The Valley of Humiliation (Complete)

[Rev Solomon]

"'Woe to the shepherds who are destroying and scattering the sheep of my pasture! Because you have scattered my flock and driven them away and have not bestowed care on them, I will bestow punishment on you for the evil you have done,' declares the LORD. 'I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the worlds where I have driven them and I will bring them back to their pasture, where they will be fruitful and increase in number. I will place shepherds over them who will tend them, and they will no longer be afraid or terrified, nor will any be missing,' declares the LORD."

The message had originated in Wild Space, a voice crying out in the wilderness. It wasn't uncommon for ministers of the Faith to broadcast on interstellar channels. Some used hyperspace communications to preach to parishes many light years across where broadcasting regulations permitted it. But this signal had been relayed on an Alliance military channel via a tight beam transmission straight to the Fourth Fleet. The only identifier on the transmission was in the header: "Attention Commodore Loklorien s'Ilancy."

It was a risk, Solomon knew as the medical shuttle Exodus hurtled through hyperspace toward the Generis system. A risk to expose himself when he was cut off from the Wheel by an Alliance-ordered quarantine, a risk to send a message to a fleet commanded by a Sith Lord, a risk to contact his old friend who, he had every reason to believe, had been seduced by the power of the Dark Side herself. But with the very soul of the Jedi Order at stake, it seemed more of a risk to stay silent.

"I myself will gather a remnant..."

It was a trick common to the Jedi during the Clone Wars. Use an innocuous transmission as a carrier, hiding more sensitive information in the background noise. You could only access the real message with the proper algorithm, which had to be decided upon beforehand. Solomon didn't have the luxury of sending s'Il the password. Hopefully he wouldn't have to.

"There are some people in this galaxy for whom the word 'remnant' carries a special meaning."

The Exodus burst into the planes of realspace, her articulated wingtips glowing with transdimensional energies, over the cerulean skies of Generis. The world was as beautiful as Solomon remembered, a lush dome of sapphire oceans and emerald mountains. It had once been the site of his redemption. Now, assuming Loklorien received his message, assuming she was in a fit state of mind to act on it, it would either be once more a place of redemption or else, if the worst was true, a place of reckoning.

"Lok," he'd said, "I pray this message finds you well. I have sensed a great disturbance in the Force, a disturbance that surrounds you like a disease. It troubles me greatly, and I fear for your soul. If our friendship ever meant anything to you at all, meet me on Generis at the following coordinates. I will wait there seven days for you. Know, Lok, that you are prayed for, and you are loved. May God go with you on whatever path you tread."

The Exodus bloomed with cleansing fire as she streaked through Generis's upper atmosphere toward the mountains of the northern continent, the resting place for the Cathedral of Stars. There was nothing Solomon could do now but wait. s'Il's fate was in God's hands.

[Darth Acera]

It was begun.

The path - the one she had begun down with terrible finality - had now been committed to. It was inevitable now, and her will set to the outcome that her Master had willed. He had demanded her obedience, demanded her servitude, demanded her flesh, and demanded her very soul. She's given to him everything of herself, setting her very being upon his alter. And it was there that he had brought down the knife to rend her asunder. To tear her away from her past and those that had been a part of it. Now, it was only him - Decepis - that was her all. Her everything. Her lord.

In return he'd promised eternal life. To watch as her people flourished once more, as her children spread out into the stars. He'd said that she would have the power to watch her descendants overtake everything.

Both Sith knew that with Zem Vymes' inevitable revelation would come something. What specific event or events the future held neither could entirely know, but they could be prepared. They could, and would, strike swiftly and without mercy.

* * *

It was midnight of the third day of Sol Iman's vigil in the Cathedral of Stars. He had said in his message that he would wait for seven, but the Lupine was loathe to allow him even that much time before meeting his end; before sending him to Weit-Fällt.

In her old life, Acera would have praised the architecture of the cathedral. She would have admired the workmanship that had so beautifully raised such a magnificent structure. She would have likened it to the many abandoned and anciently beautiful structures on her own homeworld.

But such feelings and reactions were from the old way.

Now, as she angrily stalked toward the grand, monolithic doors that guarded the building's entrance, there were no emotions other than impatience.

Sol had become a man of some faith - whatever sort of faith he clung to she cared not for. It made him weak, compassionate, and foolish. That he had given up the Dark for such a pittance as some silly belief was his own loss. She would show to him what exactly it was that he'd so foolishly cast aside. And what he did not want, she now gladly accepted.

The Force, a roiling and angry storm that clung to her, was almost tangible. It held fast to her like a cloak, whipped into a frenzy of wild and untamed emotion as she moved with sure footsteps. It screamed its' siren song of agony to any and all who would listen, calling to them with a multitude of voices that had become merged into one.

A forked tongue of lightning flashed across the sky in brilliant purple and white, illuminating the figure of hate and rage as she continued on, and soon after a peel of thunder shook the very ground.

Acera threw a hand up, her arm sweeping to the side as she pulled upon the dark energies so prevalent around her, and the great cathedral doors were thrown open as if they had been made of flimsiplast. They banged against stone stoppers, sending a crashing echo over everything inside.

Without a pause, without a hesitation in her step, and without sympathy, Darth Acera stalked through the threshold and into the Cathedral of Stars. Intent on only one thing, her single eye cast a diseased yellow glare ahead.

[Rev Solomon]

"...He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul. Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."

Solomon's eyes left the pages of his Book only momentarily as the cathedral doors crashed aside. Then he continued reading.

"...for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table in the presence of my enemies; my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

He snapped the book shut and pushed it down into the breast pocket of his coat, and then he rose from his seat beside the altar. Behind him stood a towering sculpted altarpiece decorated with angels and saints and gilded spires, and behind that was an enormous rose window depicting the sinner's dilemma. The undecided masses huddled in robes of gray at the center while brothers and sisters in robes of white urged them to follow and ascend into glory; at the bottom of the window crouched horrible things that beckoned the crowds to join them in damnation. A flash of lightning illuminated the figures, and for a moment, you could see each one's decision in their eyes.

Solomon stepped slowly toward the center of the platform to face the terror that prowled toward him between the rows of dusty pews. "Loklorien," he said with a face that betrayed nothing. "You've changed your appearance since I saw you last."

[Darth Acera]

Midway to the altar she stopped. She stopped and took in the sight of him as he faced her - looked upon that which he could have been. He had been a fool to turn away, and now on this night he would reap the unfortunate reward for doing so.

Another clap of thunder, and she felt it reverberate through each stone. The Dark pulsed around her like some living, breathing entity, eager for a satisfaction that could only be quenched with blood. Yet, Acera held the monster within on a tight leash; it was not time yet.

She lifted her head to scent the air around her, smelling the dust and age-old odors that permeated the very being of the cathedral. One hand went out to rest atop the back edge of a pew, and her eye tracked across the room before coming to rest on Sol. His face showed nothing, and for as embroiled in emotion as she was, the Sith matched his expression.

So foolish. So bound by the rotten notion of light and dark.

Fingertips curled inward to deliberately gouge small, shallow furrows into the old wood.

Ignoring his statement, Acera chose to cut to the reason behind this summons.

"I see that Zem arrived at the Wheel, then."

[Rev Solomon]

"That was why you allowed him to leave, wasn't it?" Solomon said. He looked his old friend up and down; more than that, he sensed the maelstrom of energies surrounding her, the darkening of the Force as it passed through her aura. How could he have been so blind as not to see it before?

"I won't deny you had us fooled, Lok," he said. "If there's one thing the Dark Side excels in, it's in hiding the truth. It's blinded me before. It put me in a hole so deep I couldn't see my way out. I needed help to find my own redemption. I want to offer you that help now."

[Darth Acera]

Her hand fell away from the pew, and Acera took a step, beginning a slow pace that brought her ever closer to him. His words fell on deaf ears in only the sense that she brushed away the offer. Instead, she mocked him.

"You wish to help me... "

The dangerous, threatening tone of her voice was amplified by the whipping tendrils of the Darkness that surrounded her, and she spread her arms as she approached.

"Look at me - I am what you could not stomach, and you have the gall to say that I need help? That I need - "

She paused momentarily before going on, fairly spitting out the last word with with so much disgust.

" - redemption?"

[Rev Solomon]

"Yes."

Solomon laid his hand on one of the horns of the altar, the spike of marble ice-cold against his palm. There were figures carved there, too, figures from the Book, each one telling a story of grace or condemnation, belief or rejection. But here there was no need for allegory.

"You know the history of the Force as well as I do, Lok. Tell me, when has the Dark Side ever led to glory? Who among the Sith has ever been rewarded with anything but death?"

[Darth Acera]

"My Master."

One foot came down on the first step, and Acera began the short ascent that would take her to the top of the platform. To Sol.

"There is far more to know than the pitiable excuse of history that was taught at the Temple... " Her hand came out in a wide, sweeping gesture, "... far more."

She was halfway up.

"Don't be a fool, Sol."

The Sith extended a hand palm up, the leather of her fingerless gloves creaking.

"Let me show you... "

[Rev Solomon]

For the first time since Loklorien had entered the cathedral, Solomon's face softened, and he smiled in his sorrow. "Lok," he said reproachfully. "There's only ever room for two. Will you take your Master's place, and I yours? Or will the two of us fight to the death for his approval? Tell me, in his plans for you, is there room for a friend? Is there room for your daughter?"

[Darth Acera]

"Oh Sol... "

Her words came out in a quiet, serpentine rebuke, as if cautioning him. Cresting the last step, the Sith curled her fingers inward to make a loose fist before extending them again. She closed the distance between them with smooth steps, her eye never leaving his.

"You misunderstand my wishes. I've no intention of sharing anything with you. You who turned your back on what could have been the greatest thing in your life."

She was close enough to touch him, and her outstretched hand did just that. Fingers went up to run along the top of his clerical collar, and she shifted her gaze to slowly take in with amused arrogance the figure that he now cut.

"I wanted you to see the power that you had at your very fingertips - "

Her hand moved down to thumb the fabric of his coat.

"The power that you could not hold in your grasp."

Her curious yellow stare moved to his breast pocket, and what was contained within it. The Book. His weakness. As disgusted as she was with the notion that some book could offer any amount of salvation, the Lupine could not help her own curiosity. Her fingers traveled once more, lightly moving across his shoulder, across his chest.

"And you should not worry for my daughter... "

With two fingers Acera gripped the book, slowly pulling it out.

"... when you yourself cannot even take care of your own little herd of younglings."

[Rev Solomon]

At this range the darkness that surrounded her was palpable. It had a heartbeat and a breath and a will, and Solomon could feel it bearing down on him, cloying, intoxicating, and damningly familiar. He stood like a monument, merely enduring the tide, until Lok broke the spell.

The preacher's hand darted to the Lupine's wrist and held it - not in a crushing grip, but in a grip that would no sooner give than bonds of gravity. His face had gone as hard as Mandalorian iron.

"What do you know about the younglings?" he rumbled.

[Darth Acera]

One corner of her mouth ticked upward, and she looked up at him. Making no move to pull from his grasp, she simply held the Book - half-way pulled from his pocket - as he held her.

"I know that their numbers have been thinned."

More than that her tone held little doubt as to what she truly meant.

Behind him, the angels and saints that adorned the altarpiece began to slowly shed tears of blood.

[Rev Solomon]

The darkness pressed on him from every side, seeking a seam in his resolve. He also felt his anger boiling from within, righteous anger, justified anger, which, given its own reins, would feed on the Dark Side as a wolf feeds on fresh blood. The two twisted him within and without, urging him to strike down this grinning demon where she stood.

Solomon wavered, but he held his ground as the blood of the martyrs fell like raindrops on the granite platform. "If you wish to confess your sins to me, then I will hear them," he said. "If you wish to boast, you will do so in vain."

[Darth Acera]

With her free hand, s'Il reached up to caress one side of his face as she ignored his last statement.

"She called for you, you know; the Zabrak girl."

Her touch, which had at first been so deceptively gentle, grew firm as her fingers tensed, thumb digging into his cheekbone and the rest splayed out along his forehead, temple, and over his ear.

"Listen... "

And in that same instant Sol's world flashed white as the only thing to reach his ears was the sound of Zyani Asteroth, crying his name.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon had not been prepared for this. His eyes rolled back and his spine arched as the Sith's fingers burned like ice on his face, and Zyani's small voice was a javelin to his heart.

"Solomon! Solomon, help me! Why did you leave me?"

An image of the little girl's broken and mangled body flashed across his consciousness, and he felt his anger rise up within him like a phoenix enflamed. The preacher shouted and threw out his arms, and the Force erupted in a nova all around him, sending Loklorien skidding backwards several meters as her robe unfurled behind her like a flag in a hurricane, and a growl of thunder rolled back and forth across the heavens.

Solomon stood there with his chest heaving as the vision faded. He looked at Loklorien with a calm face but with a storm in his eyes.

"There is anger," he said, his voice raw. "And there is vengeance. But both of them belong to someone higher than I. I pity you, Lok. You've fallen so far in so short a time. What I don't understand is why. You weathered the Purge, the destruction of the Order, the decades of isolation. How has your master turned you against everything you've ever valued? With what price has he bought you?"

[Darth Acera]

Like some beast she stood poised, having weathered Sol's push with a sense of malicious glee. She had felt his anger, rising up within him like a well-spring. It was this that she latched onto.

There was a coldness to her eye, a calculating glint, and she watched him intently.

"I weathered nothing that he did not watch over. Where no one else gave me strength, he did. Where no one else sought to hand to me the chance to bring back my people, he has."

A flash of bright light illuminated only briefly the shadows high above, and in that moment, as if they were nothing but marionettes, the bodies of at least a dozen younglings hung motionless from the upper rafters. Each one stared down with lifeless eyes.

At Sol.

When she spoke again, it was with the voices of those that she had so ruthlessly murdered, each one twisting around the others to create a mangled, haunting sound.

"You should not have called me here, Sol Iman."

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon didn't look at the images. He didn't have to. He knew who it was that Loklorien had conjured - Merran Threl, Lucentia Pavan, Zyani, Arex, Taven, and Resh, all the Padawans and younglings who had gone missing from the Wheel, along with others he had hoped to bring there who had vanished off his grid without a trace. But the preacher's eyes never left Lok, the only person in the cathedral whose soul still hung in the balance.

"Perhaps," he said. "But then, what do I have to lose? Just my life, and I'd wager death frightens you a lot more than it does me. You, on the other hand, have surrendered the most powerful weapon that any Sith possesses: secrecy."

He pressed something in his hip pocket, and there was a throb of repulsorlifts from outside the cathedral, momentarily rising above the storm, followed by the blast of atmospheric engines as the Exodus took flight. She would continue to record and broadcast their conversation to the Wheel for as long as the transmitter in Solomon's pocket remained functioning.

"You should not have come, Darth Acera."

[Darth Acera]

The Sith cast him a cheshire grin, full of malice.

"You know my name then. Good."

The small statues still cried their bloody tears, and in the prevailing silence a multitude of murmuring could be heard. The voices of children, and each one accusing Sol of letting them die. Of abandoning them when they needed him most.

Like whispers carried by strangling winds, every pleading voice wrapped about him like so many coils as if to suffocate him.

Acera, her eye still locked on Sol, started toward him once more.

[Rev Solomon]

"We are all who our masters make us," Solomon replied. "You should have chosen yours better, Lok."

He shrugged off his nerfskin greatcoat, which fell in a heap on the floor, exposing his hand-and-a-half lightsaber.

"There's another reason I called you here," the preacher said. "To let you know, despite what I do now, that I forgive you."

[Darth Acera]

The Lupine only returned his words with a mocking laugh as she too shed her own robe. It fell in a pool of black as she ascended the platform's steps for the second time. She was the picture of ruthless calm, an advancing creature of dark energies and merciless resolve.

"I don't recall asking for your forgiveness."