then again she reasoned, it was still quite close to the Academy. Slaves were the more likely reason, slave breakouts were almost weekly occurrences and in a way she could not blame them, in fact it would be rather hypocritical if she did. It did cross her mind that she was running toward a potential slave rebellion armed with only a vibrosword, but the adrenaline and desire for action crushed any cautious thoughts.
A couple of minutes later she crested a rocky ridge and looked down into the depression holding the entrance to Ludo Kressh's tomb. Several earth movers sat parked to one side beside piles of churned up rock and sand. Sleds laden with debris lay abandoned by the now uncovered entrance and smaller piles of rock dotted the ancient paved entrance. It was immediately apparent what the source of the trouble was; a gang of slaves were gathered by an empty hopper, surrounding a lone soldier. Two more troopers lay broken in the sand a few metres away, the ground stained an ominous red around them. Several fallen slaves of mixed species also littered the ground, presumably felled by the blaster shots.
Zanleya took the scene in at a glance, twelve rebels, most armed although only with simple if sizeable tools. None of them carried guns, she guessed the soldier's weapons possessed fingerprint locks or something similar, that made her life easier. There was no question in her mind what she was going to do, rescue the soldier and put the slaves down, it was her duty, at least, that would be what Kharvak would have said. She would have to kill them, but the notion of taking life did not seem quite so foreboding now, she had crossed that line already. Still, she had never before faced so many opponents at once, although equally she had not had to fight forceless foes either. Since she had held her own against Änastasiä and Frendric she reckoned she could handle a few slaves with no real combat experience. Nevertheless, she licked her lips with apprehension, twelve was a lot, they would give her no mercy should she mess up. Zanleya snorted with derision, what was she doing, she thought in frustration. She was training to be a Dark Lord of the Sith and here she was questioning if she could handle a few rebellious slaves! She strode down the slope into the hollow with conviction; nobody had seen her yet.
There was a cry of pain and a malicious cheer from the slaves as the soldier went down. Zanleya was only a score of metres away now. She fired up her double bladed vibrosword and twirled it, flexing her arms as she did so. She centred her mind as Kharvak had taught her, drew on her plentiful reserves of anger and prepared to unleash the power of the force. There was another cheer from the slaves as one of them, a bulky trandoshan, laid into the downed man, kicking him savagely.
"Fun's over!" Zanleya called out, although her shout did not come across quite as menacing as she had meant it to. Almost all the slaves turned to face her with varying looks of surprise. She grinned at them, attempting to mimic Änastasiä's terrifyingly sweet smile.
"Vhat?" The trandoshan stated in heavily accented basic. Zanleya scowled wondering why the slaves did not realise they were being threatened.
"Leave him alone," she snapped, then immediately cursed herself. That was not something a Sith Lord would say.
"Or vhat?" The trandoshan leered, flicking his tongue over pointed teeth.
"I kill you!" Zanleya spat, thrusting her left hand out, deciding that actions would speak louder than words. The alien was wrenched from his feet and sent flying back, striking the empty hopper with a clang and crumpling to the ground. Zanleya grinned, she had not intended the attack to be of such magnitude, but was pleased with the result nonetheless. As the trandoshan lacked force defences or barriers it was almost too easy. The remaining slaves gaped at her for a moment, then came to their senses.
"We will never be owned again! Come on, we are free! Take her down!" A male zabrak shouted, before hefting a pickaxe and running at her. Zanleya narrowed her eyes; he was only ten metres away and sprinting at her with the speed of fury. She raised her vibrosword ready to intercept his attack and studied him, waiting to see in which direction his real strike would come. It was only at the last moment that she realised his raised pick was not a feint, he was merely going to swipe down in a crude attempt at crushing her. The simplicity of the attack almost caught her off guard, so attuned to feints and deceptions she was. As he swung, she spun her vibrosword, catching and pushing aside his attack and redirecting his momentum. The other end of her blade swept up and tore into his unprotected side, slicing through flesh, rib and organ with a crimson spray of arterial blood. He collapsed forward with a look of dumbfounded surprise on his red and black face, the injury so severe he could not even cry out. The fight had taken a couple of heartbeats, the fatal blow delivered with textbook precision.
Zanleya shouted out her victory with savage glee and swung her blade at her next opponent. She sidestepped the slave's feeble attack and sliced across her gut, sending the woman sprawling into the sand with a piercing scream. Zanleya saw red. The might of the dark side coursed through her veins. Her every nerve was alight; she could feel the power emanating from the very planet itself, flowing forth from Ludo Kressh's tomb like a river and soaking everything in the potent energy of the dark side. With a wicked laugh she launched herself at the next man before the rest of them could encircle her, he faltered and raised his wrench in a desperate attempt to block, but instead of slashing she thrust, striking him straight through the chest. He fell, coughing up blood.
Eyes aflame Zanleya looked for her next target. The slaves faltered, having seen three of their comrades dispatched in such quick succession their morale crumbled. Two of them dropped their makeshift weapons, turned tail and ran. The others backed away, now holding their tools up defensively to try and protect themselves rather than fight for their freedom.
Zanleya sprinted forward, twirling her vibrosword above her head ready to execute another worthless slave. Her victim screamed, a high pitched cry of primal terror and Zanleya pulled up short, blade still poised above her head as if she had been caught in a stasis field. Before her cowered a young red haired girl, probably only a year or two younger than herself, unarmed and staring at her. The slave's eyes were filled with sheer terror and she had her arms uselessly raised above her head. In that moment Zanleya saw herself, or what she could have been had she not been force sensitive. The red haze broke.
"Stop!" She shouted, lowering her weapon. Miraculously the rebellious slaves froze. "Drop your weapons," she ordered, her voice almost breaking. The surprised slaves let the tools tumble from their grips, clattering to the ground in a declaration of defeat; another of their number turned and ran. A pair of harsh blaster shots rang out. The soldier, forgotten in the short but bloody skirmish, was back on his feet rifle in hand. The runner fell, blast marks in their back.
"Thank you… for your assistance… my Lord," the soldier wheezed, turning to face her, rifle now trained on the overwhelmed slaves. Zanleya could still feel her powerful connection to the dark side, the energy of the universe at her fingertips, but as she looked into the forlorn and traumatised eyes of the young girl, it faded. The blue eyes stared straight through her with a gaze that was almost as piercing as Kharvak's.
"They'll be punished for this!" The soldier swore in wrath. "They killed Jenks and Rin!" Zanleya took a few deep breaths before she trusted herself to speak without her voice cracking.
"Yes, call your officer… get somebody to… clean up," she said softly, deactivating her weapon. Her limbs were shaking slightly, adrenaline burning in her veins, breath still coming in short sharp bursts.
"I'll have them sent on shyrack duty for this!" The soldier fumed. "You'll regret this day maggots! You'll pay!" The five remaining slaves almost seemed to crumple, shoulders sagged and gazes dropped as their hearts sank like rocks thrown into the depths of an ocean. Freedom had been swiftly and brutally denied them, their brief glimpse of hopeful light snuffed out. There was a groan from the hopper as the trandoshan slowly pulled himself up. The soldier span on the spot, levelled his rifle and shot the alien three times in the chest, the blasts punching him back down. Even with her force awareness Zanleya barely had time to react.
"Soldier! Get a grip!" Zanleya yelled, suddenly rediscovering her voice. "This is your fault, you let your guard down!" She rounded on him. "And the Empire does not look kindly on failure." Her words struck home and it was the soldiers turn to look dismayed.
"Yes, I'm… sorry my Lord. I'll com my officer," he said, somewhat more shakily.
"And when you file your report, I am Zanleya, apprentice of Darth Kharvak," she added, realising that such a testimony would only help boost her reputation.
"Of course my Lord, you saved my life," he added more humbly. Zanleya just nodded and turned away, her gaze falling on the dead slaves, sprawled face down in the crimson sand. She heard sobbing from behind her and suddenly felt neither proud nor like a hero. Maybe she had done the Empire's work, putting down a small revolt and undoubtedly saving an Imperial soldier. But the fight had been against mere slaves, they had not even challenged her and, she hated to admit it to herself, but she had nearly lost herself in a frenzy. She had felt no remorse after killing Frendric, but this time, she felt the guilt. Perhaps it was because she had been a slave herself, perhaps it was because it had not been a fair fight… or perhaps it was because she was not ready to be Sith she thought with apprehension.
"Soldier?"
"Yes my Lord?"
"What is shyrack duty?" Zanleya queried, turning back to him. A malicious and vindictive smile crossed the man's bruised face.
"Shyracks nest in the old tombs and attack any that disturb them. We don't want to risk the lives of the reclamation service's officers, so we send slaves ahead to root them out, makes it easier for us soldiers to purge the tombs," he explained with wicked glee. There were cries and wails of dismay from the slaves. Zanleya spotted one of them eyeing up his dropped weapon. With a flick of her hand she reached out with the force, picked it up and flung it aside. The slave gasped in shock, his eyes flashing to Zanleya in fear, but she kept her vibrosword dormant by her side.
"So they're as good as dead," she stated flatly as the drill clattered away.
"Yes and it's no less than they deserve," he spat angrily. Zanleya looked from the corpses back to the still living slaves.
"I want the girl," she stated, pointing her vibrosword at the trembling redhead.
"What?"
"She's coming with me," Zanleya stated, putting on her most authoritative voice. The soldier looked like he was about to protest, then simply shrugged.
"Of course my Lord. The rest of you sand-rats stand by that wall and then don't dare move! Any excuse and I'll gladly put holes in you!"
Zanleya motioned for the girl to follow, then, with a last almost sorrowful glance at the bodies, strode back the way she had come. She did not know what she felt. There was elation at her triumph, but it was seriously dampened by the hollow feeling in her chest, likewise her rage had faded. The feeling of her connection to the dark side was muted now. She was concerned by the glee she had experienced during the battle and the fact she had nearly cut the defenceless girl down. Kharvak's warnings about the dangers of anger and rage felt only too poignant now. Then there was the fear and terror in the slave's eyes, it had seriously unnerved her and she was still not sure why she had chosen to spare the lass from her otherwise grim fate. Maybe this was what mercy felt like, she pondered, then shook her head. There was no such thing as mercy or pity on Korriban, at least, there should not be. One thing was for certain though, if she was going to survive the next few weeks she needed better control of her emotions.