Ventress gestured to the skeletons around them. For a moment, her voice caught. “But…I do not know the secret of preserving the fallen, and no one else was left to tend to them…”
“Asajj…” Vos spoke with great tenderness as he reached to touch her arm gently. “I am so, so very sorry.”
For the briefest of instants, the simple sincerity of his words and gesture almost undid her. Ventress slammed the door down on the feeling at once, before she was overwhelmed. She had brought Vos here to teach him of hatred, to make him strong enough to face Dooku, not to comfort her. It was the only way. She knew without knowing how she knew it that Dooku would only be killed by someone with hatred in her—or his—heart. So she disengaged herself and turned to face Vos.
“Don’t be. That’s a weakness. Stretch out your feelings even more, Vos. Don’t hold back. Feel the presence of my sisters—their fear, their anguish, their hatred…It is this you must learn to focus on if we are to succeed.”
Sensing the presence of a living thing, she turned to one of the burned branches. A black snake about half a meter long twined lazily about it, flicking out its forked tongue to smell her. Unafraid, she touched its mind and called it to her. It obeyed, climbing up her left arm to her neck. Its tongue tickled as it touched below her ear.
“My hatred?” Vos laughed uneasily. “That’s not exactly the Jedi way.”
Ventress didn’t answer at once. She watched the snake make its way across the back of her neck and halfway down her other arm. It lifted its head and turned to meet her gaze. Stonily, her eyes locked with its slitted ones.
“As I warned you…to defeat Dooku, we cannot do things the Jedi way.”
Ventress lifted her right hand, and the snake obligingly coiled its first few centimeters about it. Ventress raised the creature so it was only a few centimeters from her face.
Hatred.
The snake hissed, and then began to thrash. Vos started to interrupt, but Ventress lifted her left hand to stop him.
“When Ky Narec was killed, I allowed my hatred to take over.” At the words, the snake’s struggle intensified. Ventress drank in its panic, closing her free hand on empty air as the Force throttled the animal for her. “Hatred gave me access to abilities the Jedi think are too unnatural. But the Sith know that the path to hatred is the path to ultimate power.”
The snake went limp. She let it fall from her hand to the ground, dead. Vos stared at it for a long moment. Then, not taking his eyes from the creature, he began to speak.
“I…I understand your feelings. I also lost my Master. He was killed early on in the war. It was hard to suppress my emotions—the rage I felt at his passing. And I understand your guilt, too.”
He paused for a moment, pressing his lips together, as if not wanting to speak the words. “I was supposed to be his partner that day. But instead, the Council sent me on a separate mission.” His eyes darkened and his body tensed as he spoke. “I always felt that if I had been there, I could have saved Master Tholme.”
Still savoring the snake’s torment, Ventress noted the hatred building in Vos. “I remember that battle,” she said, sending him encouragement to dive still deeper into his emotions.
His head whipped up and he stared at her. “You were there?”
Too late, Ventress realized her misstep. Fear, usually a stranger, suddenly welled in her heart. If Vos knew, he would— No. She could fix this; she could use Vos’s feelings for her to do so.
“No,” she lied smoothly. “Dooku bragged about it to me. It was he who killed your Master. He even kept Tholme’s lightsaber as a trophy.”
Vos winced. His faith in her words did not waver, and Ventress felt a surge of relief at the fresh spurt of anger she felt from him.
“I never knew,” he said. “The Council never saw fit to tell me.”
Ventress realized that she had cemented his trust in her, given him a personal vendetta against Dooku, and sparked resentment toward the Council, all with a few well-chosen words.
Such was the treacherous power of the dark side.
She lowered her voice till it was a husky purr. “Let that anger guide you,” she said. “Your feelings for the loss of your Master.”
When Vos spoke, staring straight ahead, his voice was unsteady. “I was trained to not use those emotions.”
“Because you were a Jedi,” Ventress said.
He winced at the inflection of her words. “But…I am still…”
Ventress stepped in front of him. Their gazes locked. Vos was trembling. To her astonishment, Ventress realized she was, too, but with what emotion, she could not tell. She stroked his cheek with unsteady fingers, strangely hypersensitive to the rough scrape of stubble, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. His warm, quick breath fanned her wrist.
“There are other emotions the Jedi taught you not to use,” she whispered. “Do you deny them, as well?”
Vos opened his eyes, rich and warm and brown. He stared at her for a long moment. Then, with a sound of both desire and anguish, as if something had broken within him, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Vos’s head and heart were awhirl with emotions as the days unfolded. Ventress was opening him to a new level of being—a plane of intensity, depth, and sharp sensation. She had awakened in him a hunger he had never suspected, though he now realized that other Jedi had known of it. Vos had grown used to being called “unorthodox” and “maverick” for the simple delight he took in his Force abilities. No wonder the Jedi Order had preached against attachment, or exploring the depths of one’s feelings. For who, having once tasted what Vos now shared with Asajj Ventress, would turn away from it?
He reveled in their passion, cherished the sweetness of simply being able to reach out and stroke her cheek knowing she savored the gesture. He realized the emotions to which he was joyously giving full rein had been dormant within him for a long time, perhaps as soon as he had met her on that exciting, frustrating, fun chase for the Volpai. Certainly since she had tended his wounds after they had rescued the Krim family. Now and then, when he held her in his arms, he believed she shared them, too.
When it came to training to face Dooku, Ventress informed him that she would train him as a Nightsister would be trained. “I had conversations with Karis and Naa’leth. They told me of what they underwent. Nightsisters know the dark side better than anyone. We grow up steeped in it, but we can use it as a tool and stay ourselves—unlike the Sith. That balance is what you must learn.”
They established an area as a camp, respectfully gathering the remains of Ventress’s fallen sisters and burying them with care. They went on climbs to build Vos’s strength and agility; hunting trips, to get him comfortable with killing for food; and long runs to build his endurance. It was on one such run that Vos was permitted a brief glimpse of Ventress’s home.
He had seen the large, red mountain in the distance, but Ventress had been taking him on runs in the opposite direction. One morning, though, they ran toward it.
The mountain’s peak loomed larger as they approached, but huge trees concealed the base until they were almost upon it. Here, the damage to the forest was even greater than where Ventress had set the Banshee down. Vos could feel the temperature drop, and faint echoes of the pain the Nightsisters had suffered brushed his thoughts.
Ventress had been in the lead, but now she slowed. Taking his hand, she led him through the trees and to a clearing.
Vos stared in astonishment. It was not simply a mountain—it was a fortress hewn out of one. Massive statues of women had been carved into the mountain’s face, their arms extending upward, appearing to be supporting the weight of the entire vast edifice on the palms of their hands. There had to be row upon row of them, vanishing into the darkness of the artificial cavern’s shadows. Some of the statuary lay broken on the ground, mute evidence of the attack that had claimed Ventress’s clan. Not a few skeletons still lay here, but they were not alone; parts of droids were scattered about, as
well.
The statues were exquisite creations, but it was the enormous carving on the side of the mountain fortress that took Vos’s breath away. It was the stylized face of a woman, her mouth open to the heart of the great stone…structure? Natural formation? The carving was in such harmony with the land that it was hard to tell where nature ended and artistry began.
“What—” His voice was rough with wonder. He cleared his throat. “What’s inside?”
Ventress stood, staring quietly. “My village,” she said. Her eyes were dry, but her pain was all but palpable. Vos squeezed her hand reassuringly, but she shook her head.
“No,” she said. “No sympathy. Only the knowledge that Dooku destroyed everything that was precious to me. You are not ready yet to go inside. But when you do”—she looked up at him with eyes gone cold and hard—“you had better make sure you come out.”
—
Ventress was quiet on the run back, and distant from him the rest of the day. Vos wasn’t surprised. She’d made certain they had not come to the fortress before now for her own reasons—surely one of which was that it would inflict fresh pain upon her.
Vos had known some of the basics of Ventress’s history—the parts that the Jedi cared about knowing, at least. But there was so much more to this astonishing woman than her life as first Dooku’s apprentice and later his most passionate enemy. In her unguarded moments, he could see glimpses of the innocent child she had once been, and in those moments of trust Vos fell deeper into…whatever this feeling truly was.
When they returned to their encampment near the Banshee, she told him she would go alone to hunt their dinner. He spent the time waiting for her cleaning and checking their weaponry, and had a fire going when she returned carrying two medium-sized veekas. A few moments later, the red-plumed birds were plucked and spitted, and an appetizing scent filled the night air.
Ventress’s distant mood was still upon her as they finished and cleaned up. They leaned against a fallen, blackened tree trunk, close but not touching. Vos waited patiently, and at last Ventress spoke.
“Do you remember our first day here?” Ventress asked, turning to look at him. The firelight was reflected in her eyes.
“I’ll never forget it.” Vos reached to touch her cheek gently. Ventress caught his hand and brought it down, firmly but not ungently.
“I was referring to the snake.”
Vos released her hand and nodded. He would never forget that, either; the sight of Ventress summoning the snake to her, and then Force-choking it as it whipped and writhed in an invisible grip. He also remembered speaking of his Master’s death—and Ventress’s revelation that Dooku had been the one to murder Tholme.
He felt the anger gather in the pit of his stomach, a knot that was both icy and scalding. Ventress sensed it and nodded her approval.
“Good, Vos. You can now touch the dark side at will. But it’s one thing to feel those emotions—rage, hate, anguish—and quite another to use them. You must let go of your compassion, and focus on your hatred.”
“And…use them on a living creature.”
“Precisely.”
Ventress extended a hand and made a beckoning motion. Vos saw the glitter of firelight on two small, cold eyes, and then the reptile Ventress had summoned slithered into view. It coiled in on itself, its eyes fixed on the Jedi. Vos regarded it sadly. While he had fully and eagerly embraced the emotions that surged through him for Ventress, willingly drowning in the sensations of passion and deep connection, this was something different. Even had he not been a Jedi, Vos knew he would have recoiled from such senseless killing. And this was as senseless as it got, it seemed to him: killing an animal, a being that was inherently part of the Force and utterly innocent of good or evil, who at the moment had posed no threat at all, simply to go farther down a dark path.
But this was the job he had been sent to do, was it not? This had never been about capturing Count Dooku, or facing him in a fair fight. This mission had, from the outset, been all about assassination. He understood that millions of innocents would survive who would otherwise die if this abominable war continued much longer.
Innocents like Tezzka, Vram, and Laalee.
For the greater good, he thought, and lifted a hand.
Sensing Vos’s intent, the snake reacted immediately. It reared and hissed, exposing sharp fangs.
Ventress’s voice, strong and soothing, floated to his ears through his concentration. “No, gently…you want it to come to you willingly.”
That was worse than a simple attack, but Vos nodded, shifting his energy and his focus. The serpent responded, closing its mouth. Its tongue still flickered, smelling him, but it was curious, not hostile.
“Good,” Ventress said. “Now draw him in. Lower his guard…”
Vos’s hands moved in a flowing motion. In his mind, he saw the snake willingly approach, and a heartbeat later the creature moved over rock and soil, its powerful muscles squeezing and releasing as it propelled itself toward Vos.
Ventress’s voice was almost more felt than heard when she spoke again. “Feel the dark side. It gives you power. You are in command—in control. You can bend things to your will.”
She was right. From time to time, Vos had used the Force to make “suggestions” to those whose minds weren’t strong enough to resist. His interaction with the serpent reminded Vos of those times, except increased by a thousandfold. The snake was not merely biddable—it was enthralled.
Vos shivered as Ventress’s lips brushed his ear. “Now…use that power. Kill it.”
Kill it. Kill Dooku. It was what he had been sent to do, what he must do.
Vos took a deep breath, trying to drop deeper into his connection with the enraptured snake. He closed his fingers slowly, visualizing the snake in his hand, his forefinger and thumb in a circle beneath the creature’s head, throttling—
“Aaah!”
Searing pain shot through him as the snake bit deep. Vos jerked his hand back and the snake, its will once again its own, slithered away with astonishing rapidity.
He clutched the wrist of his bitten left hand with his right one, looking up at Ventress. Her face was harder than he had seen it in weeks, her beautiful eyes once more as cold as ice chips.
“You are not yet ready to face Dooku. But you will be.”
It was not the response he had expected. He looked down at his hand, which was beginning to swell.
“Poisonous?” Vos managed through gritted teeth. He knew the answer even as he spoke. The pain was increasing, and he felt as if he’d plunged his hand into boiling water. At the same time, he shivered. Vos realized he was going into shock.
“The venom isn’t lethal, but it has its uses.”
Dizziness and nausea swept over Vos, and before he knew what had happened he had dropped to his knees. It has its uses? What did she mean by that? Wasn’t she going to treat it? Impossibly, the pain increased. He looked up at her. Her form was shifting, blurring, and her voice sounded hollow and distorted.
“The pain will let you access your rage. Accept it—as punishment for your failure.”
As if her words had been instructions to the venom, torment, exquisite in its intensity, spread through his body. It was as if his heart pumped liquid fire, not blood, and Vos could no longer bite back a howl of agony. He fell to the ground, its hard surface unforgiving, the rocks jutting into his skin releasing fresh waves of pain so sharp he couldn’t believe he was still conscious.
He writhed, screaming, and Ventress stared down at him, her face a shifting mask of implacable aloofness.
And that was a pain far worse than the venom.
Vos dreamed the dreams of the tortured. Nightmare after nightmare crested over him, visions of shadows and slaughter and pain, both caused and received. Through them all danced Asajj Ventress, on her beautiful face every expression he had beheld there and some he had not. But the last dream was not of pain, but of ecstasy, of the tender brush of her fingers on his face, of he
r whispered words…
The touch became cooler, still smooth but textured. Vos opened his eyes to discover a serpent twining about his body, its triangular head slithering beneath his chin. He yelped and sprang back, adrenaline surging through him. The snake, disinterested, slithered away, and Vos forced his breath to slow.
The scalding agony was gone. In its place was sluggishness, as if he were swimming through mud. Mist hung low on the ground, obscuring his vision—or was it the lingering effects of the snake’s bite? No, he could feel moist air clinging damply to his skin. He became aware of a slight rustling behind him. Turning, he was greeted by the sight of yet another snake—this one as thick as his arm and three meters long. He got to his feet and stumbled away from it, moving far too slowly and with too much exertion. The snake was also averse to confrontation, and slithered off in search of its breakfast.
“Time to test your Jedi training, my sweet.”
Vos realized his lightsaber had been placed within easy reach. He had, of course, hidden it from Ventress during their early days together, but once on Dathomir there had been no reason not to make use of it during their hunts. He was certain, though, that he had not had it on him last night. Now he picked it up with clumsy fingers.
Ventress’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. Vos’s thinking was still torpid, and he looked around, trying to spot her, wondering what new lesson she had in store. He heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber and awkwardly activated his own as she leapt on him from above.
Thanks to the lingering effects of the venom—and simple disbelief—Vos registered that she was deadly serious barely in time to step back and parry her strike. Ventress sprang adroitly over his head and Vos turned, again nearly moving too slowly to prevent her from slicing him in half.
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