Star Wars Character Cafe - The Legend of Black Saber Chapter 4

THE LEGEND OF BLACK SABER

CHAPTER IV

Cloudia had had many disturbing dreams after originally leaving Drakhsah. Some replayed her father death or Erik’s, and she had been tormented by many dreams of Xcelcior himself. Yet again she was dreaming of the Dark Jedi, but instead of being haunted by a specter of the past, it seemed as if she were locked inside a surreal vision.

She was in a medium-sized, circular chamber, the walls crafted from a strange black stone, which had come from the deepest places in Drakhsah’s soil. This seemed to be another room in Xcelcior’s underground stronghold; Cloudia was almost sure that this place had some sort of great importance, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was or why.

The young woman felt odd, almost changed. She suddenly found herself kneeling, humble and expectant, and her eyes closed as she bowed her head. The half-Churyen sightlessly sought to find what was going on, what was wrong. Stretching out with the Force, Cloudia felt that the Dark Jedi was coming and anticipation swelled within her. This moment of brimming ecstasy pulled back and gave way to repulsion.

I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to move before he finds me like this, she tried to tell herself calmly. Yet she could not move, she felt as if she were being covered by Veganite alabaster and being turned into a statue. This couldn’t be happening and yet it was, and there was a little part inside of her that wanted her to remain in this servile stance, to worship the Dark Jedi and be devoured by his ultimate power.

Then something stirred within her, twisting inside her belly fitfully. Cloudia’s eyes shot open. She found herself dressed in the garment that she’d worn to Joparan of Oxine’s wedding, the garb of the Mersighdonian Force-user, and odd as that was, she saw the obvious pregnancy rising underneath the fabric. This made no sense, but the young woman had no time to dwell on her confusing discovery.

The door in front of her opened to reveal Xcelcior, and the half-Churyen looked at him.

"Rise," he ordered, and for a second Cloudia didn’t. She couldn’t for she was awestruck by the drastic change in his physical appearance.

His form was that of a man still, but he looked skinless. His body was like an open mass of blood and charred throbbing veins. There seemed nothing left of him save his eyes, which looked burnt and useless. He appeared now as the wretched, horrid monster that he was, a demon only knowing the ways of power and hatred. The Dark Jedi extended his blistered, fleshless hand to the young woman and she took it, not of her own will.

Now she stood close to him, as he looked down at her with those seemingly inoperable eyes, and then Cloudia sensed what was coming the second before it struck. The creature Xcelcior had become embraced her, crushing her flesh into his vile form, and though it seemed that he lacked lips, he kissed her. His mouth, if one could call it that, was pressed to hers for long time. Yet this was not an act of passion, it was as if he were transferring his dark essence into her, so that he could completely possess her and her child.

Cloudia felt at one with the black power as it channeled inside of her, contaminating her and giving her knowledge. At first she had been repulsed, but that feeling had quickly oozed away. She wanted the exchange to go on eternally, but within a few more moments, she knew that it was time to stop; the Dark Jedi had given her enough, and she forced one of her hands from the embrace and slipped it onto the black-bladed lightsaber, which hung from her obligatory waist sash.

The half-Churyen snatched it, knowing and ready, and she didn’t waste a second igniting it, nor in brining the blade toward Xcelcior’s back and leveling it with the remains of his heart. Then she thrust the weapon into him, allowing herself to become one with the Dark Side of the Force.

There was no time for triumph or for guilt as the young woman awoke with a start. The entirety of the dream poured itself into her conscious thoughts, leaving her sick and needing to rid herself of the darkness of the cramped, one-person sleeping cubicle.

She stretched out and stood up, allowing herself to enter the main part of the ship. Torin and Drudwyn were sitting there quietly, the younger piloting the vessel, his posture still extremely tense after nearly week of travel. The elder appeared to be lingering around the edges of a dark, meditative trance, but only a few seconds after Cloudia’s arrival he pulled himself from it.

The Padawan keyed something in before turning his back on the vessel’s operating panels, and suddenly the two men were looking at the half-Churyen, their faces both marked by unsettling expressions. The Jedi Knight was glaring at her, and his apprentice was sending her the same urgent stare he’d been giving her for days. He wanted to talk to her, she felt, about the lightsaber and the horrible effect it had on Drudwyn, but with the older man constantly there, it was difficult to find the time to speak.

Suddenly the Jedi Knight turned his biting glower in Torin’s direction. "Fine," he growled as he rose with a fierce jerk. "If you both want to plot behind my back, go ahead. If you try anything I can take the two of you down." And sneering at both, Drudwyn stomped from the small bridge, to the even smaller galley at the back of the ship.

And so the opportunity for words had come, but neither spoke. The Padawan merely kept his harsh stare on the young woman, and she looked away, feeling guilt churn within her. The dream still tortured her, even though its potency was now fading a bit, and that was coupled with the fact that she thought Torin blamed her for all that was happening. Yet even if that wasn’t the case she was doing an expert job of condemning herself.

Cloudia looked to the Jedi again, and the Padawan quickly shifted his eyes from her to one of the empty chairs, then back to her again. Reluctantly she approached, still quite uncomfortable with locking stares with Torin, but she wound up sitting in the seat closest to his.

After a brief silence the half-Churyen whispered, "I’m sorry. This is all my fault." She was only able to give the young man a momentary, wistful glance.

Torin’s eyes remained locked on her as he shook his head. "Not fully, I don’t think… It’s that thing." He pointed a stiff finger at Cloudia’s black-bladed lightsaber. "It seems to do quite a job of twisting people. It has a horrible influence on them."

"Including me," the young woman said thoughtfully as she bowed her head, memories of the past few weeks seemed ready to drown her.

"Not that I’m trying to be this thing’s advocate in any way, but it effects you less for some reason, and you’ve carried it for years. I feel the darkness radiating around it, but you seem different. Almost immune…"

The Padawan rested his hand on Cloudia’s shoulder, so that he could comfort her, and when she looked at him, she saw a strange flicker in his eyes, and she felt an odd emotional charge coming from him. Torin himself suddenly became aware of that, and his gaze became stern again once he’d ripped his hand away.

Then he went on with his statement. "Although not quite, even though it hasn’t done the same terrible things to you that it did to your father and my Master. I think that you must find a way to get rid of it since we were unable to turn it over to the Council for destruction."

The Padawan sighed and shook his head, "Having it around is only making Master Drudwyn weaker. It’s turning his soul into fodder for the Dark Side, and it’s making him possessive. I’m sure you can feel that he wants that thing you’re carrying; I personally think that he’ll kill the both of us to get his hands on it again."

Silence reigned for nearly an entire minute, until the young woman finally could state her feelings. "I can’t get rid of it," she said quietly, unable to look in Torin’s direction.

"What do you mean you can’t? You’re not some weakling that desires to be controlled. You can and will get rid of it." Anger was now inching into the Padawan’s voice and _expression.

At first Cloudia seemed willing to take the thrashing—that’s what she felt it was. Her mind went back to the dream and the urgings she had felt. Perhaps she was a weakling after all, maybe she had less immunity than Torin had thought, because she didn’t feel as if she could let it go. There were too many unknowns, and as the Padawan’s words echoed through her mind, they suddenly made her angry as well. She felt as if he were being some sort of hypocrite.

"If that’s what you really thought, then you wouldn’t be trying to force my hand like this!" the half-Churyen snapped, as she glared at him. Torin was taken aback by her burst of ferocity, and she compelled herself to calm down. "I’m sorry, Torin. I’m really sorry. I just don’t know how to get rid of it, and even if I did, I don’t think there’d be any way for me to dispose of it before we get to Drakhsah."

The Padawan’s gaze softened momentarily and he leaned toward Cloudia. "We can make a special stop, somewhere, anywhere." Torin sighed, but then his eyes turned stony once more. "It must be done for all our sakes."

The young woman was going to protest that Master Drudwyn would never allow such a stop, when the Jedi Knight appeared.

"This time of conspiracy is over," he said, his face bleak and distorted with hatred as he glared at his apprentice. "There won’t be another word about getting rid of the artifact. What this Xcelcior Melgrot told Cloudia is a lie. I touched the very weapon myself you’ll recall, and nothing happened to me. I’m no different than I was before."

Torin rose and took a few steps toward Drudwyn. "Master, I know you can’t see it, but that thing has changed you. It has deformed you, and it’s clear-."

"Clear?" A look of mutated disgust ripped across the Jedi Knight’s face. "No such thing is clear, my ignorant apprentice, and if you dare to talk out of turn again, I will cut you down and leave your remains in a thousand tiny pieces."

The Padawan stepped backward, attempting to return to his seat when the vessel jerked and the starlines faded into stars, signaling the unexpected departure from hyperspace. Torin grabbed a hold of his chair to keep himself steady, and once he seemed sure of his balance he focused in on the panels before him; red lights flashed urgently.

"The hyperdrive appears to be leaking, how or why I’m not exactly sure," the young man stated calmly, "But I think that rictuli f’lcron must have done some tampering; maybe he put a micro detonator near the hyperdrive. That would have done it. I’ll try to see if I can find some temporary-."

The Padawan was cut off as the Death’s Sneer was jolted again, this time more jarringly. Looking out the viewport it was easy to tell that someone had fired at the small vessel.

"T’zarn bounty hunter," Cloudia said, her spine chilled, as she spotted the Blaze of Glory, and the larger vessel fired a few more harsh rounds. "Our shields aren’t going to be able to take much more of this… Let’s try and get beyond her to that planet. There’s no way we can outrun her."

Torin nodded, and while the young woman knew he had done so, she didn’t see the act, for her attention was focused on the planet. Tenlaw, she mused, recognizing it immediately.

It was the first world she’d ever been on aside from Vega Minor, not that she had been proud of that distinction. Esquire had talked her into staying aboard the Eye Crusher so that she would not give herself away. Being obedient, she hadn’t seen anything. Yet she remembered the planet’s name and over the years she had picked up much knowledge concerning the place.

Now she found herself gazing down at the dreaded Grunge Quadrant, where she was sure she had been all those years before. A part of the eastern hemisphere was evident, its green vibrancy such a stark contrast to the polluted grayness of the other side.

"I’m opening up the comm," Torin said, his words swift, with barely a hint of nervousness as he began to maneuver straight toward the Blaze of Glory. "Perhaps we can get someone down there to respond and help us."

The closer the Death’s Sneer got to the other vessel, the more it looked like it was going to take it on. Cloudia knew that, though this wasn’t what she had told the Padawan to do, he had a plan and would get to her part of things soon enough.

A swarm of crimson lasers just missed their ship and Drudwyn suddenly blasted, "Fire at her! We’re close enough to cause some damage!"

The half-Churyen’s hands were close to the frontal weapon controls, but Torin countered his Master’s order with another. "No, Cloudia, don’t," the young Jedi said, and he extended his arm toward her, as if to imply a double warning.

Drudwyn made a noise, and he left the bridge. The young woman, at least, knew where the Jedi Knight was going, but she didn’t have time to stop him. Within a few dozen seconds it was evident that the man had found his way to the hidden turbo-laser cannons, placed himself in one of the cramped cockpits, and had begun firing.

Torin looked at Cloudia, a bit more nervous than he had been, as Drudwyn sent a round of fire smacking into the Blaze of Glory. Then the Padawan swung the ship toward Tenlaw, flying as fast as he could.

The Jedi Knight was still taking hits at the bounty hunter and doing a rather skilled job of it, even killing some of her fire.

"I wonder why she’s not firing that Magnum Laser you were telling us she had," Torin stated, his tone cold, feeling that he already knew the answer.

Then Cloudia spoke his thought. "I don’t think she wants to do away with us, not right now at least. She probably has something special in store for us."

They both had to suppress a shudder at those words. That ‘something special’ was something that neither wanted to think of, but at least they had the Force as their ally.

Suddenly the comm filled with a thickly accented, booming voice. "Identify yourselves now, and tell us what is going on. If you will not, we will blast you—remorselessly and legally— from the sky."

"This is Torin Waylein; I am traveling aboard the Death’s Sneer with two companions, Cloudia Wandry and Gorsedd Drudwyn. We are Jedi on an important mission, and we are under attack."

"Ah, Jedi. Say no more. I am T’y-ruuk of the Rosk, the rulers of Tenlaw’s western hemisphere. My people and I have a high regard for the Force and those chosen to wield it. We will give you and all aboard asylum from your foolish attacker, and we will do anything else that we can to speed you on your journey."

"Thank you," Torin said.

A second later a shot jolted their ship as the Padawan tried to get the Death’s Sneer closer to the planet. Drudwyn, though, was still firing maniacally at the Blaze of Glory. He was doing semi-sufficient damage to the enemy vessel, and his efforts would have been catastrophically excellent had their opponent been less prepared for such an assault.

As the fleeing ship was close enough to begin its descent, three tremendous vessels broke from the atmosphere. Each one had sinister black armor, looked almost mynock-like, and was twice the size of the Blaze of Glory.

They all thrust at the bounty hunter, and in a near panic, or what was supposed to look like one, she pulled back and readied herself for the jump to lightspeed. Drudwyn continued firing, even after she was out of range.

T’y-ruuk spoke again. "You have thanked us, but there is no reason for that. Nothing is too much when the Jedi are concerned. I will have our Stingers show you to one of our main residences. You will see that it is east of the Heart’s center."

The Death’s Sneer, led and flanked by the ominous Rosk Stingers, began its declination, and the Grunge Quadrant’s Heart was quite evident. The steaming, pulsating heat, the thriving foulness, and the scraping grind of never ceasing technology made it seem like a hungry, vile beast, something alive and deadly.

"What will you and the others be needing, Jedi Waylein?" T’y-ruuk asked, his tone becoming even more accommodating, but before Torin could respond, Drudwyn returned from his hell-inflicting stint at the turbo-laser cannon’s helm, and he spoke instead, his tone stern.

"I am Gorsedd Drudwyn, a Jedi Knight. I am the Master of the boy you’ve been speaking to, and I must request that you address me from here on out."

Both Torin and Cloudia looked at the older man, then to each other, hoping that trouble might not arise but feeling otherwise.

Then T’y-ruuk replied, "As you wish, Jedi Drudwyn."

"Good. Now first and foremost our vessel needs repaired. Our hyperdrive was sabotaged, and I know that we sustained damage to the deflector shields during the battle. There are probably a few other problems. If your men get right on it, how long do you think it will take to get everything repaired?"

There was a thoughtful pause before the Rosk replied, "A day, maybe two if difficulty is experienced.

"Since we are going to one of your residences, I assume you will be giving us rooms there."

"Of course, Jedi Drudwyn, of course. There is nothing we will not do to accommodate you. The Stingers are bringing you past the east edge of the Heart now; it will only be a matter of minutes before you reach the fortress."

Cloudia watched the contaminated scenery through the viewport, after most of the smog had lessened. She absorbed a horrid tangle of filthy streets, which were seemingly full of dirty people. Beggars, predators, whores, and other worse things. Sort of like the underlevels of Coruscant, and thinking about it, the half-Churyen thought that the entire planet was Coruscant-like, only stretched flat out across the surface instead of vertically ascending.

The fortress was close now. It was a gray structure, even darker than the polluted air, and its spires violently tore into the shrouded sky. Of course the air wasn’t as contaminated here as it had been near the Heart.

The eastern hemisphere wasn’t too far away. All sorts of filters were set up along the borderline, and these were the only things that were keeping the pollution from spreading to a global level. It was very difficult to believe that the Rosk had such respect for the Jedi and more importantly the Force, when they had desecrated half of an entire planet.

Suddenly T’y-ruuk’s voice came into evidence once more. "You are directly above the landing pad. Set your ship down, and I, and my fellow Rosk, shall hasten to greet you." Once the man had fallen silent, Torin began to set the Death’s Sneer down as instructed.

The landing procedure was over quickly, but then the Padawan sat there motionlessly, as if lost in thought, an eerie expression encased his features.

"What are you doing, Torin?" Drudwyn snapped.

"Oh, nothing, Master. I’m sorry. I just have a bad feeling about this."

The Jedi Knight made a noise of disbelief. "Well, I find that strange, my young Padawan, because I sense nothing out of the ordinary. For the moment at least our troubles have passed. You know that as well as I do, don’t you, Cloudia?" Drudwyn was now glaring at the young woman, and he grunted when he felt that she would side with Torin. "Fine. At least I still know that I have more abilities than the both of you combined."

Drudwyn paused only a moment. "Now let’s not be rude and keep our hosts waiting." The Padawan nodded and keyed in the order, which released the landing ramp. Once that was finished the older man flagged the others to rise. "You two will follow me, and I will do the talking. I hope I’ve made that clear."

The last words were more of an order than a statement, and Cloudia and Torin rose, revealing their compliance. The three walked down the ramp and onto the landing pad. The air was breathable but still obviously contaminated, and a few coughs resounded from them.

A horde of noisy street people was clogged by the gray force field, which surrounded the fortress. They appeared to be most curious about the newcomers, and some flung horrid obscenities into the air. Other, more stupid ones hurled themselves at the force field, as if they could paw their dingy hands through it. Instead an electrical current pummeled into each, before thrusting their unconscious bodies through the crowd.

The raucous screams, the foulness, and the perversities were silenced only by the appearance of the Rosk. They were a more threatening horde, appearing just as Cloudia had heard. Each one was clad in a black, leather bodysuit, which was so tight that it was like a layer of flesh. They also wore a face-covering hood that was just as skintight. There were only holes for their mouth and eyes, and also their long black hair poured from a slit at the top of the hood. The final piece of the ensemble was a flowing, heel length cape.

The half-Churyen knew they dressed like this because their sensitive white skin could not take the harsh ultraviolet light of most suns, but that wouldn’t have been a problem here in the Grunge Quadrant. There was very little sunlight that ever pierced through the pollution.

The group of thirteen Rosk, who were congregated in an ‘I’ shaped pattern, marched toward their visitors. The three in front were in a horizontal line, followed by a vertical line of seven, and in the back was another horizontal line of three. Within a few minutes they arrived.

T’y-ruuk—who was positioned in the center of the front line—said, "We are humble servants before you." Then he and the other Rosk knelt before the trio.

This display of adoration made Cloudia and Torin very uncomfortable, but Drudwyn was beaming and feeling prideful. He wanted their worship, and suddenly he felt as though he deserved it. He stood there, basking in the glory of it all, and though he found it very difficult, he said, "Get to your feet."

The Rosk did so and T’y-ruuk gave a slight bow.

"We are deeply honored to be at your service, Jedi Drudwyn, and at the service of these others. As you know, I am T’y-ruuk, the High Magistrate, and I will introduce to you now the other leaders of the hemisphere.

"Flanking me is my High Council. To my right is my man-cousin S’h-lym, and to my left is my woman-sibling H’r-anna. The seven are the High Political, which consist of S’h-lym’s sons and my own. The other three, non-relative, are the High Guard.

"The Rosk have ruled here for nearly one-hundred and fifty cycles—you would call them years—for such was the will of the Force. A Jedi prophet beckoned our ancestors to him, and… Well, I shouldn’t go on. This must be a tedious old story. I’m sure the Jedi know it well."

"Yes," Drudwyn said with a nod, but it wasn’t true. No Jedi knew this story, but despite his curiosity the Jedi Knight lied and went on. "So you will be taking us to our quarters now?"

The High Magistrate tilted his head slightly. "I am leading you to your accommodations, Jedi Drudwyn. S’h-lym is in charge of Jedi Waylein, and H’r-anna is responsible for Jedi Wandry. Now, come, if you will. The Tenlite bounty hunter might return to search for you, and though I know a Jedi knows no fear, my fellow Rosk and I would like to help you evade her for as long as possible."

T’y-ruuk’s words confused Cloudia. How did he know who their attacker was? There seemed something suspicious about that, but then she thought, the High Magistrate called T’zarn’s bounty hunter a Tenlite. If she is from Tenlaw, perhaps they know her well.

If that was the case one of the Stinger pilots could have identified the ship and contacted T’y-ruuk with the news. That’s what happened, the young woman told herself, and for the time being that was enough to calm her.

The seven of the High Political were already marching to the ominous fortress, and within a moment T’y-ruuk, Drudwyn, and one of the guardsmen were in pursuit. A few more seconds ticked away, then Torin, S’h-lym, and the middle guard followed, and soon after, H’r-anna made a simple hand gesture, signaling for Cloudia and the final sentinel to come with her.

For quite awhile it was silent, even as the gray, side door opened, beckoning all to enter. The half-Churyen was expecting the fortress’s interior to be as dismal as the outside world, but though the place was gleaming white and looked completely synthetic, it wasn’t as horrid as she’d been expecting.

And there was something odd, something she hadn’t quite been expecting. In the eastward corridor, which led to the Exhibition Chamber, there were potted trees lining the walls. Stranger still was that they were of the Braid Coil variety.

That type was unique, not with a thick straight trunk, but with many slender trunks all twisted together to make one. Their blue-green canopies did look odd in the artificial light, but still they were a comforting sight to Cloudia.

The Braid Coil were very rare, they had only been found in two known systems. Tenlaw and Vega, and being in the one, the young woman knew that she was only a parsec from her childhood home. That caused her to ache a bit; Vega Minor was close, but the life that she had known there had not existed in nearly two decades.

Drudwyn and his entourage followed the High Political into the eastward corridor; Torin and his two Rosk went south, and Cloudia turned northward, flanking H’r-anna, the guard bringing up the rear. Silence remained for a few more minutes, until the High Council member turned to the young woman.

"I must apologize, Jedi Wandry, but I have a task to do before I lead you to your accommodations. Forgive me, I request." H’r-anna’s richly accented voice was a silky tenor, and it would have sounded very pleasant had it not been full of somber pleading.

"There’s no need to be sorry, High Councilor." The half-Churyen would have said more, but the female Rosk laughed, the sound very exotic. The laughter quickly faded, and Cloudia could see remorse shimmering in H’r-anna’s dark eyes.

"I meant no amusement toward you, Jedi Wandry. It is just strange to hear you address me with such formality. I must request you call me by my name… H’r-anna." The female Rosk rolled her tongue to give an even more fascinating sound to her own name.

"H’r-anna." The half-Churyen was unable to say the name as its owner had. "As I was saying, you don’t need to apologize, and I must tell you I am not a Jedi."

Cloudia saw the other woman’s charred lips tighten. "No? I was under the impression that all aboard your ship were Jedi. Every Rosk was, and you are telling me now that you don’t wield the Force?"

"I didn’t say that, H’r-anna. My father was a Jedi Master, and I have inherited his powers. I carry his lightsabers as well. I just don’t belong to the Jedi Order as he did, and Torin merely found it easier to call us all Jedi when we were being attacked. There wasn’t time for a drawn out explanation then."

"Ah," H’r-anna said as she nodded slightly. "Your father must have been a powerful Jedi for the Force to grant him two sabers, and powerful you must be as well since you are of his rights… Come, Jedi Wandry, we must go the east."

The half-Churyen was shocked that the female Rosk was still calling her that, but she made no comment as they suddenly turned down the eastward corridor, which was decorated with more potted Braid Coils.

"A lovely variety, are they not?" H’r-anna asked, and Cloudia nodded. "I knew you would think so. You are a Veganite, after all. It is obvious by the Churyen hue that your flesh has, and by the exact shade, it would seem it was your mother that was of that race, not your Jedi father."

The young woman nodded again. "Ah, I am right." The female Rosk smiled, unable to mask her momentary pride, then the expression quickly vanished. "But I think you question why I still call you a Jedi when you say that you are not one. It is only because I feel you to be a Jedi, whether you have ties to this Order or not. Those ties matter little. Probe me with the Force, and you will know that I speak the truth."

"I don’t need to do that, H’r-anna."

As soon as Cloudia fell silent, the female Rosk halted where the Braid Coils trailed off and the others did so as well. H’r-anna looked at the half-Churyen, almost nervously. "I think it is inappropriate that I have initiated this conversation. I request forgiveness again, Jedi Wandry."

"Why do you think you are in need of forgiveness? I don’t mind talking with you." The daughter of the former Jedi Master did use a slight mind probe then and she heard H’r-anna’s thoughts. The Jedi I know would not allow such forwardness from me.

The half-Churyen was about to speak, but the female Rosk shook her head. "I will explain when we are alone, if you bid this conversation to proceed that is." The young woman nodded her allowance. "I am grateful," H’r-anna said as she leaned over to one of the trees, casting some of the leaves aside to reveal a black switch that was jutting out of the white wall.

She pushed it upward, and a noise that sounded like a mixture of a mechanical hiss and a groan filled the air. The walkway directly in front of them slid backward, and a gapping hole appeared. Inside the opening was a set of dingy stairs, a semi-functioning light tried to illumine whatever was down there.

"That is where our prisoners are kept, and I must tend to them," H’r-anna told Cloudia. "You may either stay here with T’o-cajil or you may come with me."

"I’ll go with you," the half-Churyen said out of curiosity.

"But be warned, Jedi Wandry. The cells are full of more kinds of filth than one can imagine, but you are strong I gather. I just desired to see you forewarned, but you have the Force and you need not me. I apologize." It took a lot for the female Rosk not to request forgiveness as well, and the two women began their descent into the bowels of the fortress.

Now this was what Cloudia had expected from the rest of the place. The closer they got to the bottom of the grungy stairs, the more dismal and rank the dungeon appeared. The dim lights flickered horridly, and when the young woman felt that T’o-cajil was out of hearing range, she looked to H’r-anna and spoke.

"Who is this Jedi you know? Why would he think you forward?"

"This Jedi is the father of my infant son, and there are two reasons that I must not be forward with him. Firstly, he is the prophet of my people, and secondly he was the one that was granted rights to me. Not the other way around, and besides Jedi Wandry, even though he is now revolted by me, he granted me the one thing I always desired… a child. I was barren and no other could have opened my womb."

There were so many questions floating through Cloudia’s head. She tried to reach for H’r-anna with the Force, but it was apparent that the Rosk had done something to hide her mind.

"An act my Jedi would not approve of, but you approve of much he does not."

As the two finally finished their descent into the room, which was dirty, yet stark and empty, the young woman realized that Force probing was futile and she began speaking her questions aloud. "What are these rights you’re speaking of? And why is this Jedi revolted by you now?"

Suddenly Cloudia made a connection. The Zepleen had spoken of their deihaaan-mulkhtaul, the Dark Jedi, having been with them for over a century and now the Rosk were speaking of this Jedi prophet who had first beckoned for them one hundred and fifty years ago. The half-Churyen felt that Xcelcior had to be both. Of course she couldn’t explain why he was still alive and fairly young if these stories were true.

Maybe one of his ancestors initiated all these frauds, she thought.

And as the two reached a segment of wall, which had another black switch, Cloudia decided to ask, "Could you tell me his name?"

The Rosk flipped the switch downward, an echoing, hissing groan filled the stagnant air and a hole appeared in the wall. More eerie dim lights cast a sickly glow upon the newly revealed corridor, and as they stepped into the gaunt hallway, H’r-anna answered Cloudia’s first two questions.

"These rights are like marriage. A person chooses another to spend time with, and the one who does the choosing is the most privileged. It matters little if the privileged one is a woman or a man, and sometimes these rights last a lifetime, other rights only last for a few intimate occasions. Whatever the privileged one chooses.

"And as to why I am now a disgrace to my Jedi, it is because I have labored forth V’l-slech, my son and his. The prophet is not pleased with the child. He wants an heir by a woman who can wield the Force, and I have no such powers. I know V’l-slech will be able to wield the Force as well as his father one day, but that matters not to my Jedi, only that I have no Force skills, which he was well aware of before he claimed his rights on me."

H’r-anna’s tone was now full of bitter sadness. She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears, and though she tried to go on, she couldn’t.

Cloudia wanted to hear the Rosk say that her Jedi was indeed Xcelcior Melgrot. Yet she knew it would be wrong to push for the knowledge presently, and even had she thought otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to post her query.

As the two continued down the corridor, the moldy, grime-slathered walls seeming to close in on them, the half-Churyen’s senses were assaulted.

Amid the dank and fetid smells, she heard the wordless, tormented screams of those in the cells. One of the blocks was evident—it seemed that whoever was behind that menacing black door must be dead for Cloudia felt nothing—the other retainers were stowed down the horizontal corridor that loomed ahead.

Soon they entered the southward/northward hallway. Of course Cloudia felt that that term was too grand for the place. It was like a tunnel, and a few insignificant shafts of light trickled from the curved ceiling.

"I start at the left end, Jedi Wandry," H’r-anna whispered as she led the younger woman to the muddy northernmost wall.

When they reached the first cell the High Council member accessed the door’s control panel and keyed in a viciously long code before the door finally retracted, revealing the madwoman that Cloudia had been feeling. The horrid stench of waste-filth leaked out as well.

"H’r-anna…" the woman, who was also a Rosk, croaked. Yet she was not like the others. Only a tattered, stained sheet covered her pallid body, but it was not as if she needed the tight leather bodysuit in a pitch-dark cell.

"Yes, P’l-darra, I’ve come to feed you," H’r-anna whispered, unable to fight the wistful tone that crept into her voice. The madwoman said nothing at first; she only stared blankly at the bleak light as she tapped her fingertips across her face. The leather-clad Rosk looked to Cloudia and sighed. "You would say she was my man-sibling’s wife, for T’y-ruuk had lifetime rights to her."

"Why is she here?" The half-Churyen’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, then tightened even more when she heard the other’s answer.

"She would not obey our prophet, and so he ordered that she be confined here, where the spirits would haunt her and drive her mad. I know naught of these spirits, but apparently they have done their job well. P’l-darra has been such as this for ten cycles."

H’r-anna went about her duty, typing away at the second control panel, which rested below the first. It turned into the wall, suddenly revealing a small tray, two silver packets sat upon it, and though Cloudia saw this, her mind was far away from it. Only a Dark Jedi would have vengefully robbed a person of their sanity.

As the leather-clad Rosk knelt and placed the tray on her sister-in-law’s lap, the madwoman finally spoke. "Is the Master nearby?" She was utterly oblivious, only aware of her own raspy question.

"No, P’l-darra. Our prophet has not been with us for nearly a twice-month." H’r-anna tried to keep her emotions from welling up in her voice, and she was mostly successful as she reached for one of the silver packets and opened it. "Here, have some water."

"No water… No water!" The madwoman was calm at first, yet within a second she was filled with anger. She knocked the packet from her sister-in-law’s hands, the fluid splashing all over the miniscule cell, but that shocking act had hardly sedated her. P’l-darra wrapped her shaking hands around the tray, and she lifted it high and hurled it at the dirt wall, breathing heavily as she did so.

"That filth-child you labored for him! That’s why he’s not here to listen to my petition! I want out of here, but you want me to rot away!"

H’r-anna slowly ascended, her dark eyes burning with confusion as she took a few steps backward. She never removed her gaze from P’l-darra. "V’l-slech is not a filth-child, and… and how do you know of him?" Her voice shook. Yet she tried to keep her body from doing so as well.

"You want me to rot away, don’t you?" P’l-darra whispered, tears running from her eyes, and after a quiet moment, her body was invaded by another current of anger. "Tell me the truth, you mother of filth!"

H’r-anna took another step backward. She was almost out of the cell when the madwoman latched onto her cape, ready to pull her down into the waste-ridden floor.

The High Council member jerked herself back into the tunnel, and the escape proof force field hummed into existence. P’l-darra’s hand suddenly caught in it and the madwoman howled in pain. The mental wail was even more piercing to Cloudia, who was becoming surer that Xcelcior was responsible for this atrocity.

"Close!" H’r-anna shouted, and the black door thrust itself back into place and locked. The Rosk sighed her relief as the madwoman’s screams were cut off. "That was what I was speaking of, Jedi Wandry. There may be worse things to come."

Despite that warning, nothing worse came. Yet when they reached the center cell Cloudia suspected that they would find death, and she tried to brush off the encroaching dread as H’r-anna keyed in another maniacally drawn out code.

When the door retracted something more shocking was revealed. There was a living man inside, his head bowed so that no one could see his face. The young woman could hear his heart pounding, she could hear his ragged breathing as well, but why wasn’t she sensing anything from him?

After a few moments he finally lifted his head, and Cloudia was granted partial understanding as she looked into his angry eyes.

"Marten," the half-Churyen whispered.

She couldn’t believe she had found Marten Gryg here of all places. Well maybe she could. She had last seen him six years ago when he’d worked for Valenteen. He hadn’t been much older than she’d been, but he had found himself steadily rising through the ranks until he had supposedly gotten a better offer. Then he was gone, and she had never seen him again until now.

He didn’t look too much different; he had the same disheveled brown hair, the same enigmatic brown eyes, and the same annoying talent of deflecting the Force. But now, probably because he’d been locked up for some time, he was starting to grow a beard.

After the man recognized her in return some of his anger faded. "Cloudia? What are you doing here?" he said, his voice dry and gravelly.

The young woman was about to respond when H’r-anna stepped forward and spat at the prisoner. The compressed saliva smacked into Marten’s left eye and he snarled with rage as he rubbed out the remnant spit.

The Rosk’s blackened lips tightened, revealing her growing displeasure, and she turned to face Cloudia. "Jedi Wandry, you know this thief?" H’r-anna asked. Her tone sliced through the air as if it hoped to draw blood, but this did nothing to dissuade Marten from speaking once more.

"A Jedi? Since when did she become one of those?" the prisoner questioned, giving a sarcastic laugh, which only served to irritate his warden more.

H’r-anna spat at Gryg again, the liquid landing in his open mouth this time. Marten gagged, gurgling terribly, before spitting her vile fluid into the dirt. He glared at the Rosk, and Cloudia was glad for the first time that her Force senses didn’t work on him. His eyes were so full of insane anger and hatred that she was sure she would have been burned had she been able to feel the emotions.

"Silence," H’r-anna hissed. "I desire words with Jedi Wandry, not you, thief." The High Council member’s eyes fell upon the half-Churyen once more. "Now tell me, if you will, how do you know him."

Cloudia felt uneasy, but she didn’t hesitate. "We worked for the same employer for awhile, but then Marten left to search out other opportunities, I suppose."

H’r-anna snorted and laughed bitterly. "Ah, I see. He gave up a perfectly honest job because it was easier for him to be a thief."

"That’s right, and I’m a damn good thief too."

Cloudia could well hear the taunting in Gryg’s voice. He was trying to goad the Rosk into being more violent with him, and H’r-anna stood there, manipulating her saliva into a tight ball, preparing to spit on him once more; it was her last attempt to restrain her aggression.

"Please, H’r-anna, don’t. Just explain this to me. What did he do?"

The Rosk forced herself to gulp down the fluid. "He is a thief as I have told you, and you even heard the admittance from his mouth, but what he did exactly was he broke into this fortress and got his hands on some of the mementos we have left from our old planet. We have not many of them, and some of the jewels are worth a fortune. Tempting fodder for a lazy thief such as him.

"All he needed to do was sell a few of them to the right people and he would never have to lift a finger again, but he was caught, and the Rosk have no patience for thieves, especially ones ignorant enough to steal from us."

Cloudia gave Marten a curious glance. "Did you do this?" Gryg nodded, looking defiant and proud. "Why?"

"Because he’s a lazy piece of filth."

"No," Marten countered, his prideful smirk twisting with animosity. "I was working for a man named Max Xirylin; he was the one who wanted me to come here and so I did. It’s his fault I’m here, and I wish the warden or one of her people would go see him, so he could rot along side me like he deserves to."

The Rosk glared down at Gryg. "The High Magistrate went to see this Xirylin. The man has never heard of you."

"And you actually believe that?" Marten scoffed. "He’s a big time criminal, and he’s good liar. I mean a damn good liar. What’s one little lie to save his skin from a few stupid, vulture-looking freaks."

Gryg smirked once more, and the half-Churyen cut in before H’r-anna could give into her growing urges. "I believe you, Marten."

The prisoner looked very satisfied as he arrogantly crossed his arms over his chest and rested his head against the dirt-infested wall. "See? You’d trust a Jedi, wouldn’t you?" H’r-anna couldn’t even attempt a reply. "That’s what I thought… And how are you, Jedi? Have you come to rescue someone in need… like me?"

"Actually, no," Cloudia responded. "I’m on a mission, and I had to make a detour."

"Ooh, a mission, huh?" Gryg said, not even attempting to hide his mockery. "For the Jedi?" The young woman shook her head. "Then Valenteen sent you out." He was sure of himself until she revealed the truth.

"No, I left the organization. Valenteen’s dead." Stings of guilt penetrated her, and she had to look away from Marten.

"This has got to be some sort of joke… Right? Valenteen can’t be dead." Anger was slowly creeping back into Gryg’s voice. He was beginning to sound dangerous and maniacal, as if an evil spirit was lingering behind him, waiting for the right moment to invade him.

"He died not even three weeks ago. I’m sorry, Marten. I know how much you respected him…" Cloudia’s voice trailed off.

She knew she hadn’t personally been responsible for the commander’s death, but she still couldn’t do away with the guilt. It was her fault that they had all been on Drakhsah. She had been a carrier of the disaster that killed Valenteen, Erik, and all those others.

"Yeah, he was like a father to me," Marten said, his voice quiet, and suddenly the looming madness possessed him. He leapt to his feet, preparing to strangle her, and though the protective force field should have shot up, it didn’t. Now Gryg’s hands were locked around her throat, squeezing with vile rage.

Though Cloudia felt pain licking throughout her body, she forced herself into a calm state; her body tingling with the power of the Force as everything appeared to move in slow motion. She closed her eyes—or thought she did—and thrust the energy into Marten’s fingers.

The prisoner’s hands should have been electrified with pain, but nothing. He was more resilient to the Force than she had known, and with her last waning bit of physical energy, she sent her foot wailing into Marten’s chest.

Gryg was caught off guard. He tumbled to the floor of his cell, and he looked at Cloudia, his eyes burning and seemingly glowing red.

Then the force field finally snapped into place as Marten threw himself back at the doorway. Electricity zapped into him and he flew backward again

"Why did you kill him?" Gryg spat, and after a moment, the anger flooded from his face and was replaced by an ultimate sadness. "Why did you kill him?" he asked again, this time the words lacking fierceness.

"I didn’t kill him. You’ve got to believe that," Cloudia said, holding back her tears.

"Why? You don’t." Marten countered weakly, and the half-Churyen didn’t know if she could keep her tears at bay much longer. She honestly didn’t think she could, but she knew she had to.

"Enough," H’r-anna finally growled, and she marched into the cell, the force field’s throbbing energy not coming to attack her; it instead accepted the nuances of her frame.

And then the vicious beating began, the female Rosk kicked Marten in the groin before drawing her fist into his flesh repeatedly. The prisoner groaned and clenched his teeth. He wanted to lash out in return, but H’r-anna’s assault was furious in its speed. He had no time to recover from each blow.

Cloudia wanted to order the High Council member to stop this brutality, but she couldn’t find her voice; H’r-anna was lost to the violent, disciplinary act, and she might not have been able to hear the words anyway.

Then it was done, and Marten was left to groan and writhe in pain.

"No Jedi will suffer defamation, least of all by such a filth-creature, without punishment. I pray you have learned your lesson, thief." H’r-anna said callously before she ordered the door to close. She looked at the daughter of the former Jedi Master, triumph glistening in her eyes, and still Cloudia could say nothing.

***

After that, silence became commonplace. Occasionally one of the prisoners would unleash some demented mumbling, and the minute automated hum of the doors opening and closing was also there. Yet H’r-anna hardly spoke, and Cloudia didn’t say a word, even after the excursion through the bowels of the fortress was completed.

They rejoined the guardsman, and once the glistening floor plank again covered the stairs, they pressed on until the corridor came to an abrupt dead end. There were more Braid Coils to their right and a door to their left.

H’r-anna nodded briefly to the sentinel. "T’o-cajil, you will remain outside tonight. Let me know if anything out of the ordinary occurs."

"Yes, M’lady," the guardsman responded, and the High Council member nodded to him yet again before keying in the access code.

Then the door hissed open and H’r-anna flagged for Cloudia to follow her inside. "This is my apartment. Your accommodations are through that door if you’d like to rest," the Rosk said, slightly gesturing toward a door, which was a dozen paces to the left.

The half-Churyen didn’t respond at first. She merely eyed the room she was in: the living chamber. The place was fairly comfortable in size. In the right hand section was a tall, ivory-colored bassinet; adjacent to it was an evergreen chair, which seemed to fit in better with the dark walls and muted lighting. An exhausted teenage girl, a Tenlite probably, was sitting in the chair. She stopped her humming and looked up at H’r-anna.

"You may go, Nan. I will not need you until the morning," the Rosk stated, gesturing to the door, and she received an expression of gratitude as the girl rose and gave a slight bow before leaving. When Nan was gone Cloudia continued to examine the room.

H’r-anna noted this but paid the inspection no mind. She walked to the cradle and smilingly peered in at her sleeping child. Then her motherly feelings were enshrouded by caution, and she stepped away, glad that V’l-slech was not awake to see her in her hideous, obligatory bodysuit.

Cloudia was aware of H’r-anna’s shame but she said nothing concerning it. The Rosk was such a sensitive creature, even despite her brutality against Marten, and so the young woman merely continued her observations.

The left side of the room was more crowded, with a door that apparently led to H’r-anna’s sleeping quarters and private refresher. A trio of water-filled, glass spheres were positioned slightly further along that far wall.

"Aqua art, a personal favorite of mine. I crafted those pieces myself cycles ago, when I was younger than you are now," H’r-anna said, approaching, as she caught Cloudia admiring them.

"Lovely," the half-Churyen stated with an honest nod, and she watched a thick turquoise ribbon of fluid rip through the still water of the rightmost sphere. "I’ve never seen anything quite like them."

"Not surprising, for they are of Rosk tradition." The High Council member said, a smile of pride crept upon her lips. "The one you look at is called The Dawn of Eternity; Blistering Forth." More turquoise ribbons seemed to be birthed from nowhere and they exploded through their watery entrapment.

"I was young then, very idealistic. You can note a bit of a change in the others. See the center one? It’s called The Growing Sea of Tears. I crafted it when my father died." There were dark turquoise ribbons in this one, forming at the top and running painfully to the bottom, collecting and collecting. The ‘sea’ grew larger until it encompassed all.

"The leftmost one is merely called Service Beckoning. I crafted it right before I took my place as one of the rulers." This one had angry slashes of black, which were throttling toward a small, turquoise circle in the center and engulfing it. "Ah, many cycles have passed since then. I was young, and now I am just getting old…

"But I must go change into house garments. I leave you to your accommodations, and I wish you good rest, Jedi Wandry." H’r-anna gave a courteous bow and retreated into her private quarters.

Cloudia glanced over the rest of the living chamber, noting a small computer station to the left of the aqua art and another evergreen chair by that. Then she went to her accommodations as requested; she did feel quite tired indeed.

***

The darkness of sleep quickly settled around Cloudia and soon after she found herself dreaming. She was on Vega Minor, she knew that right away, and as she absorbed the scenery she felt more invigorated than she’d had in a long time.

She was standing at the edge of a pond, which was surrounded by a thick ring of Braid Coils, and abundant yellow sunlight rained down from the resplendent sky, trying to dry her hair. She easily remembered that the house where she’d spent most of the first decade of her life was not too far to the east.

All the other directions led into the forest. The woodland was beautiful and quaint, except for the western portion. It was a dark, hideous place where light was seldom admitted, and her father had warned her never to go there, especially alone.

She had to admit that she had been curious about going into the west side of the forest, but the lure had not been that strong, and the temptation had always been easy to ward off… until after her father had died, when the black-bladed lightsaber had come into her possession…

Still, she had kept away in honor of her father’s memory, and now she pushed those thoughts from her mind. She stood there in the sunlight, reminiscing about the good times she and her mother and father had spent picnicking and swimming here. Those had to have been the best days of her life, before Zelda had come at Xcelcior’s bidding and destroyed everything…

The young woman’s jaw clenched in anger and her fists tightened at her sides. The sun seemed to be setting far too rapidly, for though it should have still been overhead, it had declined much and the blue sky was turning crimson.

No, the half-Churyen chided herself. I can’t afford to be angry. And when she had finished her self-instructing, she sighed and allowed the emotion to filter out of her. Much better, she thought, and for a moment she was relieved but that feeling didn’t last long.

The entire day had sped by; it wasn’t some sort of trick. Her hair though it had been very wet, as if she’d just finished swimming in the pond, had long since dried. Distressed, Cloudia wondered if she had lost the day being a prisoner to her negative emotions and hadn’t realized it.

But the crimson was all too rapidly turning to twilight, and she knew that no matter what was going on she had to find shelter; perhaps her old home if it was possible. She was aware that even with the speed at which the day was fading that she could get to the place before dark.

The half-Churyen just happened to look down into the blue-green grass as she made her decision to leave, which was rather lucky. Her two lightsabers lay there, waiting to be returned to her belt. Cloudia found this odd. She knew that she must have taken them off to go for her swim, but that was stupid. How could she have allowed herself to give up her protection, and even more disturbing, how could she have just left the weapons where anyone could have grabbed them? The move revealed more than ignorance and carelessness, and how could she have dared to be that stupid at such a hazardous time?

As she questioned herself, the young woman put her weapons in their proper place, never again would she be so reckless. Now she was ready to go, but before she could even take a step forward she saw Torin standing there, smiling, as the sky’s remaining red flooded over his face.

There was something terrifying, yet compelling about his expression. Urgency illuminated his blue eyes, and the half-Churyen knew there was no way she could make for home now.

What is it? She thought she had asked aloud, and the Padawan’s only reply came from his actions. He was walking toward the western quadrant of the forest. No, Cloudia told herself. Yet the young Jedi must have been eavesdropping on her thoughts. He nodded, still smiling, but then his _expression became a touch grave. Come on. It’s okay, the Padawan mentally exchanged.

The half-Churyen knew better, but Torin wasn’t one to lead her astray. There must be some duty awaiting them in the west, but even though there was something so obviously strange about all this, she followed the Jedi apprentice.

Her heart pounded with anticipation, though she wasn’t sure why. Was it because she was making her way into a forbidden place for the first time? It seemed so ridiculous, but at the same time so possible.

Night was upon this part of Vega Minor now, though it was impossible to tell from Cloudia’s vantage point. Without the Force it would have been very difficult, if not hopeless, to keep on Torin’s trail, and after several minutes the Padawan came to an abrupt halt.

Torin? the young woman silently called, and when the Jedi gave no reply, she wondered if something was wrong. There had to be, and suddenly in the darkness she felt the Padawan’s arms snake around her with a hunger so fierce that no perversity could match it.

No! she tried to tell him. This was not something that was supposed to be happening. He was a Jedi. The Order forbade such attachment, and she had restricted herself from it as well, even with Erik. No one was ever to be trusted so much.

Despite the protestations and the truths that encircled her, she couldn’t force herself to fight. There was almost a rightness about what was happening, and though there was also something completely sinister in the bodily and emotional urgency, a long kiss was allowed.

Cloudia could hardly focus on the kiss itself though. There was too much more to it. Torin’s soul was swarming into hers. She was being filled with his knowledge and his truths, his triumphs, his failures, and though she still was making an attempt to block it, she felt as if he were learning of her as well.

This had to end, but it seemed like it would go on until she was completely drained.

But then something felt different, frighteningly different as Torin continued the kiss. He reached for her black-bladed weapon without the obviousness of the Force, and when it was firmly within his grasp Cloudia went sailing backward. Her body thudded into the nearest Braid Coil and she ricocheted to the sodden forest floor.

The stolen weapon hummed to life, its threatening blade revealing that the abductor wasn’t the Padawan. It was Drudwyn!

The Jedi Knight sneered, then he smirked down at the young woman. Thoughts of murderous desire consumed his mind.

Cloudia knew that she needed to find a way to quickly get a hold of her father’s Jedi saber and catapult herself to her feet, but she had no time to act. If only she could become calm and get rid of her fear. If only she could accept becoming one with the Force; it had to be done.

Drudwyn raised the black-bladed lightsaber. The weapon would have gutted her, but then she woke up, realizing that she was not on Vega Minor. She was in the adequate accommodations that the Rosk had given her. She looked around the bedchamber, trying to calm herself.

The miniscule room was engulfed by dim light, which was quite unpleasant. It made the dark walls seem ominous, even more so than the ones in the dungeon. It also felt like these walls were closing in on her, and it seemed that the room was preparing to become her tomb.

Cloudia knew that she could no longer stay here and ingest the room’s sudden coldness, and as she rose from the white linen sheets, she felt that she needed talk to Torin about the dream. Mainly about the murder attempt for she really had no urge to speak of how their souls had intertwined.

And she needed to be sensible about all this. She desired no attachment, and he wasn’t allowed to have it, so there was no point in bringing it up… even if she had felt his emotional charge for her earlier.

The half-Churyen shook the last thought from her head. There were more dire things to think about. Had the dream, at least the part with Master Drudwyn, been some sort of prophecy? Both she and Torin had to be prepared if it was, and she quickly exited into H’r-anna’s living chamber.

The Rosk was there, looking very different. Her blanched complexion was harshly visible, quite in contrast to the light blue nightdress that she wore. She was sitting near the aqua art, cradling her sleeping son, seemingly unaware of Cloudia’s sudden arrival, and young woman was grateful for that. She didn’t want to be delayed. Yet as she finally stood at the door, ready to leave the apartment, H’r-anna looked up from V’l-slech.

"Jedi Wandry, where are you off to in such a hurry?" the High Council member questioned, her tone casual.

"I need to speak with one of my companions immediately," Cloudia responded, still more than eager to leave.

"It is not safe for you to be wandering about the fortress, not presently at any rate. The Tenlite bounty hunter has returned and she is searching our stronghold for you in particular. I can only assure that she will not find you if you remain here. I am deeply sorry for this inconvenience, but your meeting with Jedi Waylein will have to wait." The Rosk smiled as she spoke of Torin.

This caught the young woman off guard, and her eyebrows knitted with confusion. "How did you know I was going to see him?" The half-Churyen prayed that the dream wasn’t somehow making her reveal things she’d rather keep quiet.

"Oh, it’s obvious. He has this look in his eye for you, one that says that he wants rights to you. Of course it’s also clear that he’s trying to suppress it because… Well, I don’t fully understand. My luck in love has always been rather ill, so what would I know?" Her smile had long since died, her charred lips having withered downward with despair.

Cloudia approached H’r-anna. She didn’t want to hurt the Rosk but she had suddenly thought of something that would make her forget about what she had just heard concerning Torin. "I’m sorry to intrude, but I would like to hear about your Jedi… But if you don’t want to or can’t-."

H’r-anna shook her head a bit wistfully but then looked the half-Churyen in the eye. "I must tell you of him. I feel it very important, just ask me anything you want to know about him, and if I know the answer I will tell you."

The young woman felt a little guilty, especially since she was using this to rid her mind of Torin, but she knew she needed these answers. So she took a deep breath, searching for the calmness she needed. Then she asked, "What’s this Jedi’s name?"

"The Rosk only know him as the Starkiller," H’r-anna responded, and Cloudia shuddered as if she had been caught unaware. "Surely he has another name, but he is the exalted prophet, and we lowly servants have no privilege to hear it."

Cloudia stood there, stunned for a moment, then she quietly said, "I know who you’re talking about, and I want to hear everything you know, but if you’ll be punished for telling me, either by the Starkiller or by your own people-."

"I assure you I will receive no punishment, Jedi Wandry. I will do as you request."

H’r-anna wasn’t trying to trick Cloudia, but the young woman had a strange feeling. Maybe she shouldn’t listen, but as the Rosk commenced with her story, the half-Churyen felt compelled to do so.

"My man-sibling told you all that the story of our prophet was an old one, a tedious one, that it was a truth that every Jedi knows, but it is clear that we have been lied to. Only the Starkiller himself and the Rosk, and perhaps a few scattered others know it. So I will tell you now how my people came to rule over this part of Tenlaw.

V’l-slech stirred in H’r-anna’s arms, but he didn’t awaken as his mother exhaled and began.

"As far as it has been recorded, my people have always had dreams of traveling amongst the stars. We dreamt of traveling beyond Roskyl to find whatever intrigues awaited, and when our technology had been pressed far enough, we began to build ships for space travel, grand eye catching vessels that might grant us recognition in the minds of those that might share our galaxy. We spent centuries designing and testing them, making sure they were just right, and it is a good thing we did. We discovered that our own dim sun had the possibility of going nova at any moment.

"Most of the Rosk decided it was time to leave, though a few guardians were determined to remain and suffer our planet’s fate. Maybe they were the lucky ones, for perhaps the sun still has not went nova and they have lived life properly, unlike all of the ones who left.

"Many convoys of Rosk had set down on other planets, but the suns of these other worlds were too harsh, and their skin was quickly crisped to blackness. They were transformed from people into hideous barely living monsters.

"The convoy that consisted of my direct ancestors and a few other families would not put down anywhere. They did not want that horrid fate, and they thought it would be better to return to Roskyl and await destruction with the guardians.

"Then the prophet beckoned them. The details of that are not known, perhaps to add mysticism to the history, but he ordered them to come to a distant planet beyond the Outer Rim, to a world called Drakhsah." When H’r-anna spoke the planet’s name with her exotic voice, Cloudia closed her eyes and nodded. "They were to land at nightfall and pay homage to him in a cave that existed in a hollow burial mound. And so they did."

The young woman could scarcely believe her ears, although in her heart she knew that H’r-anna’s words were truthful.

"My people landed. The inhabitants of this world were like frightened animals, undomesticated and fierce as they watched us. They stood in their silvery forest, the moonlight making evident their horrid gemlike eyes. But they would do the Rosk no harm, the prophet had said, and he had been truthful, if only that one time. My people descended into the cave, and there the Starkiller sat, enthroned before them, beckoning them to their knees.

"At first there was protestation concerning this. One of the men spoke up against the exalted prophet, and with a burst of dreaded, wrathful lightning, the man was dead. The prophet again ordered my people to their knees, and this time there were no protests, due to the fear that he had stirred within their hearts.

"Then he explained. He told the humbled Rosk that he was a great and powerful Jedi, and he said that they were meant to serve him because he was a prophet who would lead them into prosperity. He said that he was the one that had caused Roskyl’s sun to go nova, and then he decreed that the Rosk were to respectfully call him Starkiller every time they knelt at his feet, and for one-hundred and fifty cycles we have done so. Who would not obey one with such power? Of course I now suspect him to have lied, little from his lips has ever been anything else.

"But there is more. I must tell you of how we came to be rulers here. The prophet ordered my people to take over the sparsely populated western hemisphere of Tenlaw. The convoy was to conquer and mutate all, to become feared, condemning lords with respect to nothing except the Starkiller himself. He did not put it like that when he spoke to them originally. Those intentions became apparent later.

"Many were frightened to land on the planet because of what had happened to the others of our kind, and so the prophet created the horror inspiring garments we are so well-known for. I hate them, but it is my lot in life to wear this garb, to be one of the fearsome Rosk leaders. Seldom do I show cruelty, only to thieves and others that deserve it, and over the years the men have mocked me. They think that I am weak."

H’r-anna sighed and looked downward, but not at her child or anything else in particular. Cloudia couldn’t help but feel the other’s pain, and she walked even closer to the Rosk.

"No, Jedi Wandry. I am fine, and perhaps there is truth in what the men have said. I am weak, but I must not talk of such things. I must tell you about my Jedi… The Starkiller."

The pallid woman fell silent, and the half-Churyen could not suppress the question that was rising in her throat. "Is your Jedi a descendant of the original Starkiller?" More than anything the young woman wanted the Rosk to say yes, but H’r-anna could say no such thing truthfully.

"No, Jedi Wandry. He is the same man and he has never aged in all the years my people have served him. At first we thought it was the Force that kept the truth of his years from showing, but I doubt it. I know now that he is a dark, evil being, a megalomaniac obsessed with power and control. Surely being a conduit for such darkness would have rotted him into a state of nothingness, but he maintains his vigor and youth somehow."

These words were too much for Cloudia. It was impossible to understand them. How could Xcelcior Melgrot be well over a century and a half old? He should have perished long ago, and instead he looked like a forceful middle aged man. And he was forceful, with all the powers of the Dark Side at his beck and call. If only she could make some sense out of this.

"Jedi Wandry?" H’r-anna’s concerned voice broke through the half-Churyen’s thoughts.

"I’m fine, really," Cloudia replied with a nod. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"Only personal effects; my barrenness, the endless arranged rights to rid my womb of sterility. They have little to do with my Jedi, except they were the reason he came to me. I, of the head family, needed to engage in productive rights; no other man, not even R’l-dyn my first, could awaken my womb. And so the Starkiller came to me with his lusts and turned me into an H’a-gree."

H’r-anna sounded as if she were on the verge of tears again but she pushed them away. "There is no mistaking I had, and still have, love for him. I was a fool to believe that he had love, or at least fondness, for me as well. Perhaps it was because he was mimicking R’l-dyn’s ways." The Rosk sighed. "I did not want to see that I was merely his H’a-gree."

After a silent moment Cloudia asked, "What’s an H’a-gree?"

"Ah, yes," H’r-anna said wistfully. "You do not know the story because it is of Rosk tradition. Our history says that A’b-rahm, one of our great patriarchs, sought rights with his wife’s servant, a young girl named H’a-gree. Soon H’a-gree’s womb was filled, and when she labored forth A’b-rahm’s man-offspring, the patriarch cast the girl away. He did so out of disgust, for the child was not of pure lineage, and that is the same reason why V’l-slech is like an illegitimate in my Jedi’s eyes. He is not pure in the Force, and so that is why I call myself an H’a-gree.

"But the Force is strong with my son, I know it. My Jedi would not approve, but I am sorely tempted to give V’l-slech up to the Jedi of the Order. The Starkiller cares not for my son, and to be honest I don’t want the boy to grow up ruling fearsomely over this haven of pollution and filth. I also desire to rid him of any darkness that might have been passed into his veins. The Jedi of the Order shall surely cleanse him of that."

Cloudia stood there, not knowing what to say at first, but upon thinking about it, she felt that if there were anything that could save the boy from the taint of his father’s blood it would be that. "I think you should do that, H’r-anna."

The Rosk nodded, her lips curved upward slightly. "I am grateful for your council, Jedi Wandry. I will give V’l-slech up to the Jedi of the Order when the time is right. I know that they will take him and do their best with him." H’r-anna sighed and looked at her son, resigned but momentarily happy.

"If only things could have been different," the High Council member mused as she got to her feet. She walked to the bassinet and set V’l-slech inside before covering him with his blanket. "If only I could have stayed with R’l-dyn… If only you could have been our son…"

The Rosk wiped away a sudden tear, then she walked from the infant and returned to Cloudia’s side. She looked as if she might say something more concerning this R’l-dyn but she couldn’t. She merely glanced at the younger woman and said, "Perhaps you would like to rest again, Jedi Wandry. The midnight hour approaches."

It didn’t take the Force for the half-Churyen to realized that H’r-anna wanted to be alone, and so she returned to her accommodations, then lay down on the wrinkled linens. She did need her rest because she knew that she could not spend another night in the clutches of the Dark Jedi’s servants. Before the meager dawn, she and the Jedi would be off of Tenlaw altogether… hopefully.

***

Nearly five hours later Cloudia was up and ready to go, although she did feel dreadful. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t slept well. She’d dreamt of her father’s death, and of Erik’s, again and she was also revisited by her pregnancy dream. When she had awoken from the last one, she was chilled and sickened, suddenly wondering if this dream and H’r-anna’s earlier statements were linked. She couldn’t help but think so.

And now the Tenlite dawn was approaching. The half-Churyen tried as best she could to quiet her mind of all uneasiness before mentally calling out to the Jedi Knight and his Padawan.

Torin! Master Drudwyn! We must get to the Death’s Sneer and leave this planet now! The Rosk are Xcelcior Melgrot’s servants!

The young woman repeated her call, and though she heard no reply, she knew that they had received her message. The three would meet in the Exhibition Chamber, and once they had, they would make their break for the landing pad. That was if the ship was still there.

Cloudia knew there would be nothing quick or easy about this getaway. It seemed that there was a great possibility that they were walking into a trap, but the half-Churyen knew that this would be their only chance at escape.

The young woman slowly entered H’r-anna’s apartment. The Rosk was nowhere in sight, and Cloudia felt the woman’s presence in the far bedchamber. Good, the half-Churyen thought. Though H’r-anna was trustworthy, her loyalties might lie more with her people, and it wasn’t wise to wait and see the outcome of such a test.

Cloudia waved her hand and the apartment door opened. She exited into the corridor, half expecting T’o-cajil to be at his post because that’s where he was supposed to be, but as the Force had told her, the guardsman wasn’t there. Somehow the young woman knew that this wasn’t a good sign.

Sickly, yellow adrenaline coursed through her, and she broke into a run, trying to remain cautious, while at the same time not allowing herself to be slowed by fear. This escape was hinged on calmness. If any of them lost that, they might be going before the Dark Jedi as prisoners, defenseless to his authority.

Cloudia shuddered, but she continued to run, the Force speeding her along. She would be in the Exhibition Chamber within a minute or less, with Torin and Drudwyn… preparing to battle against the Rosk. Not escaping to the Death’s Sneer as she’d frantically prayed. As she pressed on, fighting not to slow her pace, she had a vision of herself and the two Jedi calling their weapons to life.

Just as quickly the vision was gone, vanished like fog in the sunlight. That made her somewhat nervous. If only she could know that she and her comrades would win the conflict, but then she slowed, seeing Torin rush toward her. If they were to lose, then she definitely didn’t want to know until the inevitable happened.

As Cloudia and the Padawan approached each other, the two wore very disturbed expressions.

"There is something not right about this," the young Jedi stated. He shook his head in an attempt to empty it of negative thoughts, to therefore become calm. "But it is the only route we can take now."

The young woman expected Torin’s voice to be full of blame, but instead only peaceful acceptance was evident.

The two turned into the Braid Coil lined eastward corridor, walking side by side at an even pace. It seemed that a black cloud of dread was looming in the Exhibition Chamber, its beckoning vapor was like the death exhaling, and Cloudia looked toward the Padawan, her lips tight with regret.

"I’m sorry," she said, the words little more than a whisper.

"Whatever is waiting for us is meant to happen; it’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. It’s just something that we are meant to face, and we will do so bravely." There was so much honesty in his words that she could not even think of protesting.

Then they arrived at their destination. The Exhibition Chamber was massive, its thick walls as gray as the fortress’s stark exterior. Toward the northernmost wall was a platform, upon which sat a triad of thrones. The center one was the most omnipotent and sinister looking; it jutted quite close to the stairs that led to the exquisitely intricate tiled floor.

The bleak mosaic seemed to be a tribute to the young woman’s despair, but the main exit was visible to the south. That was a symbol of hope, or should have been at the very least.

Drudwyn was already there, almost at one with the darkness that was breathing at them, and Cloudia thought that he was going to strike the both of them down then and there. The Jedi Knight had such a bleak, haunting look in his eyes, but then it vanished, a tight glare of impatience replaced it.

"What was keeping the two of you?" Drudwyn said, his tone exceedingly harsh.

Neither could respond, for suddenly the Rosk arrived. Some were coming from behind the platform, others from the east and west corridors, and the remainder from hidden accesses near the towering exit. The half-Churyen and the Jedi were surrounded.

"It is sad that you repay our hospitality in such a manner," T’y-ruuk called from the platform, his tone somewhat concealing.

Drudwyn grabbed onto his lightsaber and the blade hissed into existence. "I fail to see how imprisonment is hospitality," the Jedi Knight responded, his lips tightening and becoming coarse.

"Imprisonment, Jedi Drudwyn? I was not aware someone of your abilities could be so misguided. We only offer you asylum, and I assure you-."

"Stop with your lies, Magistrate! You serve the Dark Jedi and want to capture us so you can gain praise! You will all die for this trickery." Drudwyn growled the last statement, sounding like a bloodthirsty Rancor preparing to strike.

Some of the Rosk began to close in on the three, their ominous black cloaks fluctuating as they approached. If the Jedi Knight made one move toward T’y-ruuk, all were going to be attacked. Cloudia readied her two weapons at the same time Torin called for his.

"Dark Jedi?" the High Magistrate questioned with a touch of honest confusion.

"Your prophet… the Starkiller," Cloudia explained.

T’y-ruuk nodded, now understanding. "Yes, we serve the Starkiller, Jedi Drudwyn, but we do not hold you captive so that we may deliver you unto him. None of us seek such praise. We only do our duty."

"And what is your duty?" Drudwyn sneered.

"To care for you as fellow servants. We know what the mission Jedi Waylein told us of is about. You are seeking out the Starkiller, so that you may bow before him as the Rosk do."

"Liar!" the Jedi Knight wailed, his voice echoed as he thrust himself upon the platform with the aid of the Force.

He stood directly before T’y-ruuk and he immediately brought his lightsaber searing through the leather bodysuit. Almost. The blade should have penetrated the material in order to mutilate the flesh, but instead it deactivated.

The High Magistrate could not suppress a smug laugh, and Drudwyn thought to ignite his blade again, for his anger was still rising. Yet the Jedi Knight could not comprehend what had just happened and he merely stood there in shock.

"Cortosis ore," Torin mused, remembering some information he’d once come across while searching through the Jedi Archives.

T’y-ruuk nodded, still smiling. "The young one is right, Jedi Drudwyn. These suits were soaked in a vat of melted cortosis ore in the final stage of their making. A lightsaber’s blade cannot penetrate the material."

"I could do other things to you instead," Drudwyn countered the smugness. "Believe me, you’d wish I were using my lightsaber on you before I was finished."

T’y-ruuk laughed once more, though the sound was nearly hollow of pleasure. "The Starkiller will show great interest in you, Jedi Drudwyn." A slight tingle of fear radiated from the High Magistrate, as if he expected some of the horrors the Jedi Knight had alluded to, but then the sensation vanished. "But there has been enough of this. To show that we have no desire to keep you as prisoners, you may go now.

"There is one thing I must mention, though. Your ship has been moved near the hemisphere border, and in order to reach it you will have at least a twice-day’s journey through the streets. The sojourn will not be pleasant, but with the threat of the bounty hunter gone, I insist that you take this opportunity. And to show no ill feelings I would like to send a guide with you."

Silence reigned in the Exhibition Chamber for a few moments. Drudwyn just stood there, glowering, as he reluctantly put away his lightsaber and folded his arms tautly over his chest. Then he broke the silence; his twisted expression never wavering. "We don’t want or need one of your people to guide us."

"It will not be one of the Rosk, Jedi Drudwyn." T’y-ruuk stated, then he called over his shoulder, "H’r-anna," and his sister appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and slowly walked toward him. "Please bring the Jedi their guide."

H’r-anna gave a slight nod and she quickly disappeared into the eastward corridor. Cloudia knew through the Force that Marten Gryg was going to be their guide. He was the perfect choice.

The half-Churyen felt that he knew the streets well, that he probably could plot out the quickest path to the ship, but there was something else. The man was a thief, the Rosk hated him and probably would not desire to give him back his freedom. Perhaps there was someone waiting with the Death’s Sneer that could return him to his prison. Maybe they expected him to die while performing the task.

And even more than all that, something else was greatly disturbing Cloudia. There was the matter of how Gryg had behaved toward her before. She shuddered fiercely but resolved not to think about it. Fretting would do no good, not when the horrid, filthy Grunge Quadrant streets would be their home for the next few days. She would just have to be prepared for anything, they all would, and after a few quiet, strained minutes H’r-anna dragged Marten into the Exhibition Chamber.

"This is your guide, Jedi Drudwyn," the High Magistrate said, gesturing toward Gryg solemnly. "I request that you do not deny this offer." And for a few seconds silence was the only response.