After the Fall Chapter 47 - Lost

Lost

Canderous

Ever since taking up with Revan on Taris, there hasn't been a day where I don't wake up and curse the Jedi. Today wasn't any different, but tomorrow would be. Tomorrow, I would thank them.

Carth Onasi fought the Sith Witch in the chamber and I brought the repeater up and fired from a ground position, my own battle cries lost in the maelstrom. Bastila lay curled on the floor, lost in a place where I couldn't go.

The Sith Witch fell, defeated by Carth's blade.

When Carth turned on his own son, things went to hell.

I felt Bastila die in my arms. I know a death rattle when I see one--I've delivered many of them myself. But when she went down into the Force that last time--

The old warriors in our longhalls used to spin tales of the reaper of souls, that collected the spirits of the fallen from the battlefield. The more battle a warrior had seen, the more likely he would be to recognize when the reaper of souls walked among men. And I can't deny that I felt the reaper place his cold hand on her brow.

I dropped my repeater. I have seen and dealt enough death in my lifetime for grief to take on its own exquisite sense of life. I could not ask for a more honorable death for the woman I loved, than to die in battle with clansmen at her side and enemies at her feet.

And I--I was done fighting. Lost.

I smoothed the stray lock of hair from her forehead and tucked the war braids--oh, she called them something different, but they were battle braids to me--away from her face. I could not regret her death, because I knew that she found the core of strength she didn't believe she had. Your funeral pyre will burn high enough to be seen from the Core worlds.

The maelstrom in the room quieted and whatever barrier held me back suddenly disappeared and I fell forward, sprawled next to her.

With a great gasp of air, her body jerked in my arms and her eyes shot open, staring sightlessly up while her mouth worked. The concussion shock of the absence of pressure flattened us. The shock jolted her out of her convulsion and she gasped weakly. But alive. Her blue-green eyes met mine in confusion.

"You came back," I said stupidly. To me.

She smiled weakly. "I--wh--you can't call me Princess anymore."

I must have looked as bantha-trampled as I felt, because she began to laugh. "I'll explain later."

I stood then, hefting the repeater in one hand and holding her with the other. "Is it gone?"

She shook her head. "Only contained. It is beyond our power to destroy it. But it no longer imprisons our friends."

The clatter of swords falling drew our attention away from each other. Dustil had his hand stretched out and seemed to be holding Carth impossibly, his palm flat against his father's chest, while the older man hung in the air, his feet not touching the floor.

I had my suspicions about the kid from the start, and I didn't trust him now. I activated the charge on the repeater and aimed it.

He looked across the room at me, his eyes wide.

"Wait," Bastila murmured. She stretched out a hand and the air rippled with her power. The ripples, however, broke around the two Onasi men and she frowned. "I don't understand--"

"Lady Jedi," Dustil spoke, but it wasn't Dustil using his voice. "I thank you for your assistance in containment. Your comrade has been returned to himself."

Bastila shifted in my arms until her feet touched the ground. She peeled my arm from around her waist and walked forward. I moved, too, unwilling to trust whatever it was speaking out of that kid's mouth.

She stared at Dustil, tilting her head this way and that. "I sense no duplicity from you, and the taint of evil does indeed seem to be tamed. But who are you?"

Dustil let his father go. Onasi went down like a stone, and relieved laughter shook through me. Thank Mandalore he was the one that dropped first. Now I could safely fold my own shaky legs under me on the pretense of helping him out.

He groaned.

Dustil glanced down at him, concern evident on his face, but turned his attention back to Bastila. I kept mine on the kid.

"The Dark One that attacked the hearts of your friends was once a student of mine. I perished to defeat him, and in so doing, ended a cycle of hate. When Jedi reappeared in his sphere of influence, we both returned to consciousness. The presence of Sith allowed him to strengthen and feed, and soon, possess."

Dustil paused, then said, "But why my dad?" He answered himself in that sonorous voice. "My fallen student was once a good man. He let fear and rage and hatred poison him. I believe he found a kindred spirit in your father."

Dustil blinked. "I just answered myself, didn't I?"

I nodded. "Who else is in there with you, kid?"

"Jedi Master Elled Nayal, at your service, Lord Mandalore."

I flinched, I am ashamed to say. "You mistake me for someone I am not."

"Do I?"

I touched my repeater. "I'm Canderous of Ordo, last of my clan."

He nodded. "You have the look of Mandalore about you."

I shook my head. "Mandalore was of Clan Starn. I was one of his Generals, but no kinsman of his."

"Not in my day," the kid replied with a little smile that I instantly wanted to wipe off his face. "The Mandalore I knew had a jaw just like yours, boy."

Being called boy by a whelp like that--I let out a low growl.

Dustil smiled again. "Same quick temper, too, and a skull thick enough to shield against radiation."

Beside me, Onasi laughed weakly. "That's Canderous."

"That's codswallop," I snapped. "Mandalore hasn't been Ordo for at least five hundred standard years."

"I'd say that makes it about time for it to come around again," a voice said from the doorway.

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