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zargsnake · 2 years

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Through a Blackened Mirror

Chapter 2: The Curse

Word Count: 3471 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

* * *

“Everyone was horrified, but the twelfth wise woman stepped forward. She still had her wish to make, and although she could not undo the evil spell, she could nevertheless soften it.

“‘The princess shall not die,’ she said. ‘Instead, she shall fall into a deep sleep for one hundred years.’”

-- “Brier Rose,” translated by Jack Snipes

* * *

Darth Zaster opens her eyes and sees blurry blueness in front of her. Everything feels fizzy, like a carbonated drink. Fizzy, hollow, and numb. She looks down at her hands. Instead of her brown scales, she sees dashes and dots, quivering scanlines. A holographic projection. Is this another dream? Or did her master’s promise actually come true? She focuses on the blueness in front of her.

Fish. Fish in a tank.

She reaches out, but her hand goes through the glass. She feels nothing, no wetness. The tank curves over her head and below her, a tunnel. She’s never seen anything like it. It’s quite disorienting. But peaceful, she supposes. She looks to the side and sees a figure sitting next to her in the tunnel, silhouetted against the soft glow. She flinches in surprise at the sight of a stranger, but she is too well-trained to make a sound. The boy -- man? -- boy -- is in deep meditation. Her holocron, glowing red, floats between his fingers, which are even redder. She reaches for her holocron, but her fingers go through that too.

Okay. She can’t do anything.

“... Hello, boy?” she addresses him in the ancient, unchangeable Sith language.

He stirs from his meditation. He catches his breath at the sight of her and almost drops the holocron, then places it cautiously on the tunnel floor. A fish, below them, bumps against the holocron from the other side of the glass.

“Darth Zaster?”

“Yes,” she says, surprising herself with her own timidity.

He grins and puts a hand on his chest. “Darth Maul!” His mastery of the language is flawless; their accents are identical. “I...I have been trying to wake you for two years!”

“Two years? Was it really that difficult?”

“Well, I’ve done it all by myself, and only in short, stolen moments. But the whole day is mine today. Perhaps that’s all I really needed.” He shivers in sheer delight, almost as if he is an electric projection too. “Your master didn’t make it easy. Your holo’s probably drunk more than a gallon of my blood over those two years.”

“Delicious,” says Zaster, dubiously.

Maul realizes he is not impressing her. He tries to look cool, but he can’t do it. So he smiles again, his voice full of wonder and warmth. “You’re really here. You’re alive.”

“‘Alive’...in a way... Master Bomes would disagree. He opposed the whole project. He thinks I’m meant to die, that it has always been my fate. And even if it weren’t, it’s impossible anyway; I’m only a student, too young and weak in the Force to linger, even in the most complex hard drive in the most new-fangled holo. That at best, we could only save a diminishing copy of a true spirit. But Master Sunke… He would say ’alive,’ just as you have.”

“Do you feel alive?”

“I feel something.”

“Something is more than nothing.”

“Not always.” Zaster grins back at him, finally. “You’re quite a phenomenon, aren’t you?”

Her smile breaks his nervous energy down. He takes a deep breath and searches through his flickering feelings. He knows there must be something there, behind them all, that he’s never felt before.

Maybe it is peace.

“You’re a glowing feat of photonics and engineering. I’m an ordinary block of meat.”

“I’ve done nothing except die in my sleep. You’re the one who’s awoken the dead.”

Maul waves his hand dismissively. “Anytime, sister.”

“What year is it?”

“By your calendar, 7548,” he says gently.

“Seven thou... You mean I��ve been gone for nearly two thousand years?!”

Now she is the nervous one. He must take care of her.

“And you don’t look a day over eighteen, girl.”

“How is the Empire? How is the war? -- I mean -- how was the war?”

“... Oh, um…”

“We didn’t -- we didn’t lose? Did we?”

“It was a tie.”

“And the Jedi?”

“Yes?”

“Do they thrive?”

“We’re…working on it.”

“Damn it. Those fucking Jedi. Maul, you said? Darth Maul?”

“The one and only.”

“And you are young; you must have a master.”

“Yes, Darth Sidious.”

“Your names are strange, yet I feel relieved to know them. Two thousand years later, and there are at least two of us still remaining.” She laughs, and Maul wilts a little. “What? How many of us are there?”

Black blood rushes to Maul’s face. He clears his throat. “Three.”

“Three? Three, just three?”

“Two, officially. I don’t technically exist.”

“I -- Three? Three Sith in all the galaxy?”

Maul counts on his claws. “One, two… Indeed. Three.”

“Oh, put me back to sleep.”

“Look, it works differently now--”

“My sisters numbered four thousand, five hundred thirty six. In my temple alone.”

“Well you can’t expect that kind of productivity to sustain itself.”

“I think I can expect more than three.”

“Please, let me explain. After your time, we fell into a nasty civil war, on top of the war with the Jedi. Slaughter and excommunication winnowed our numbers down to unrecognizably teeny amounts, and finally, defeat at the hands of our enemy forced us into hiding. Our leader enacted the Rule of Two -- one master, one apprentice. Since then, only two Sith have ever existed at the same time. No more. But no less, either. Never once have we died completely.”

“This is horrible. I don’t believe it.”

“Hey, Zaster, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Maul smiles daringly. “I’m Sith enough for a million Siths. And I am quite alive.”

Zaster grants him another smile, but she shudders; whether from powerful emotions or low resolution, Maul cannot tell.

“Didn’t you say you technically don’t exist?” she asks.

“See? Is there anything more Sithlike? I’m a damn Sith icon.”

Zaster laughs, but her eyes fill with tears. She brings her wrist to her eyes, and her tears sizzle on the holo.

The pain from the static shocks feels more real than any of these other numb sensations; it is so strong that, for a moment, it blocks everything else out. But she knows this trick as well as Maul does. Instead of allowing pain to distract her, she uses it to focus. Her holo glows a little more brightly, though not any more sharply.

Maul is surprised and shaken to see her cry -- Zaster, a famous Sith from their glorious past -- no, she is more than a relic, she is a living person with feelings and fears and desires. He speaks to her in the kind tone he’s only ever heard in stories.

“Your Master, Darth Sunke, died just two weeks after he sealed you away in the holo. He died well; he avenged you by blowing up the New Life Star station. The Jedi haven’t dared to create a ‘medical’ facility of such magnitude ever since.”

“The NLS was a place of poison, not medicine.” Zaster wipes her face again and sets a harder expression. “Two weeks, you say?”

“It is written that his lust for vengeance was powerful enough to drive any Jedi mad, should he have so much as glanced at them. I have no doubt this is true, and yet I sensed in his life and story another feeling, one Sith do not speak of in terms of our own. He missed you. He missed you so badly that he lost the will to live without you. Happily, he channeled that ache into something useful. He was a worthy master of the Force.”

Zaster smiles proudly. “He was the greatest master who ever lived. And I am glad to hear he loved me so much it killed him. My last thought as I fell asleep to die was how jealous I was that the world would have Shell, and I would not. So it’s good to know it only had him for two weeks more than I did.”

“Shell?”

“Yes, Sunke’s name, Shell Mree.”

“That was never recorded.”

“Really?”

“I think names have fallen out of fashion.”

“Names have fallen out of fashion?”

“That’s what I said.”

“How can names fall out of fashion?”

“Well, I don’t have one.”

“Didn’t your mother give you one?”

“I don’t know. I never knew her.”

His blithe delivery of this strange and terrible news disturbs her, but, out of politeness, she hides her judgment.

“They should have written it down.”

“I don’t need one. I am Maul.”

“Does your master have a name? Sidious?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t like it, or use it. I hardly associate it with him. It’s purely for his other life.”

“Other life?”

“Yes, he lives openly as a Senator of the Galactic Republic, and a family man here on Naboo, but his true, secret life is with me, as a Sith. I am the only thing he really cares about.”

“Do you have another life?”

“Nothing so elaborate. I suppose this kind of thing counts as my other life. Secret conversations beyond Sidious’ knowledge.”

“Why would you keep secrets from your own master?”

“I… It’s not like I want to. But it’s the only thing I have that’s all mine.”

Zaster can’t hide the discomfort from her expression any longer. “I don’t like the new ways of the Sith. Not at all.”

“Our ways are good. My life is good. We are very strong. And my master has a great and wonderful plan to crush the Jedi, and democracy, and to order all the cosmos around Sith rule.”

“Where does that leave you?”

Maul answers, beaming, “I am the prince! The inheritor! He is old. He won’t live forever. He is doing it all for me.”

Zaster returns his smile, grateful for the good news. “He must be a wonderful master.”

“Frankly, he’s a piece of shit. But I love him.”

Zaster laughs in surprise. “How can you say that?”

“He’s, ah, not very nice.”

“Is that why you keep secrets from him?”

“I suppose.”

“Well. The important thing is you love him.”

“Was love your way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was love the way of the Sith?”

“Yes, of course. Isn’t it still?”

“Yes. It is.”

Zaster is not sure if he is lying. She has a very bad feeling about this Sidious. “Nevertheless, I’m glad you are the one to wake me, not him. I’d much rather talk to someone nice.”

“Thank you, Zaster.”

“Dreela. Dreela Sage.”

“Dreela,” Maul corrects himself, his heart nearly bursting with happiness. No one else alive knows the great Zaster’s real name.

“What is this place?” asks Dreela.

“This is an aquarium, the biggest in the galaxy. It’s closed, but I snuck in. This tunnel is great for meditating. The glow is a good white-out, and the fish all share communion in the Force, but silently, and in a vicious, animalistic manner that treats me right.”

“You said you had this whole day to yourself, and you spent it with a bunch of fish?”

Maul frowns. “I spent it trying to open your holocron, which has been my greatest desire these past two years.”

“What do you want from me?”

“All I wanted was this. To rescue you. To talk to you.”

“And what will happen to me now?”

“I will keep you. One day I will be the ruler of the galaxy. You can be my advisor. When I am in charge, I will make things the way they used to be. A thousand Sith on every planet. A great empire, with colonies in every system. You were there. You can help me.”

“I’ve been dead for so long. I worry I will go mad.” Dreela’s voice is quiet.

“A little madness keeps the fire alive,” Maul says just as quietly, to comfort her.

Dreela wipes her eyes. “But this will be years and years from now.”

“Yes, but Dreela, what are years to you?”

Dreela smiles at him. “Nothing, I suppose. Maul?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

His heart feels so warm in this chilly tunnel. “You’re welcome, Dreela.”

Dreela watches a shark swim past them. “Maul?”

“Yes?”

Looking him over, Dreela says, “You are the most stunning Zabrak I have ever seen.”

“Oh… Thank you.” Maul blushes again, from pride now instead of shame; his black blood darkens the red in his face a little, which only makes it look richer and more beautiful.

“I have never seen such strong, deep colors, nor such sharp stripes.”

“Thank you,” he repeats, with increasing devotion.

“May I see more?”

Maul smile slyly and tilts his head up. “Of course, my queen!” He unfastens his cloak and starts taking all his clothes off for her.

Dreela holds her translucent hands over her mouth, giggling. “It is so strange to see a Zabrak among all this clear water, and these tame fish! Doesn’t it just flatten your spirit?”

Maul is unbuttoning his shirt; each of his buttons is engraved with a Sith Commandment. “Why should water and fish flatten my spirit?”

“Why, the waters of Iridonia are black as night, and glittering, so dense with the fertile minerals of your home planet. And your fish are all at least 80% teeth, even the smallest toojafish.”

Maul pulls his shirt off his shoulders; Dreela marvels at the markings on his chest. “I’ve never been to Iridonia. I wasn’t born there.”

“A Zabrak? And you’ve never been to Iridonia?”

“No.” He unbuttons his pants. “Is it all that great?”

“You must go. It is my favorite planet. It is -- it was a mighty Sith stronghold! My Sunke was a Zabrak!”

“I know.” Maul thinks of the rows of horns in jars. “I suppose something about Zabraks makes us irresistible to our leaders.”

“Our leaders?”

“Yes. Our leaders. The humans.”

“Humans?” She makes a face. “Those flimsy little things? I guess one or two of them were leaders, historically. But Zabraks are one of the superior species. Zabraks mostly led themselves and always led the inferior species -- humans, even my own species, the Grinanin. All the greatest Sith are Zabrak.”

Of all the strange things Dreela has said about the Sith of her time, this is the one thing Maul cannot believe at all. Of course humans are the only superior species. But the girl has been gathering dust for millenia. He can’t expect her brain to be working quite right, yet. Better to smile and nod. The last thing he wants to do is distress her again.

“Of course. But my master is a human, and he is amazingly powerful.”

“Oh -- I am sorry. I didn’t mean to insult him.”

“Never be sorry. You can say whatever you like in front of me.” Maul lies naked before her, leaning his head on his hand. “The eighth millennia isn’t so bad, is it?”

Dreela feasts her eyes. “Not so bad at all.”

“More stunning than your Sunke, you think?”

Dreela laughs again. “Oh, he was brilliant, but ugly as hell. There was a Force-lightning accident.”

Maul sighs. “Do all great Sith have to get ugly?”

“I hope you don’t. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Stay seventeen.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, posing and flexing for her.

“Where were you born, if not Iridonia?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know you weren’t born on Iridonia?”

“The Force told me.”

“But it didn’t tell you where you were born?”

“The Force is better at yes-or-no questions.”

“It is? I never get such straightforward answers.”

“Oh, it is all due to my master’s training.”

“Really?”

“Hell no. I’m a fucking Force genius.”

“Turn around,” Dreela orders.

Maul obliges. She stares at the stripes down his back, then reaches for him. Her hand passes through him. No matter what she touches, she feels the same numb nothingness.

“Can you feel me, Maul?” she whispers.

Maul looks over his shoulder and meets her eyes with an intense look. Then he closes his eyes and concentrates on her presence. He can hear the hum of her electricity, and, beneath that, the softness of her breathing. Breathing what? Not the air around them; gas particles carry on among her photons, undisturbed. She still breathes the air she died in. Ancient, faraway air, copied into subroutines in her program, circulating according to a relatively simple code compared to the blinking of her eyes and the beating of her heart.

He focuses on his own skin. He can feel the cold air, the colder tank. He can even feel within, his outermost muscles touching his tissues, his blood running up and down. Hotter and faster, but not because of her touch. He cannot feel her.

He rolls onto his back and opens his eyes again. She looks much sadder than she was, but, more alarmingly, she looks much dimmer than she was. He reaches for her hand and pretends to hold it for a second. He makes a small move as if he is tugging it toward himself, but she does not play along. He picks up her holocron.

“I’m sorry, Dreela. I have to turn you off.”

“Can’t you just keep me on?”

“Believe me, I want to. But your projection is running low on battery.”

“Just charge it later.”

“I’m afraid of what will happen if I let it run out.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. My master would have foreseen that eventuality and prepared.”

“I am not so sure.” He sits up, fingers tracing the edges of the device. “I won’t lose you.”

“When will you turn me back on?” she asks.

“As soon as I can.”

“When?”

“I mean it. You are the best thing in my–”

“When, Maul?”

“I don’t know. Sidious was tied up with business today, something about his spy network. I don’t know when I’ll have another day to myself.”

“Then tell him the truth. Tell him about me. He’ll be proud of you for awakening me.”

“But -- isn’t it more fun with just me?”

“Not if I’ll be turned off another 2000 years.”

“It won’t be 2000 years. It won’t even be a week. I will steal time for you.”

“I don’t enjoy the prospect of a lifetime at the beck and call of a lonesome, cocky slave boy.”

“Hey. Leave my cock out of this.”

Dreela snorts in noncommittal laughter.

“Alright, maybe things look bad now,” Maul says. “But one day, I will rule. And you’ll be my right hand man.”

“I’d feel better if I spoke to your master.”

“You really wouldn’t.”

Dreela growls.

“Look, as much fun as this argument is, your holocron needs a couple more volts of electricity and at least another cup of blood. I swear to you, I’ll bring you back to life as soon as –”

“Alright, alright. Turn me off.”

“Goodbye, my darli--”

“Shut it, just turn me off.”

Maul obliges her. Of course it hurt to be interrupted and to be called a slave. But he can’t blame her for being grumpy, and she’s not wrong about what he is.

As he dresses himself, he feels a great burden on his heart, the burden of forty-five hundred sisters on Zaster’s planet alone, the burden of a whole forgotten people. He knows Sidious’ heart, he knows Sidious doesn’t care about their past, their traditions. All he cares about is himself. He gives more time and face to Naboo holidays than Sith ones. His mask is so strong and powerful, and he wears it so frequently, that more often than not it seems like his mask is his real face. Plagueis cares a little more, from what Maul can tell, but Plagueis’ other life of numbers and worldly concerns infects his rigid mind. They are disgraces to the Sith.

Only he, Maul, has the guts, the passion, the strength, the energy, the focus, the horns, the bond with the Force necessary to bring back the ancient ways, to renew them even better than they were. Plagueis can fail in every attempt, and Sidious can sit and stew for years and years, until he’s all rotted away. Only he, Maul, can triumph. He is the true Sith lord, and one day Sidious will see that. And then he will kneel before him, and call him master. Maul’s hands, deep in his pockets with the holocron, shake, as he proceeds out the tunnel, out the aquarium, through the foggy streets to the Senatorial basement that he calls home, his hood up, his face down.

The burden makes his throat feel dry, in spite of all the water in the air. He wonders what fog looks like on Iridonia, if the water there is black.

#my story #my art #through a blackened mirror #darth maul #darth zaster #scifi #fairytale #this is the first part i wrote and it's definitely the worst written... but i still love it #hmu if you caught the reference to a certain 1988 comedy ;)

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