CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ONCE SAFELY WITHIN THEIR SHUTTLE, ARTIE, ANAKIN, AND OBI-WAN FINALLY ALLOWED THEMSELVES A BLESSED MOMENT TO BREATHE.

     Though she could not be close to Anakin and it wounded her, Artie was beyond relieved — truly, she felt she could weep — to be away from Mortis. Obi-Wan had been rather quiet since they boarded, but because Artie watched him so much she could tell some of the tension had left his person. Her head danced with thoughts of Coruscant, of seeing Rex and Padmé and Ahsoka; they'd been gone just a day, and yet it felt like a bitter and endless lifetime.

     The ship's engines roared, the thrusters whined, and they were off.

"Rest, Ani," Obi-Wan commanded without looking behind him as he guided them through the atmosphere. "You need it."

Anakin looked like he wanted to argue, but he complied without any voiced complaint and in mere minutes he'd dozed off in one of the narrow bunks cut out of the walls of the ship. Artie listened to his steady breathing for several moments before joining Obi-Wan in the cockpit.

"Great, he's asleep," she whispered, climbing into the copilot's chair. "Now we can gossip about him."

Obi-Wan chuckled dryly. "Do you really think he would have a problem with being talked about, good or bad?"

"No, but I wanted us to seem very considerate and non-malicious," Artie jibed back, earning a crinkle-eyed Obi-Wan-smile.

"I want to understand what he did," Obi-Wan said softly after another minute's quiet. "With the Son and Daughter . . . do you really think —"

     "Yes," Artie blurted out.

    "You didn't let me finish."

     "He conquered both sides of the Force," she said blatantly. "The Council said that wasn't possible. For anyone."

     Obi-Wan stared out the viewport. "No one knew it was."

     More than she was afraid, Artie was agonizingly curious. How could she not be? The man she loved was perhaps capable of the most tradition-defying use of the Force — she had more questions than she knew how to articulate.

"Do you know what the Father said to him after he sent us away?" asked Artie, drawing a leg into her chair, resting her chin on her knee.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. "I believe he wanted Anakin to stay. To take his place on Mortis."

"Why does the Father need replacing?"

"I . . ." Obi-Wan did not look at her, tightened his gloved hands on the steering, "I don't know. But . . . I dread the reason. I hope we've left them and their family affairs behind."

Artie wondered how wise, thoughtful Obi-Wan could be missing the glaringly obvious solution to their questions — perhaps he could not bring himself to. "I'm sure he told Anakin why."

Obi-Wan gave her a slightly exasperated look, like he had been trying to close the door on the topic and she had pried it back open. "If you want to deal with waking him, be my guest."

Artie smiled amusedly despite Kenobi's displeasure. "You're too sensitive to his attitudes, Master."

"I don't like upsetting him," Obi-Wan defended. "It just gives him kindling for future arguments, and he always picks them at the worst times."

Artie laughed and got to her feet, stretching out her arms, feeling stiff enough to have been carbon-frozen for days. "He's got no perspective. But you know that by now."

Obi-Wan laughed dryly but did not say anything more. Artie swayed out of the cockpit and into the main hatch where Anakin dozed. Just as she entered, he began to thrash on the stiff bed compartment, gasping as if someone was delivering physical blows. Artie loped to his side and his blue eyes snapped open.

"Ani," she began gently, already almost trembling with worry, "were you having a nightmare?"

Anakin groaned and sat up gingerly. "Something like that. . . ."

Artie opened her mouth to press him for details when suddenly the ship gave a violent lurch, and she staggered back, nearly losing her balance.

"Well, if you're awake now," Obi-Wan called from the pilot's seat, "I could use some help up here."

Anakin and Artie exchanged a humored glance. The former stood, fingers kneading the back of his neck, and turned his back on Artie for all of two seconds.

It was enough time for a fist to furl out of darkness and coil around Artie's throat.

"Leaving so soon?" the Son's high voice filled Artie's ears; she felt his chest materialize behind her, his other arm pinning her to him. "Hello again, beauty."

Anakin leaped around; the cockpit doors slid shut. "No — let her go!"

Son laughed and Artie felt it against her spine. "But I'm not ready to part with your posse yet, Skywalker! You cannot ignore what you were created for, boy!" His fist tightened so hard around Artie's throat that she could feel her pulse pound through her head, beat against Son's long, cold fingers. Artie's frantic eyes found Anakin's and she saw something in their stormy blueness, something beyond his normal ferocity.

    "Let. Her. Go."

     Son laughed again and forced Artie even closer; her vision splotched and swam and she let out a strangled wheeze. "No. I need you here — and you're not going anywhere without this."

     The drop hatch opened in the belly of the ship and Son launched himself through it, Artie still clutched in an impossible grip.

     She could hardly hear Anakin's shout over her own scream. Her stomach lurched up her throat and sick followed suit — it was a miracle she kept it down. Lightning streaked across the black sky and suddenly a great shadow spread over Artie and rather than hands, scaly talons dug into her chest and shoulder blades as the Son tore through the night in his gargoyle-esque form.

     Artie caught ear of an engine whining some way's behind them and knew Anakin and Obi-Wan were following them. The gargoyle shrieked in rage and lost altitude swiftly, descending into a scape of rocky spires jutting both up from the ground and hovering in midair, so packed together that Artie was sure their shuttle's broad and decidedly unacrobatic wings would catch on the edges and destroy the ship.

Son dove and soared between the spires with great ease, but the wind was torn from Artie's lungs as if she'd fallen hard on her back — for several moments she was sure she would pass out. Suddenly, she became very aware of the shuttle. It was close — painfully close — safety so near Artie wondered if she could kick behind her, clip the nose of the ship —

The Son growled deep in his chest. Artie sensed power building inside him. The next second, they burst through the air, faster than a blaster shot, and this time all manner of breath was ripped from her and she slumped into suffocating darkness.

• • •

ARTIE WOKE UP IN SHADOW, THE SMELLS OF MILDEW AND ROT FILLING HER NOSE BEFORE ANY LIGHT COULD REACH HER EYES. SLOWLY, HER VISION CAME INTO FOCUS and she took in her surroundings uneasily, and with great difficultly, as with consciousness came a blinding pain in the back of her skull that provoked intense nausea.

After a few moments, Artie lifted her head. She tried to rake her hair away from her face but found that both of her arms were shackled to the wall of whatever strange prison she found herself in. The room was vast and round and in the center of the floor an odd pattern of light filled the space, presumedly from a skylight high above, but Artie's view was blocked and she could not be sure. She strained against the irons that bolted her to the cold wall.

"Hey!" she shouted up at the high ceiling, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head. "HEY! Where am I?" There was no answer. Artie's fury boiled deep within her belly. "ANSWER ME!"

"Shh," hushed a high, haggard voice. "Please, stop yelling. Obviously you're in prison."

Artie went still. "Who's there?"

"An old thing," the voice replied. "Old, old, old thing. . . ."

Shadow shifted near Artie's feet and something crept into a pocket of light. Artie fought not to let her unease show, as she did not want to offend, but . . . oh, the thing was nightmarish. A small creature, not two feet tall, with large pointed ears that flopped on either side of its head and spindly limbs that did not match its potbellied body darted around her, eyes all black save for two pinpricks of white to act as pupils.

Like the Son's, Artie thought at once. Something about this creature was most certainly untrustworthy. "Can you help me get out of here?" she asked evenly, trying to uphold an ignorant facade.

"No use," the thing dismissed her. "Escape is . . . impossible."

"Why do you say that?"

"When you've been locked up as long as I have," the creature drawled, stepping into another patch of light and inadvertently revealing the sickliness of its gray skin, "hope begins to fade. You have no idea how long I've tried to free myself."

The impish thing came close to Artie, and to her horror, it leaped onto her shoulder. Before Artie could urge it away, the creature began to fumble with the shackles locked around her right wrist; in a moment, it had them undone. The thing scurried over her head and did the same for her left arm.

"Thank you," Artie said haltingly, wiping a bleeding gash on her wrist against her pant leg. "Why did you do that?"

The creature made a sound deep in its throat — a laugh? "Chains will never be what hold you back. It will always be what's in here," it touched a clawed hand to its head, "that will ruin you."

Artie drew back. Chills crawled up her arms and she felt an urge to kick the thing away. "I don't —"

"You know he's impatient," the creature interjected and suddenly everything became hazy and Artie could not place where it had gone. "You know his loyalty has limits. He doubts you because you doubt him. The very core of your being knows what he is and what he can never truly be."

Artie swayed on her feet. "What — ?"

"You're new to love. You don't understand it. You don't see how easily it can be taken away, how quickly one can grow tired of another."

The haze filled Artie's lungs, it clouded her eyes and plumed within her ears. "You don't — you don't know what you're — he is . . . he is. . . ."

She dropped to her knees, suddenly so sleepy, so empty, so suited to lay down and curl beneath the dirt. Who was she waiting for? Was there someone . . . someone she should get back to. . . ? She blinked and saw blue eyes, light and blazing, hands on her body, one warm and human and the other not at all. . . .

The creature seized her arm and sank its fangs deep into her flesh.

"Argh!" Artie wrenched her hand away, going rigid with shock and pain. "Why — why did you do that? What did you do to me?"

The imp laughed again, but this time it was low and clear and chillingly familiar. Darkness seeped in the corners of her vision and Artie collapsed across the floor as the small creature melted away, and the Son's dead-eyed stare took its place.

     HE FOUND HER AT THE TOP OF THE SON'S TOWER JUST AS HE KNEW HE WOULD. OBI-WAN COULD THINK HE WAS RIGHT ALL THE LIVE-LONG DAY — PERHAPS IT was reckless, and perhaps the Dark Side was eerily strong in this part of the planet, and perhaps they should have sought out the Father before approaching what was so obviously the Son's sanctuary, but Anakin didn't care. It didn't matter. Artie was in the same danger as they and Anakin would die before he left her behind, or even left her waiting.

     But here she was.

     "Artie," he called the moment he knew she could hear him. "Artie! It's me, let's get out of here. It's a long climb, though, so --"

     "Shhh," Artie interjected softly. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see her face, but he realized she was shaking her head. "Hush, Ani."

     Anakin scowled. "What? Artie, are you being watched? Is he here?"

     She still did not turn around. "Do you love me?"

     The question hit Anakin like a physical blow. "Of course I love you."

     How could she doubt it? What had he done to make her unsure, and why was she bringing it up now?

     "Artemis," Anakin ventured, taking slow steps towards her. "Can you turn around, please?"

     She laughed softly, her shoulders bouncing ever so. But she turned to face him.

     Her skin was waxen and webbed with a strange black pattern, like all her veins, her arteries, had been filled with shadow instead of blood. Her eyes . . . Anakin found he could barely look at them. No longer blue, they pinned him beneath a blazing amber stare. He stepped back.

     "This isn't you," he said softly, heart slamming against the underside of his chest. His throat tightened with fear, ice-cold and so potent it dizzied him. "Artie . . . snap out of it."

     She spread her hands and darted insouciantly toward him. "Snap out of what, Ani? I'm awake. I'm free. Two years in that kriffing Order blinded me, it warped me — didn't you know this would happen? Or did they stamp all your fire out, too?"

     Anakin battled conflicting urges to go to her, help her, and to run as far away as he could. "Who's done this to you? Is it the Son?"

     Artie tapped her forefinger rapidly on her nose. "Good guess, General."

     Anakin went still, struggling to organize his racing, panicked thoughts. He had more questions than he had time. "Why?"

     Artie's hand brushed over the hilt of her lightsaber hung on her belt. "He wants you to stay, sweetheart. And he's got a good incentive, too. He says —" she broke off laughing, waving a hand absently before resuming. "He says if you refuse, he'll kill me. Right here, where you'll have the best seat in the house."

     Anakin's terror surged, blooming into anger so white-hot he almost frightened himself. "I won't let him."

She shrugged. "Then you will do it."

In a flash, Artie's white saber burst against the obsidian sky and she dove at him, slashing out with her blade and narrowly missing his throat.

"I won't do this," Anakin said, fumbling to unsheathe his own lightsaber and parry away Artie's attacks. "I won't hurt you!"

"YES YOU WILL!" she screamed. She slammed her sword down over and over, so swiftly Anakin could barely dance out of the way. "YOU ARE DESTINED TO RUIN ME, SO DO IT NOW!"

"Artie — please —!"

     But it was impossible to get through to her. Desperate and terrified of harming her, Anakin threw out a hand and the Force launched Artie backward, her lightsaber tumbling out of her hand. She skidded across the marble floor but rolled to her feet the next instant. She snatched up her pale saber and charged at him again, deep and unfamiliar loathing in her face. Anakin, confused and stunned to silence, maneuvered out of her way, weaving around her attacks and only lifting his sword when absolutely necessary; Artie was a good fighter, but not as good as him. Avoidance was a strategy he could afford.

     Anakin could feel Artie's fury grow with every second she did not kill him, or he did not kill her. Despite his horror, despite his ever-rising panic that this ordeal would end ugly, Anakin could almost laugh at how miserably the Son's plan would fail; if it was to be her or him, Anakin would die without question. If the idea was to push him so far he'd have no choice but to kill her, the Son clearly did not know whom he was dealing with. The day would not come where Anakin willingly put a hand on Artie.

     The next moment he faltered, and Artie used that split second to land a kick square in his face. Presently, the sentiment was not shared.

     When the stars faded from Anakin's vision, he realized Obi-Wan was at his side, lightsaber drawn and narrowed eyes trailing on Artie. "What's going on?" he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

     "The Son did something to her," Anakin said, watching as Artie prowled around them, likely considering the best way to take on two extremely experienced Jedi. "She's not herself -- don't engage unless you have to!"

     With a sound somewhere between a snarl and a laugh, Artie launched herself at them. Anakin kept up his dance of narrow brushes with death and haphazard counterattacks, but with every moment he evaded her, the fiercer her advances became, until it took both Anakin and Obi-Wan rallying against Artie to keep her at bay."

     "Do you have any suggestions?" shouted Anakin as he threw Artie back and the Force carried her several feet.

     "We can cut her free," said Obi-Wan. From his belt, he produced the hilt of a sword, and from it in a plume of luminous green smoke grew a gleaming silver blade. It thrummed with power, ancient power, that Anakin could feel part of him recoil at in outrage.

     He scowled. "What is that?"

     Obi-Wan lifted the blade. "It can kill the Son."

     "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" bellowed Artie from behind him. Her voice echoed with another's, one not her own. "YOU WOULDN'T DARE . . . GIVE IT TO ME."

     She charged again. Then several things happened at once: Anakin glanced up and found that the Father had appeared at the head of the courtyard and looked over them, face blown with urgency and fear. Artie drove her boot into Anakin's chest and he fell hard onto his back, dizzied, and at a loss for breath. A crash sounded from far above and in a shower of glass, two figures plunged from the peak of the tower and hit the ground in the center of them all. For several moments, no one spoke a word. But then the Son rose.

     "So glad you could make it to our little party, Father," he spat. He thrust out his hands and red lightning burst from his fingers, crackling through the air and shooting at the Father, who caught it, just barely, in his own palms.

     "You will stop this," he croaked, shaking with effort.

     The Son let go a cold, high laugh. "You're too weak for me, old man." He pressed forward, lightning surging, bending the Father beneath its power. "You mean nothing to me anymore."

     Night had fallen and a storm rolled in overhead; natural lightning flashed against a black sky while the Son's power mounted. Anakin felt the hair on his arms stand as electricity filled the air. A resounding crack! like a thunderclap shook the night and he watched the Father, overwhelmed by his son's onslaught, fall back, crumple, and go very still.

     "Anakin, NOW!" cried Obi-Wan. He tossed the blade to him, but all Anakin saw was a flash of blonde hair, and the dagger was gone. There was only Artie, blade in-hand, darting proudly up to the Son. She glanced back and threw Anakin a mocking sneer, then turned and held the dagger out to the Son, who grinned wickedly, practically glowed with triumph.

      "Artie, don't," Anakin pleaded, but it was too late. She placed the blade into the Son's white hand and stared up at him in awe, like a hound transfixed by its master.

     "Everything has transpired exactly as I planned," the Son mused, largely ignoring Artie.

     Behind them, the Father got unsteadily to his feet. "You . . . showed them the altar?" His ancient eyes trailed on Daughter, whom Obi-Wan was helping to her feet.

     "I am sorry, Father," she said, voice breaking. "I didn't know how else to stop him."

     The Son chuckled. His eyes found Artie at last. "Thank you, beauty. I'm afraid your usefulness has come to an end."

     He touched two fingers to her forehead and she collapsed to the ground. Her lightsaber rolled out of limp fingers.

    The planet seemed to open up under Anakin's feet. His stomach was in his throat, his very blood turned to ice. It couldn't be happening. "NO!"

     He tried to run to her, to reach her, but the Son warded him away with a calm flick of his hand.

     "The Jedi have brought me the dagger," he declared, lifting the blade high. He turned to face his father. "And you have brought yourself. Now, Father . . . you will die."

     Daughter let out a choked sob. "Father!"

     She leaped in the way of her brother. The dagger ran straight through her, tearing an oozing black wound into Daughter's midriff before disappearing in the same plume of smoke from which it came. The Son staggered back, face slack with shock. He stared down at his own hands in horror, then bellowed an awful scream of rage and guilt. He launched himself into the storm and did not reappear, the only sign of him a sudden shadow of a great leathery wing against the onyx clouds.

     Anakin jumped to his feet and raced to Artie's side, Obi-Wan close behind. Fear rendering him mute, he turned her over and found her eyes wide open and milky-white, like someone had removed her irises and pupils. She did not stir. Her skin was still webbed with black, ice-cold to the touch. Anakin's breath caught in his throat and he found he almost couldn't look at her. It was too terrible . . . it was impossible . . .

     Anakin forced his eyes to the Father, who knelt over Daughter's bleeding body. "Can you . . . can you help her? Please. . . ."

     But he wasn't even sure the old man had heard him. "My daughter," he wailed. "What have I done? The balance is destroyed -- all is lost!"

     The Daughter lifted a trembling white hand and touched it to her father's face. "Do not . . . do not hate my brother. It is . . . it is only his nature."

     "Please," Anakin urged again, tears rising in his voice. "Please, you have to help her!"

     "There is no helping your friend!" the Father lamented. "There is no hope! The light is gone from this universe . . . darkness will consume us all. . . ."

     Anakin climbed to his feet, suddenly furious. "How can you say that?" he challenged. "There's always hope -- there has to be!" His thoughts raced in a petrifying panic. She can't be dead. She can't be dead.

     The Father opened his mouth to refute him once again, but Daughter stopped him. She took his hand in her own and made him meet her eyes and something unspoken passed between them. With a sigh, he stood and guided Anakin to kneel between the two bodies that lay on the ground, between Daughter and Artie. "Then let my daughter's final act be to breathe life into your friend."

     He moved Anakin's right hand to hover above Daughter's forehead, his left over Artie's, and the world burst into white light so consuming it was all Anakin could comprehend. But there was more than just light . . . flashes, here and there, of . . . memories. All of Artie. Her smile. Her laugh. Her hair in the sunlight, her skin filled with the moon. The days they'd spent alongside each other, the nights they'd spent even closer. She was alive. Of course she was. He could feel her very soul, warm and alert, her heart beating strong as ever in her chest. The light faded. Anakin felt the humid night on his skin again. He opened his eyes.

      Artie lay still.

     Despair engulfed him, more crushing than he'd ever felt before. It was worse than losing his mother, worse than --

    Artie coughed. Once, sharply, then again. She sat up, took in huge gulps of air, eyes wild and unsure. "What happened?" she murmured. "Where am I?"

     Anakin wrapped her in an embrace, not caring what Obi-Wan saw or assumed. He released Artie enough to look her in the eyes. "You're safe. That's all that matters." He moved to help her to her feet. "Can you stand?"

     "I think so," she replied, taking his offered hand and getting wobbly to her feet. "But really, what --" her gaze found Daughter's limp and lightless body, and her mouth screwed up anxiously. "What happened?"

     "There's no time to explain," the Father interjected. "You must leave. As my son grows stronger in the Dark, your war will only tear on. He has fallen to the Dark Side, and so the Sith become more powerful."

     Defiance struck Anakin. He didn't want to leave a job undone. "We'll stop your son," he assured the Father.

     "No," the old man resisted. "You must keep him from leaving the planet -- he needs your ship to do so. Take it before he can flee."

     Anakin cast a glance at Artie who, though pale, seemed all right. She remained very near him.

     Obi-Wan stepped forward. "What about you?"

     The Father gazed down at his daughter's body, great heartbreak pressed deep in the line of his face. "I shall mourn all that I have done. . . . And all that is yet to be."

     Thunder shrieked overhead. For a few moments, no one said a word. But soon Obi-Wan started forward, and Anakin knew they were done there. Artie fastened herself to his arm and they followed after him, neither speaking.

     But Anakin was just glad to have her back.

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