[Something I've been meaning to write for a while now. Apologies for lateness and liberties taken with characters. <3 Snugglu to Ryza and Josh!]
x-x-x-x-x-x
"You said you knew where she was.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “Tell us. We’re getting her, no matter what. It’s going to be messy and violent.” His eyes dropped to her lightsaber, lingering on it and everything he knew it stood for. “If you’re going to have a problem with that, then stay here.”
"They have a saying about healers, Makiel," Zashii replied with freakish calm. “Those who know how to put you together… also know how to take you apart."
There was a small beat of silence as she let him digest her meaning.
"I intend to dissect these people. Now. My visions tell my Ryza is in Shadowtown. A dangerous, unsavory area. But I see you are prepared; and Cyraas can hold his own," she added.
Zashii didn’t mention herself. It wasn’t worth mentioning. If they did not know by now that a Jedi could handle herself, they would learn in very short order. As would those who dared hold her friend hostage. Take her away from Zashii. Hurt her.
She would stop the pain, and inflict it ten thousand fold back on those who deserved no mercy.
They didn't even see them coming. How could they? No, they did not see the danger until it was on thier doorstep, in the form of a squad of soldiers in plain armor, a redheaded man with unerring aim.... and a woman, a woman who flickered in and out of the gloom like a terrible ghost, wielding a yellow and black blade- but worse than the blade, and burning hotter, were the molten eyes under a darkened hood.
Imperials, prisoners- the smart ones fled as much as they were able. The stupid ones ended up dead, gunned down or carved into pieces and left in the streets. Cyraas had disabled communications and security devices. There would be no help for them here.
Not unless you counted the oblivion of death.
For they had taken what was hers, hurt her friend, tortured her, and she would make them all suffer for it.
With her saberstaff she was a creature of lightening and the shadow of a storm, using the Force to vanish and reappear and slice and vanish once more, a terrifying thing to face. Behind her, Makeil and his squad blew the enemy to bits, and she did not need to look to be able to know that Cyraas was hard at work as well. She could feel the latent Force Sensitive's pulse in the life energies of the universe, but it was peripheral. She was focused on someone else's for now.
Hold on, Ryza. I'm coming.
Zashii didn't see the concerned look her smuggler friend [more?] gave her back as she cooly cleaved a man from nose to navel. The guard slumped. She was stepping over his body before the flesh finished cauterizing.
A door. A simple, single door between her and her goal.
The Jedi healer didn't smile, but she did give a single, soft 'heh'.
"Sweetcheeks?" Cyraas moved to her side. "Want me to slice it?"
"...Not necessary. A moment, Captain." Zashii placed her hand on the door and tilted her head slightly.
Sudden screeching, metallic sounds filled the air and made him wince, though she made no move to cover her ears. The door buckled, crumpled, drew inward on itself like it was collapsing into a single point of gravity. It ripped from it's thick reinforced hinges, compressed into something the size of a beach ball.
"They'll know we're here," Mak observed.
"Excellent," Zashii said. How dare they. How DARE they. Take and hurt my friend, while I am protecting the Order, unable to help her- no, it shall not stand, let them come. Let them see my power.
LET THEM SEE WHAT I AM CAPABLE OF.
A thought, and she faded out of sight, just as the first patrol team thundered around the corner in response to the wooping alarm. Makeil hurled a grenade thier way, and so did Cyraas. Zashii sheilded herself from the blast with half a thought. She did not think to wonder where this power came from, where before, she struggled under the burden of Sheilding the members of the Order from the Plaugemaster. She didn't wonder why the dark whisper was silent for once in her head, nor why the candle sputter of a life fading from the Force made her want to grin. She took damage but didn't feel it, didn't care, it didn't matter, she could not be stopped.
Screaming. It went from professional to terrified as they moved through the complex. Ryza was close. She could feel it, a thready beat of life, in agony, but alive.
Zashii needed to know where. So the next patrol that came around she decimated, all but one poor ensign, who she slammed against the wall and held there.
"Ryza Adaria. Where is she?"
"I-I-I-I-"
"WHERE?" Zashii hissed, stepping closer to him.
"I'm not- I don't- I'm new here oh please don't-"
"Liar. You. Will. Answer. Me."
He made a gurgling scream, one cut short as she closed the distance between the two and put a finger on his forehead- she was inside his mind between one breath and the next.
The ensign's screaming rose a notch in volume and desperation.
She dug deeper. There has to be- yes. Here. An image, faintly and in passing, of a mirialan in a cell.
"Silence," she told the boy, and his scream was cut off mid note... but his mouth was still open even if she'd jut severed his vocal cords with the Force. That took care of the noise, but it didn't quite have the same effect. No. He needed to die. But more importantly, he needed to suffer.
His cracked airless shriek went higher; blood began to drip down his face, first from his ears, then from his tear ducts, his nose; a rapidly growing stain on his pants said he was bleeding through EVERY orifice. It smelled warm and metallic and lovely. She dropped him. The ensign writhed on the floor in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood.
And he was still screaming.
"...Uh, didja, uh, get what y' needed, Zashii?" Cyraas asked. Makeil didn't spare the boy more than a moment's look.
"Yes. He didn't know anything, but he saw her."
"Ah, gotcha. Pity y' had t' do that t' him t' get him t' talk."
"Oh, no, my dear. I liquefied his kidneys after. He'll be dead in fifteen minutes, but he will not enjoy them," Zashii answered conversationally, and moved past him as he gaped at her with real concern now. The edge of her robe left bloody trails on the floor as behind them, the boy still screamed.
The Jedi consular blew a hole in the next wall and they continued through the base, killing everything in thier path. There were no survivors. Zashii ensured it. Any who were not killed immediately she executed with a flick of her wrist, leaving hot metal gashes in the floor and severed heads behind her.
Around the next corner was thier goal. The team of rescuers stopped. A man, in a dark robe, was there. He had an unsheathed blade spitting crimson venom.
Zashii laughed.
"What's so funny, Jedi?" he snarled.
"Well, it could be yer face. Y' got an ugly mug there, boy," Cyraas cracked.
"You- when I'm done with this Jedi dog here, after I make her watch me eat her cute little friend's eyeballs, then I'll make you watch me have my way with them both before I kill you."
"Unlikely." He turned back to Zashii at that single chilly word.
"Think you can match powers with me? I am Sith. I've been here for weeks, pumping this girl for information. I'll make you beg just like I made her!" he howled, and threw lavender electricity at her.
But she didn't move. In fact- With a swelling of the Force that would make any Sensitive's hair stand on end, she merely deflected it to one side with her bare palm. It was easy. So easy. Fools.
Zashii's blade sprang to life.
"My turn."
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Cyraas knew something was off, had been since they left the hotel, and she was wearing those strange dark robes- but never in all his life did he expect Force Lightening from Zashii Narlu'un, Consular, scholar, healer. The intensity of it cracked the air and blew back her hood, revealing the formerly peridot eyes he was used to. Except they weren't her eyes at all. They glowed with something that consumed her from the inside, oozing through the cracks in her mental barriers, turning them a fearsome YELLOW.
He knew a moment of fear.
She was smiling, a cracked and broken slash of elegant lips twisting her face into half a snarl as the Sith screamed.. Cyraas holstered his gun and ran for her.
"Zashii! Zashii! What're y' doing? Stop- this ain't you, this ain't my Jedi! What'd Yuon say if she saw y' like this?! Zashii!" No nonononono this ain't workin', this ain't working, no I will NOT lose her too- not t' this!
The smuggler grabbed her hands in his, her snapping purple lightening hands, and was instantly suffused with pain, but he didn't let go. He'd never let her go. She needed him-now more than ever, even if it felt like all the muscles in his body were on fire and popping like hot piano wire and he gave a strangle cry despite himself.
It stopped. He buckled, dropping to one knee. The sith behind him fell a la sack of potatoes style. The third degree burns on his face were clear evidence that he was dead.
Cyraas looked up, gasping.
"I- I- I-.... Cy-Cyraas?" Zashii asked in a terrified tiny voice, suddenly a completely different woman.
"Heh... Heya, sweetcheeks..." Oh, stars an' space don't never let me do somethin' that damn stupid agian. My errythin' hurts.
"You-"
She didn't finish, Makeil moved past both of them.
"Later, you two, we need to get Ryza out of here," he snapped.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Zashii backpedaled away from Cyraas on the floor and the cell door Mak was currently hacking. She felt sick and shaky. And-
She'd hurt Cyraas. CYRAAS.
What is wrong with me?
The humm of a deactivating force feild drew her attention away. Ryza!
Curled in a fetal ball in a corner was a green sack of bones and bruises. The place smelled like excrement and blood and lightening, not all of it new; and the walls in the Force were drenched in terror and despair and pain. Zashii went to her.
"Ryza?" she asked, very softly. "Ryza, it's me, Zashii. And Makeil, and Cyraas. We're taking you home."
She was mumbling something. Zashii leaned in to hear.
"...please no more please no more what do you want I told you already please no more please..."
"Ryza-" The way the former smart-talking smuggler flinched when she touched her made Zashii see red again. She barely controlled her urge to destroy something, someone, anyone. Slowly she helped her sit. "Look at me. It's Zashii. Remember?"
"...............K-K-Kid?" Slowly, Ryza uncurled and looked up.
And screamed. The sudden BLAST of overwhelming panic/fear/despair/pain/terror sen Zashii staggering as if from a physical blow. Ryza kicked out at her, despite her weakened state, and clawed at Mak when he went to her.
What the...??
She didn't stop until he'd applied a sedative, a strong one, and she slumped into his arms.
Zashii stared, confused and hurt. Cyraas came up behind her, limping a bit.
"Hey, sweetcheeks."
Oh Force. Cyraas. The knot returned and she felt sick again. "I- Cyraas- You- I-"
"Shhh." He put a finger on her lips and smiled gently. "S'alright. Kay? Yer alright. But- Mebbe it's best if y', uh, don't be around her for a bit." He nodded to Ryza, far too skinny and beaten. "Till you, um, lose the eyes anyways."
The consular stopped. "...Eyes?"
"Uh, yeah. Might wanna put somethin' on yer hands too. I'm- ok, just all wierd n tingly hurt and not in the good way, but you... I mean, void damn...."
Hands?
She looked down.
Where the Sith dead on the floor had third degree burns, so did she: horrific spiderwebbing ones from her wrists to her fingers, charred flesh in a grotesque tattoo marking where the lightening sprang from her fingers. The pain hit her then, almost overwhelming, and she became aware of a hundred other hurts and a blaster bolt wound on her side. Everything swayed. Zashii put out a hand automatically to catch herself on the wall and nearly screamed herself when she did.
Cyraas caught her.
He always catches me, she thought, dizzy. Why is that?
It was there she saw it. In the mirror bright, polished metal of the torture chamber walls.... the eyes of a Sith looked at her own reflection in utter horror.
They were her mother's eyes.
In her head, faintly, someone laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.
"No. Oh, no...." He got to me. He got to me. I'm not safe, I'm a danger- I'm- I failed, I hurt Cyraas-
Zashii yanked away from his warm supporting arms. "Get- Get Ryza to- to my ship, superior medical equipment, kolto tank- I- I- I have to-I'll be back-"
She vanished. Cyraas leaped forward to keep her from running and swore as he missed her by less than half a second.
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“You said you knew where she was.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “Tell us. We’re getting her, no matter what. It’s going to be messy and violent.” His eyes dropped to her lightsaber, lingering on it and everything he knew it stood for. “If you’re going to have a problem with that, then stay here.”
"They have a saying about healers, Makiel," Zashii replied with freakish calm. "Those who know how to put you together... also know how to take you apart."
There was a small beat of silence as she let him digest her meaning.
"I intend to dissect these people. Now. My visions tell my Ryza is in Shadowtown. A dangerous, unsavory area. But I see you are prepared; and Cyraas can hold his own," she added.
Zashii didn't mention herself. It wasn't worth mentioning. If they did not know by now that a Jedi could handle herself, they would learn in very short order. As would those who dared hold her friend hostage. Take her away from Zashii. Hurt her.
She would stop the pain, and inflict it ten thousand fold back on those who deserved no mercy.
Rescuing Ryza [with Ryza, Mak, Cyraas, and Zashii.] Also known as Why You Do Not Want To Fuck With The Healers.
Taris faded in the window from her view as Cyraas's ship jumped to hyperspace. They were finished there. Master Tyken was healed.
Yet-
Yet Zashii could not bring herself to be happy. Her worst fears were confirmed by the blood chemistry analysis she just performed.
The healing technique taught to her by the Noetikons was not just taxing her. It wasn't just slowing her reflexes and diminishing her powers with every soul she put herself between, defiant in front of the elusive Man in the Shadows, this... Parkanas. It was not a matter of 'heal one person too many and this will kill you', as she previously assumed.
It was a timer. From the moment she first used it to heal Master Yuon, she started the clock on countdown to her own death, a countdown that sped up exponentially for every person afflicted by the Plague that she healed.
I am dying.
There is no death, there is the Force. But she didn't want to meet it just yet. Short of stopping the illness at the source, the Plaugemaster himself... There was no cure for this. She was going to die. Not immediately. Not even soon. But she would die.
Oh, how rash those words now, spoken in the ruins of the Temple.
But- her life for the Order. For stopping this terrible affliction that would ruin the Jedi utterly if left unchecked. Her life for thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands, depending on how the plague affected those inevitably missed by the Jedi, those ordinary folk with a touch or more of sensitivity.
Her life, possibly for Cyraas's as well- if he contracted it...
....As fair a trade as anyone can ask, I suppose.
Except-
She gulped, and hung her head in a rare moment of weakness.
I don't want to leave him.
I can't get attached- or, attached any more than I already am, she admitted to herself. He won't understand I have to do this. He won't... Force bless him. He won't understand that sometimes there are no tricks, no third options.
I just don't want to hurt him, any more than I know I will when I- when I'm gone.
Force.
The quiet of the smuggler ship's medical bay offered no comfort and no answers. She felt old and exhausted in every way possible. There wasn't even energy left for tears. Lack of sleep and the toll taken on her body was beginning to tell.
I will fake it. Somehow. I have to, at least for a little while. Until I... figure out how to tell him. IF I'm going to tell him.
"Yo, Zashii! We'll be at Nar Shadda in three days. Time for din-"
The redheaded smuggler in her door stopped as she turned around, his stormcloud eyes narrowing in concern.
"You ok, sweetcheeks?"
Sweetcheeks.
She nearly broke.
"Fine. Sorry. Tired. The technique, you know. I'll be alright. What did you make?" she asked, smiling at him. Something flickered in his eyes.
"Sure? Ya look tired." He walked over to her and put a hand on her forehead, as if she were a small child.
"Cyraas. Please. I'm a healer. I know when I am sick. Sleep has not been forthcoming as of late. you know that. It's no wonder I look tired. Now, what did you make? I'm hungry." She ducked under his arm.
"Well, good, ya never eat 'nuff as it is. Get some more meat on those bones, girl!" He started on the latest concoction -no doubt the kitchen was a greasy mess- and gestured as he talked, leading the way. She followed behind him.
Dinner was waiting, as was he. For now, that was enough. It had to be.
Beryl Thorne was, by all accounts, a decent woman. Even if she was a little questionable in her legality, her heart was in the right place. Zashii saw that for herself when they recovered those ancient heirlooms. But now-
Now, Zashii struggled to meditate because the little green monster in her chest wanted to go back in time and drag Cyraas away from her, and indeed, FAR away from Taris.
He isn't yours, not like that, not exclusively. Force, woman, what did you expect, for him to be celibate just because you're tagging along on his adventures? It makes complete logical sense that he... seek comfort in the arms of someone else. It's not a big deal. Get. Over. It. No attachment. You know the rules as well as anyone and the consequences better than most.
But the image of... Of him emerging from that building, hair mussed, shirt on backwards, and in the Force- well. There was no mistaking what he and Beryl were doing in there. And it BOTHERED her. A LOT. It set her teeth on edge. It hurt her.
And that was a whole other bag of cats she wasn't willing to go into.
Attachment. Emotion.
Kriffing Force.
She could not let this affect her or her work. She had a lost Jedi Master to find. She needed to sleep, or try, though sleep was not forthcoming of late, not without nightmares and visions and darkness. She had work to do.
And- and... If he liked Beryl, then- then she would smile and support that and say nothing. Not one damn thing at all. In fact, she wished him well. Beryl seems like a nice woman.
Maybe if she kept repeating that, she could make herself believe it.
The exhausted blonde turned over on her side and sighed, long and soft, where no one would hear it.
"That is most generous, masters. However- I am forced to decline. I have already secured passage indefinitely on a different ship." Zashii bowed to the assembled Jedi before her, including Master Satele, who arched an eyebrow. "There is no need for me to have one of my own. Give it to another Jedi whose travels take them among the stars."
"A different ship? When? How?" Master Kaedan demanded. She faced him with equanimity.
Though the healing technique sapped her strength, and dark circles ringed her green eyes, she stood tall. Physical aches and pains were just that, physical. I will not show weakness in front of them.
The Plaugemaster, the Man in the Shadows, the one responsible for all this.... he's still out there. I have to find him.
"A freighter, but according to her captain, one of the fastest and best, despite her appearance. I thought that if the Plaugemaster was watching, perhaps it was prudent that I go 'incognito'," she explained patiently.
"Wise," Syo Bakarn nodded, smiling gently.
"Your captain- he is this... Cyraas, the human with the red hair you are often seen with?"
Zashii didn't start, but she did flick sharp eyes to Master Satele, who smiled serenely, knowingly- a bit of mischief in her eyes? A touch of knowing to that raised brow?
It made her uncomfortable, which she stepped on severely. I have nothing to be ashamed of. Why do I feel like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar?
"Yes, Master Satele. He was my passage off Ord Mantell. Since then, I've found him to be a valuable source of information that Jedi normally aren't privy to." A moment of hesitation. Then she allowed herself a small smile. "He's also excellent backup in situations that call for a different skill set."
"He's not one of those smugglers, is he?" Kaedan growled. "No good lot of ne'erdowells and criminals."
"He's a perfectly legitimate businessman."
Now she was SURE Satele's lips twitched in a repressed smile.
"What does it matter, Kaedan, as long as he is effective and discreet? He IS discreet, isn't he?" Syo added, directing that last comment to her.
"Yes."
"Very well then." Master Satele stood. "We hate to ask more of you when you have already... sacrificed so much. But I fear we must." For a moment, she looked suddenly old, and so very sad. It was gone almost as soon as it came.
"Thank you, Masters." Zashii bowed to them as one. I need to be going. There are things I have to do before I leave. Supplies to requisition, and I'd like to talk to Kixi before I got about that letter...
"May the Force be with you, young Jedi," Syo said solemnly in return. "And... good luck."
xx
"Zashii- a moment, please."
Startled, the consular turned. Satele smiled gently as she stepped out from a corner. The Senate halls were plushly floored and muffled her footsteps. Of all the people she did not expect to see...
She faced the other, older Jedi, bag with her few belongings in had, lightsaber on her utility belt, ready to leave. Satele still had years and years of experience on her, but she felt... older, now, infinitely so, after Coruscant, after sacrificing part of her soul to keep evil at bay, and after wrestling with the knoweldge that she would do so again and again, perhaps until it killed her.
I don't feel like a padawan anymore, she realized suddenly.
...Fascinating.
"Can I help you, Master?" she asked politely.
"No, no- I came by to see how you are feeling. What you did was no small thing, and neither was the toll exacted."
"I'm-"
"Fine?" Satele asked. Her smile went crooked and widened.
Zashii looked down, pink.
"Yours will not be an easy path, Zashii, nor well lit. Be careful. Not just for the Order, but for yourself, as well."
"...Master? I'm afraid you've lost me."
"Your 'perfectly legitimate' captain friend."
Oh, kriff.
Satele met her eyes.
"Master Jaric didn't notice, but I did. You think of him often. He is important to you. A good friend," Satele said.
"I am well aware of the dangers of attachment." It came out stiffer and more defensive than she thought it would, and Zashii winced. "I- I'm sorry. That was..."
The Grand Master of the Jedi Order waved it off.
"I know how... easy it is, how slippery the slope." THAT caused Zashii to snap her head around and narrow her eyes. What did she mean? Had she...? "As long as you are aware of the consequences as well, I am satisfied."
"I am."
"I know. But knowing in here" she tapped Zashii's forehead "and knowing it here" she tapped her heart "are two very different things, and precisely why the Order advocates ration over emotion."
Zashii nodded, silent.
Her point was pointed indeed, and not just because she was more right than she knew.
"And I am likely worrying far too much. You are a strong, capable Jedi in your own right, and the Force moves around you in ways that I have never seen before, Zashii Narlu'un. Whatever your destiny is... you better get going. I've held you up long enough." Satele bowed to her, a bow Zashii returned.
"May the Force be with you, Master Satele."
"And also with you."
Attachment...
Zashii turned, took a deep, cleansing breath, tried to clear her thoughts.
She couldn't think on that now. She had a ship to catch.
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