Moments of Truth/Part 8

The wind brought Zaella the sounds of merriment from Marekka—some sort of gathering in the square around the tree, she'd been told. She could sense them vaguely in the Force, too, but she had no desire to join in. She'd have liked a hill to look down on them all from, but of course they'd been smart enough to build Marekka on a high point, so she'd settled for a little hill beyond the outskirts of town, overlooking the valley and a patch of farmland. She was too far away to catch the smells from the village; out here, there was only the reek of the fertilized fields and the faint, sharper scent of the pines from the faraway treeline.

The stalks of crops rustled in the breeze, but Zaella didn't reach for the cloak she had brought along yet. Her fever had broken the previous day, a few hours after Tirien had amputated tchun's tip. She had woken to find herself drenched in sweat but feeling much better. The bacta had cleaned out the lingering traces of the infection in her lek, and though the end was still bandaged, she thought even that would be unnecessary in a day or two. She would be back in fighting trim soon enough.

She just wouldn't be herself.

''It isn't just skin, Narasi. Part of Twi'leki is nonverbal, in lekku motions…'' Tirien hadn't known how right he was. Even now, with no lingering pain, Zaella felt the instinct to twitch the tip of her lek in annoyance or for emphasis. It wasn't as bad as losing her tongue—Basic and Huttese didn't require lekku at all—but she couldn't shake the feeling of having lost something essential. Just as bad, she felt—and knew she looked—lopsided; try as she might, she couldn't fault Tirien's precise cut, but even the bare minimum left tchin several centimeters longer than tchun. She dreaded the next time she met a Twi'lek; would she see disgust, horror, or just pity?

Poor thing; it looks like she was quite pretty…before…

Zaella squeezed her hands into fists so tight they shook, and the Force ran through her like a shiver. Ghrond had done this to her, robbed her of part of who she was, and she didn't even have the satisfaction of revenge; it was Narasi who had shoved her blade through the Dashade's mouth and snuffed him out. It was no consolation that the Jedi wouldn't have achieved the victory at all without her help; nothing replaced striking the deathblow. She had almost brought him down on the leap…if only she had swung wider she might have sliced his head in half rather than merely taking off a hunk of his jaw and leaving him to Narasi…

Runganna's still alive, she realized. Ghrond was nothing more than a weapon; it was Runganna who had wielded him. Had the Hutt stuck to the plan, Zaella would have fought Narasi one-on-one, and once she killed the Zygerrian, she and Izkara…

The thoughts got away from her. Not for any lament for Izkara; the dead wretch had taken Zaella's chances of becoming one of Lady Hadan's Sith Knights with her into death, but on the whole Zaella almost thought it worth the trade to be rid of her tormentor. But the idea of striking Narasi down gave her pause in a way she hadn't experienced since…since she had sparred with Nykan, she realized. She had hesitated to harm him, and paid for it when he had gotten the best of her. Later, as she had soothed her wounds, he had talked her down from her temper, kissed away her distrust of his feelings for her, pressed his soft lips to the tips of her lekku.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Zaella took several deep breaths. ''I'll never see him again. He's with Lady Hadan. Suck it up and get over it, Sabir.''

It fed her anger, but her lingering regret cut at her fury even as it was gaining stride; no single cut was fatal, but as she dwelled on stolen moments now beyond her reach, the many cuts bled her anger dry until it failed. Desperate for distraction, she pulled out her datapad, looking at the village and starting a sketch; the party lights glowed from the base of the tree and silhouetted the buildings, and soon her stylus was flying over the screen, her eyes flicking up to check her subject every few strokes so she could capture the contrast between light and dark.

"Zaella?"

Too late, she realized even the datapad's normal setting—designed for the dark caverns and warrens of Ryloth—would give her away. Powering it down, she called back, "What?"

"Yeah, I missed you too." Narasi sat down a few meters away, taking a deep breath of the night air. "We noticed you hadn't come back."

"And what, you worried I was gonna steal your ship?" The idea had occurred to her, but of course they always sealed the Second Chance whenever they left it. To keep Gizmo from running away, Narasi had said, but Zaella doubted.

"I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay. You've been avoiding us."

"I didn't sign up for your Guudrian Cultural Immersion Program, remember?" Zaella said. "It wasn't my idea to be here at all."

"Better than prison."

Zaella rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder."

It was almost worth the distraction for a chance to wind a Jedi up; Narasi seemed able to hold onto annoyance where Zaella struggled. "Yeah, you're the one suffering because of this arrangement."

Zaella glowered, brushing tchun with her fingertips. She almost flinched on reflex, but realized it didn't hurt, and she was too relieved to hold on to anger about even that.

Narasi sighed and one side of her mouth turned down. "Look, I'm sorry Tirien didn't let me do it, okay? I still think…"  She shook her head. "Well, it doesn't matter. You couldn't have asked for a better cut, could you?"

It maddened Zaella that she couldn't. When she had awoken from her fever and first bandaged her half-healed lek, she had seen for herself how close the lightsaber had cut; any lower and it might not have gotten everything. "He's so pushy."

"I…I guess, sometimes." Narasi squirmed. "But he just wants what's best for us."

"Us?"

Narasi spun on her behind to face Zaella. "We're not the bad guys here."

"And what, I am?" When Narasi hesitated, Zaella narrowed her eyes. "Kriff you, Jedi."

"You're a dark sider, Zaella, and the dark side's all about hurting and dominating other people; you're not exactly the good guy."

"The dark side's about nature!" Zaella insisted. "The strong deserve to rule. It's just natural selection."

"We're not animals! We're thinking beings, we can choose to be better!"

Zaella shook her head. "I don't get you at all. Your whole species—"

"Don't," Narasi said with enough ferocity that Zaella paused. "Don't go there. I am not what my people are."

"But why not? Slavery makes things more efficient—look how powerful the Empire is!  You talk about how Lady Hadan is such a minor threat, but look how strong she is around Ryloth!"

"But it's wrong, Zaella! We're talking about people!"

Zaella remembered being corrected out of that dangerous mentality as a child, and she had her reply ready. "People too weak to defend themselves!"

"What about you?!" Narasi demanded. "I beat you in the arena, did you deserve death?"

"Ghrond had already hurt me. If I'd been at full strength—"

"Yeah, Ghrond folded my ribs in, remember? I was hurt too.  You tried to sucker cut me and you still lost.  Get over it."

Punish this! the dark side clamored inside, but Zaella was no fool; she was unarmed, and Narasi still wore both their lightsabers on her belt. Once she glanced at them, though, she looked back up at Narasi. "You're so sure about that? Then give me my lightsaber back and let's test the theory."

Narasi's eyes tightened; it took her a moment to respond. "Why, so I can kill you this time?"

"You're afraid," Zaella taunted. "You don't think you'll beat me."

For a moment she thought the Jedi would rise to the challenge; the glint of moonlight reflected in her eyes turned the blue to icy gray. "I have nothing to prove to you. I'm trying to give you a chance; if you want to throw it away, then take your best shot.  See what happens."

She wrapped her fingers around her own lightsaber hilt, waiting. Zaella glared at her, and for an instant she was tempted, but sanity prevailed. Huffing, she said, "Go away, Narasi. Go get worshipped and praised or something.  That's what you want, right?  The powerful, merciful Jedi—praise her with great praise."

She bowed her head, glowering from under her eyebrows. Narasi returned the look, but then sighed and shook her head; taking her hand away from her weapon, she ran it through her hair instead. "What do you want, Zaella? Do you wish I'd killed you?"

Sometimes. The thought just sprang to mind, and it frightened her; the cold seeped through her, killing the fire of her anger and leaving her shivering. "I…"

Narasi looked her over, and her eyes fell on the datapad. "What are you working on? Can I see?"

It had been years since she shared her work with anyone; showing something so personal was handing someone a weapon to use against her. But Zaella had trusted Narasi to use her actual weapon against her, before Tirien had interfered… "Yeah, fine.  Here."

She unlocked the datapad and handed it over. When Narasi got a look at the screen, her eyes widened. She looked back at Marekka, then down at the datapad, then held the screen up in the same direction, her eyes bobbing from one to the other. "Wow. This is great, Zaella."

It took Zaella a moment to understand the surge of pleasure that loosened some of the tension she hadn't realized her shoulders had been holding. It had been a while since she'd gotten a compliment on something other than her looks. "…thanks."

Narasi tapped on the datapad. "I remember this one from Circumtore…is this Ryloth?"

Zaella scooted over next to her. "Yeah. This is right outside Lessu, where I…it's Lady Hadan's capital.  This crack here…"  She pointed to the screen. "…that's the start of a canyon network that goes for eighty kilometers. Here…"

She flipped through older sketches. "No…no…here, this one. I drew this at the bottom of the canyon."

"That's incredible," Narasi breathed, and Zaella smiled. She remembered the challenge of it, trying to capture the exact way the shadows fell before the sun shifted and changed them, but without succumbing to haste and producing a sloppy rendition. "How long have to been doing this?"

"Years and years," Zaella said. "Since I was…oh, probably eight or nine."

"How'd you learn?"

This time Zaella paused, and she felt her smile fade. "I started just doing it on my own. I was always good at it; I just had an eye for it.  When I was eleven, one of the slaves found me drawing outside and said he could give me some tips…"

"Really?"

Zaella nodded, trying to hide her discomfort. "Yeah. He'd been…I don't know if art was his job, or he just did it on the side, but wherever he came from, he'd done a lot of art before he got caught.  He told me he could show me techniques…help me improve."

She trailed off, and Narasi cocked her head. "Just for free?"

Zaella scooted away a space. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"He…he said that…if he could do anything to help produce beauty in a place like Lessu, that was reward enough."

Narasi's whole face softened, and Zaella felt at war with herself—the expression relaxed her guard, and that very reaction made her tense inside. Narasi asked, "What happened to him?"

"I…I don't know."

Zaella tried to figure out why she flinched when Narasi's eyes tightened until she realized that it was the same expression Tirien wore to see through her. "You're lying."

Zaella turned her face away rather than meet that unsettling stare, but she could feel it against her cheek, boring a hole through her temple and into her brain. She hissed, but spat out, "He died, all right? They put him on manual labor down in the mines.  He was too scrawny for it, but they kept him at it and…and eventually it got too much.  Then a mine cart overturned, and he wasn't fast enough and it…crushed him.  Broke his neck and his back.  He couldn't do anything anymore, so they put him down…"

She heard the thickness in her voice and stopped before it could give her away, but Narasi said, "'Put him down'? He wasn't an animal, Zaella!  What was his name?  Or didn't you bother to learn?"

"Qieran," Zaella snarled. "His name was Qieran, you—"

"So he was a person," Narasi countered. "Not an object. Not property.  And he didn't deserve to die like that."

"What does it matter now?" Zaella forced through her teeth. "He's dead."

"It matters for all of them who aren't."

"What do you think you're gonna do, Narasi, just…just erase slavery?" Zaella shook her head. "Do you know how many sectors', whole societies' economies are based on slavery? Even if we leave your people out of it, if you get rid of slavery, half the Outer Rim collapses into anarchy."

"Then it collapses."

"Oh, great, now everybody's starving because society fell apart. Yeah, well done—that's that Jedi spirit of helping others I've heard so much about." Narasi's brows scrunched together, and Zaella snorted. "What, did you forget that part? Figured you'd just come in, kill everybody who disagrees with you, and then everything'd be okay?"

Narasi looked up, eyes wide, and Zaella knew she had inadvertently hit a nerve. "You know, I may have spent most of my life on Ryloth while you and Tirien were do-gooding across the galaxy, but it seems like you're the sheltered one."

Narasi leaned back, but instead of the defeated look Zaella had anticipated, she saw only thoughtfulness. "Well…huh. Well…maybe we have things to learn from each other."

That line of attack caught her completely by surprise, and Zaella scrambled for a response. "We…what?"

"The Jedi aren't what you think of us," Narasi said. "We're not just idealistic do-gooders; we are the good guys here, and I'd like the chance to prove it to you. But you know things I don't know too.  Learning isn't a bad thing—'Knowledge' is one of the three pillars of the Order—so maybe learning from you will make me a better Jedi."

"I…er…well…" The idea of Zaella helping a Jedi be better at the light side was at once so infuriating, so amusing, and so baffling that she couldn't form a coherent response.

Narasi extended a hand. "Give it a try?"

"I…guess?" Zaella watched her hand shake Narasi's as if someone else was piloting it.

I guess I can pick up information, she told herself. ''If I get to the Empire it'll be good to know. And I'll have to learn it all anyway if I do become a''—

But she stopped that thought cold.

"So…what now?"

Narasi shrugged. "I dunno…ask me something."

Zaella thought about it, but as she tried to hit on things that would be useful to the Empire, she got sidetracked. "You told Ghrond you fought Darth Alecto."

Narasi's face hardened—not like she was rejecting the question, Zaella thought, but like the whole subject put her in battle mode. "Yeah. Twice."

Tell me about her, Zaella wanted to ask, but that seemed too obvious. Instead, she went with, "What was that like?"

With that little Zygerrian snort through her nose, Narasi said, "Well, the first time I was thirteen, and it didn't go well…"

Zaella turned to face Narasi and listen while the Jedi described her and Tirien's mission to Gizer and the duel on Gizer Battlestation. Enough gossip had filtered down to the apprentices in Lessu for her to know that Darth Alecto had been involved in Darth Saleej's whole renewed Perlemian assault, but she had never known Alecto had basically handed Saleej the keys to the kingdom. And when they had squared off again on Milagro, Tirien and Narasi had, together, still been unable to bring Alecto down.

"She sounds like an incredible warrior," said Zaella, forgetting her audience for a split-second.

Narasi's eyes flashed. "She's a murderer. She killed the Chancellor, and a lot of good people…"

Zaella listened to the description of Darth Alecto's assassinations on Anaxes, but despite the clear loathing in Narasi's tone, Zaella herself could only marvel that a single assassin had dared all of that, with only a couple Anzati as backup, and come out on top. How many Sith coups had only happened because Darth Alecto had been involved? If Darth Alecto had been born a Twi'lek, how powerful might Lady Hadan be now?

"She's evil," Narasi concluded. "Just evil. Hope that you never have to fight her."

"I hope I don't," Zaella said, glad not to have to lie.

Narasi frowned another moment before curiosity stole over her face again. "Can I ask you one?"

"Oh. Uh, sure."

"Your fighting style seemed kinda familiar, but I've never learned it. What is it?"

"Juyo," Zaella answered.

Narasi's eyes widened. "Really? I heard you have to master other styles to be good at it."

Zaella smiled. "Well, I'm not a master yet, but I'm pretty good."

"Tirien said you'd…well, he said you're better than a lot of Padawans our age."

Zaella sensed editing in there, but she was too surprised and pleased to care. If even he thought she was ahead of the pack…when she reached his age, how skillful would she be then? "It's a really effective style; we were always taught that Juyo masters are unstoppable. I'm surprised you haven't learned it."

Narasi flicked a tuft of grass with her fingertips. "Most Jedi don't. It's kind of…not 'forbidden', really, but really rare."

"Really? But it's so useful!  You should learn it."

She shrugged. "I don't have anyone to teach me."

"I could teach you."

Unable to help herself, Zaella betrayed herself with a glance at her lightsaber. Narasi clutched the weapon and shook her head. "I can't let you have it back…but maybe we can still practice. I'll ask Tirien."

Zaella smirked. "Sure that's not just a foregone conclusion? He's my biggest fan, after all."

Narasi chuckled. "Nah, it'll be fine. He's reasonable, I just have to frame it the right way."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."