Mercy – 3660.024 BY
Zanleya stalked away from the tomb of Ludo Kressh, cursing herself and her runaway emotions, they were getting the better of her. Her morning of practice had gone awry and she had only managed to land herself with additional problems.
"What am I doing?" She muttered, casting a glance back at her slave lookalike. The girl was stumbling along, still looking both shell shocked and mortified. If she was honest Zanleya could hardly blame her, she had nearly cut the slave in half less than five minutes ago.
A trio of gunshots sounded from the dig site as the trigger happy soldier exacted further revenge. Zanleya sighed and lifted her gaze to the orange sky and its harsh sun. She felt wrong; there was no glory in murder. Her mind was in turmoil, it was as if two sides of her being were arguing with each other. One, the angry young Sith eager to lash out at all who opposed her, the other the fifteen year old runaway Kharvak had found on the streets of Nar Shaddaa. The first voice insisted that slaves were beneath her, she was to be Sith and their lives and fates did not matter, she should not, in fact could not, care about them. The other objected, telling her that the murder she had committed was heinous and she should feel ashamed. Why did this concern her? She was going to be Sith, surely moral quandaries should be beneath her? The hatred she possessed for the galaxy that had wronged her built up in her chest… then faded as she remembered how she had felt, on the brink of death, when Bragga's minions had caught up with her three years ago. She remembered how the Sith who would become her master had rescued her, the relief she had felt as they flew away from Nar Shaddaa knowing that her life of slavery was gone. As well as the physical similarities, her past was little different to that of the girl walking behind her, she had been a slave on Nar Shaddaa, the girl was a slave on Korriban. How could she train to become a warrior that had nearly killed a facsimile of herself?
She growled and brought her attention back to the present, starting up the dusty valley back toward the Academy. As she turned her gaze up the slope she spotted a pair of figures, silhouetted against the sky, one was small and narrow, the other towering with broad shoulders and a hooded head. Even at this range she could feel the imposing presence of the larger man, there was no mistaking him. Zanleya gulped, her conflicting emotions draining away to be replaced by plain fear. She was not supposed to be seeing her master until the evening, so what was he doing here? She wondered. It was pointless to try and avoid the confrontation, she headed straight for him with apprehension. The footsteps behind her faltered then stopped.
"Follow and don't say anything," Zanleya instructed without looking back. If the girl considered running it was only a brief and fleeting thought, she bowed her head and continued the climb.
Darth Kharvak did not move, the only motion in the ominous tableau came from the black robes covering his armoured form as they rustled in the breeze. Zanleya did not recognise his companion, nor did she care about their identity at this precise moment. She dropped to one knee as soon as she came within five paces of her master. He said nothing, as if waiting for a signal. The silence dragged on, seeming like a tortuous eternity. Gingerly she lifted her gaze and looked into his orange eyes, already knowing she was in trouble.
"Explain yourself!" Kharvak demanded, breaking the silence with the force of a hammer smashing through thin ice, Zanleya flinched.
"Master I was…" she began, but he cut her off with a gesture to the slave who was standing awkwardly a couple of metres away, clearly unsure what to do with herself or how to behave before Darth Kharvak.
"Why is she here?"
"I… she was with the slaves at the dig site by…" Zanleya said, trying to explain.
"I am aware of that, Veedron has been watching, he informed me of what transpired," Kharvak stated flatly. Zanleya looked to the young zabrak at Kharvak's side; Veedron was perhaps in his mid-twenties, a sniper rifle slung across his back poking above his shoulders. His orange eyes regarded her with interest, as if she were a promising new recruit at a training camp. He was dressed in the standard grey uniform of the Imperial military, a peeked cap sitting above a prominent pair of cream coloured forehead horns. It was unusual to see an alien in military uniform, particularly one of the slave races, on the other hand he was with Kharvak. Her master was well known for not letting prejudices stand in the way of his logical decisions.
"He's been spying on me?" Zanleya queried, almost feeling indignant but having the sense not to show her irritation. Veedron pulled a wan smile and unclasped his hands from behind his back, he held a pair of macrobinoculars in one.
"I asked you a question!" Kharvak thundered. Zanleya flinched again, ready for a blow, none fell.
"Master I… went to help the soldiers, then that fight happened," Zanleya started for the third time. She cast her gaze down to avoid his searching eyes and on doing so realised her robes were covered in blood once more. "And… I chose to spare her from being sent on shyrack duty," she admitted, Kharvak's brow furrowed.
"Why?" He demanded. The knot tightened in Zanleya's stomach, one wrong word now and she would be in for it. She knew lying was futile but she doubted he would like the truth.
"I thought she would be useful," she replied, Kharvak did not buy the excuse for a second.
"In what way?" He pressed, she knew she was digging herself a deeper grave but answered nonetheless.
"Perhaps she could spy for me, gather information from the other slaves," she replied lamely.
"Then why her, why not any of the other wretches?" Zanleya floundered like a goldie out of water.
"Well… she, sort of… looks like me."
"Pathetic!" Kharvak boomed, waving his hand and smashing his apprentice into the ground with the force. Zanleya gasped as the breath was crushed from her lungs and her head struck the ground. Kharvak strode forward to tower over her.
"Änastasiä is an exceptionally gifted force user, Traz is a killing machine when given the simplest of weapons and Anral is a renowned pureblood. Your group of acolytes is full of promising young Sith and yet you… you are out in the wilds taking pity on slaves because they are female and have red hair! Pity is a weakness!" Kharvak raged. Zanleya pulled herself up with great effort.
"But master… you had pity on me when we first met!" She objected.
"No. The force guided me to you and I had mercy on you, not pity. I saw potential in you, something that could be shaped, I chose to save you because I thought you could serve me," Kharvak retorted. "Apparently I was wrong." His words hurt far more than the force blow. Zanleya ground her teeth together and punched the sandy ground in denial.
"No! I will serve you, I want to be Sith!"
"Then start acting like one!" Kharvak shot back. "Pity and pointless compassion is for the feeble Jedi. Sith have strength, there is no mercy for the weak. This pity of yours is a flaw and one that cannot be tolerated, your enemies, Jensine, will exploit it, use it against you and destroy you." At this juncture the slave, realising where the conversation was heading, turned and ran. Without even taking his eyes off Zanleya, Kharvak held up his left hand, freezing the girl in her tracks. He clenched his fist and she was pulled toward him, dangling half a metre above the ground. Her face was one of pure and undiluted terror, the expression of one who knows she is looking death in the eyes. Kharvak's armoured fist tightened and the slave gasped, a choking gurgling sound emitting from her constricting throat. Automatically Zanleya jerked to her feet, hand instinctively reaching for her vibrosword.
"Wait master!" She cried out.
"See! Pity! Weakness! Crush it, let go of this useless emotion! It holds you back, causes conflict in you, doubt!" Kharvak roared, knocking her down again with another telekinetic blow. Her meagre force defence was but a twig before a storm. Veedron grimaced and looked away as the slave suffocated, hands scrabbling at her neck as if she could pull away the invisible choke hold.
"Master please stop! I haven't told you everything yet!" Kharvak glared at her, his eyes alight with the power of the dark side. He did however loosen his grip on the slave, who desperately gulped in air, still suspended off the ground.
"This better be good," Kharvak threatened and from the tone of his voice she knew he meant it.
"When I was fighting… I… lost myself. I saw red, I just wanted to fight and kill, to spill blood and… and…" Kharvak's face relaxed slightly, it was a barely perceptible change but Zanleya spotted it, taking it as her cue to keep going she continued. As much as she hated the feeling, she was on the verge of breaking down. "I scared myself master. I remembered what you said about the dangers of using anger and rage. I don't want to be a mindless Sith marauder who lives purely for violence… but that's what I felt… and when I came to attack her… I saw myself and it broke the haze. I realised what I was doing, that I was becoming… well… a monster," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. Kharvak's expression changed completely, the anger and ire vanishing in an instant. He released his grip on the slave, who collapsed to the ground still wheezing, then crouched down on one knee beside his apprentice, bringing himself to her level.
"I see, go on," his voice was suddenly different, as if he was comforting his grieving daughter rather than ready to cast her aside.
"I hoped that perhaps by saving her I could make things right. That she could help me… prevent myself from…" she trailed off, not wishing to finish the sentence.
"So it was not just pity," he said. "You broke out of a violent psychosis and are self-aware enough to understand the issue facing you, many Sith cannot do that." Zanleya just nodded in response, realising she should have perhaps told him that first, but she was quite at a loss now.
"I… I don't know what to feel master. I didn't feel remorse when I killed Frendric, he was my enemy, but I feel so… hollow now."
"You have only taken four lives, I was surprised you did not feel like this after the first time you killed," Kharvak remarked.
"But I still felt the power of the force, just like I did in the tomb. As if, well, I was supposed to kill that that was what brought me to the force… and that feels wrong, they were only slaves." She looked at him forlornly, feeling vulnerable with her honesty but realising that it was the only thing she could say now.
"That is because you experienced victory, remember that through victory your chains are broken. Everything comes back to our code. Even though they were mere slaves you beat them, proved your superiority and achieved victory, therefore you felt a strong connection to the force," Kharvak explained.
"…so that's not bad?" Zanleya queried. "I don't want to take pleasure or feel powerful by butchering hapless slaves."
"I cannot tell you if it's bad or not, but I can tell you that it's natural to feel that elation and connection to the dark side after defeating an adversary. When you are more erudite and attuned to the force you will experience it more often and in other situations. For now, however, it is only in combat that it will be pronounced enough for you to feel, that is why you experienced it. Do not feel… ashamed," it sounded like Kharvak almost found the last word distasteful.
"I still want my revenge master, against Bragga, my father, the Jedi," her fists clenched. "But I don't want to be… a monster," the tension faded.
"Sith are not monsters, not by default. Some choose to act in ways you could call monstrous, like the marauders you speak of, but we are not all destined for that. The force sets us free, allows us to fulfil our desires, it would not be freedom if we were all bound to become psychopaths. Only you can choose what being Sith means to you. But remember well that you must adhere to the code, else all that will lie ahead of you is weakness and failure," Zanleya nodded. "But becoming Sith will not make you a monster, not unless you choose to become one."
"But master, you were admonishing me for my pity," she objected, Kharvak's face hardened slightly.
"Because it is weakness. Some actions are foolish and will get you killed. What I have just said about freedom is true in a purely philosophical sense, but remember where you are and who is around you. Becoming a Sith Lord is also a game of survival and it is survival of the fittest, you cannot allow yourself to display flaws. Through power I gain victory, if you become weak, you will not achieve that victory and you will fall. I do not want that to happen to you, so you must rid yourself of these flaws. Pity is still weakness."
"So is there a balance between staying true to myself and following the way of the Sith?" Zanleya asked.
"You should know the answer to that. You must embrace the way of the Sith wholeheartedly, there is no other option, no alternative. You cannot hold back, you cannot make concessions. But you can make your own path so long as you follow the way, you can fight for your desires, with your own source of strength, but do not think for a moment that you can compromise."
"I'm still confused master. How do I follow the way of the Sith and not let myself become a monster at the same time? If you're saying I should do away with mercy, pity and compassion because they're weak emotions, won't I become a monster by default?"
"Sith can still show mercy, mercy can in fact be a useful tool… debts of gratitude are far more valuable than payment through fear. Sith are passionate, passion is our strength. Pity though, pity will do you no favours, it does not gain you strength nor allies and it should be exorcised," Kharvak went on. "I did not take pity on Veedron here," the zabrak turned his attention to the Sith Lord. "But I saw his potential and ensured pointless xenophobia did not keep him down."
"And I am most grateful my Lord," Veedron said nodding his head respectfully, his voice was soft and gentle… quite the contrast to Kharvak's. "Without your master's intervention I would have been consigned to sentry duty on Dromund Fels for the rest of my days. He ensured I found a place in Imperial Intelligence where I would say I have flourished," he continued, now addressing her.
"See? My actions stemmed from neither pity nor compassion, yet Veedron was able to follow his desires and achieve what would otherwise have been impossible for him. It is how you choose to use your power, how you behave as a Sith Lord that dictates if you are a monster or not. But to hold that power, to become Sith in the first place, you must rid yourself of weakness or you will never make it."
"So… it's not inherently bad if I fight with anger?" Zanleya asked, she felt she already knew the answer to this too, but wanted her master to confirm it.
"No, other than the problem you experienced today, that you might lose yourself to rage or make other poor decisions. That is why I taught you about drawing on emotions other than anger. Yet if you can control your anger, harness your rage and still draw strength and power from it, then there is no reason why fighting with anger should be inherently bad." Zanleya nodded.
"Thank you master, I understand now."
"Good, I am proud of you Zanleya; very few Sith would stop to question their impulses, too many would simply give themselves over to them. Likewise, I am pleased that you do not take pride or joy from killing helpless slaves, that instead you want to become a rational and knowledgeable Sith," Kharvak commended, Zanleya smiled, it was one of the only times he had ever used her name. He did not apologise for striking her, but then, he never did. However, his words were more than enough of an apology for her. Still, given where the conversation had started it was quite a reversal and a welcome one to be sure.
"But I think I'll keep away from slave revolts for now. Save my energy for killing real enemies," Zanleya added wryly.
"Perhaps that would be wise." Kharvak stood up and turned his gaze to the still petrified slave. "You may keep the slave if you believe she will balance your emotions, but do not grow attached to her. This is the only time I shall make this concession to you."
"Yes master," Zanleya said, although with slight reluctance.
"Veedron, see that the girl finds work and lodgings in the kitchens of the lower levels," Kharvak added.
"Yes my Lord," Veedron affirmed.
"Treat her as you see fit my apprentice, but remember that while mercy is useful, pity is weakness," Kharvak stated, although Zanleya took it more as a warning, knowing that he would be watching. More likely it would be Veedron doing the watching, or perhaps somebody else she mused, she imagined the zabrak was just the tip of an iceberg. Her master gave her a last look, then spun on the spot and strode back toward the Academy, Veedron almost having to jog to keep up.
She watched them go, relieved, not that Kharvak was gone but at what he had said. She did not feel inner calm or peace, but she felt resolved. She was of course still determined to become Sith, that was the path she had committed herself to, there was no turning back. But Kharvak's words had allayed her fears, she could become Sith without being a murderous and blood thirsty monster. Critically, she was comforted that what she had experienced in the fight did not make her inherently evil. She was aware she still had a lot to work on, but she no longer needed to feel guilty. Zanleya knew she had to make it a priority to get better control of her emotions, particularly when fighting, so that she could be more restrained and not give in to the red mist of rage. That would come though, she told herself, one day she would be like her master, able to fight in a clear and controlled manner. But for now she needed to turn her attention back to Jensine and building a powerbase. First things first though, she thought. Zanleya took a deep breath and turned to the girl.
"So… so what are you going to do with me… you monster," the girl stammered in an attempt at defiance.
"I'm going to have mercy on you."