Jantar Keltainen
Evil is a word used by the ignorant and the weak
Jantar’s hands moved in a flowing motion. In her mind, she 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 Jantar.
The Zabrak’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, Jantar had used the Force to make ‘suggestions’ to those whose minds weren’t strong enough to resist. her interaction with the serpent reminded Jantar of those times, except increased by a thousand fold. The snake was not merely biddable – it was enthralled.
Jantar shivered as the Zabrak’s lips brushed her ear. “Now...use that power. Kill it.”
She closed her fingers slowly, visualizing the snake in her hand, her forefinger and thumb in a circle beneath the creature’s head, throttling it.
“Aaah!”
Searing pain shot through her as the snake bit deep. Jantar jerked her hand back and the snake, its will once again its own, slithered away with astonishing rapidity.
She clutched the wrist of her bitten left hand with her right one, looking up at the Zabrak.
“You are not yet ready for the training. But you will be.”
It was not the response she had expected. she looked down at her hand, which was beginning to swell.
“Poisonous?” Jantar managed through gritted teeth. She knew the answer even as she spoke. The pain was increasing, and she felt as if he’d plunged her hand into boiling water. At the same time, she shivered. Jantar realized she was going into shock.
“The venom isn’t lethal, but it has its uses.”
Dizziness and nausea swept over Jantar, and before she knew what had happened she had dropped to her knees. It has its uses? What did she mean by that? Wasn’t she going to treat it? Impossibly, the pain increased. She looked up at the Zabrak. 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 Jantar’s body. It was as if her heart pumped liquid fire, not blood, and Jantar could no longer bite back a howl of agony. She fell to the ground, its hard surface unforgiving, the rocks jutting into her skin releasing fresh waves of pain so sharp she couldn’t believe she was still conscious.
She writhed, screaming, and the Zabrak stared down at her, her face a shifting mask of implacable aloofness.
The Zabrak’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, Jantar had used the Force to make ‘suggestions’ to those whose minds weren’t strong enough to resist. her interaction with the serpent reminded Jantar of those times, except increased by a thousand fold. The snake was not merely biddable – it was enthralled.
Jantar shivered as the Zabrak’s lips brushed her ear. “Now...use that power. Kill it.”
She closed her fingers slowly, visualizing the snake in her hand, her forefinger and thumb in a circle beneath the creature’s head, throttling it.
“Aaah!”
Searing pain shot through her as the snake bit deep. Jantar jerked her hand back and the snake, its will once again its own, slithered away with astonishing rapidity.
She clutched the wrist of her bitten left hand with her right one, looking up at the Zabrak.
“You are not yet ready for the training. But you will be.”
It was not the response she had expected. she looked down at her hand, which was beginning to swell.
“Poisonous?” Jantar managed through gritted teeth. She knew the answer even as she spoke. The pain was increasing, and she felt as if he’d plunged her hand into boiling water. At the same time, she shivered. Jantar realized she was going into shock.
“The venom isn’t lethal, but it has its uses.”
Dizziness and nausea swept over Jantar, and before she knew what had happened she had dropped to her knees. It has its uses? What did she mean by that? Wasn’t she going to treat it? Impossibly, the pain increased. She looked up at the Zabrak. 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 Jantar’s body. It was as if her heart pumped liquid fire, not blood, and Jantar could no longer bite back a howl of agony. She fell to the ground, its hard surface unforgiving, the rocks jutting into her skin releasing fresh waves of pain so sharp she couldn’t believe she was still conscious.
She writhed, screaming, and the Zabrak stared down at her, her face a shifting mask of implacable aloofness.