Private Where the Light Doesn't Reach

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Nysa did not answer immediately. The words lingered in the humid air between them as she steadied herself, one hand curling subtly against the damp fabric over her ribs. The world had not begun to spin, but it had grown quieter. Every time she reached beyond herself in such a way, something was left behind. It was a familiar cost.

"It is enough," she replied softly, though whether she meant herself or his concern was difficult to tell. Those green eyes of hers, lighter now than a moment before, crashed against his lighter blues.

At his question, her expression shifted into one of quiet contemplation. "It's old," she paused,"the language of souls." Not untrue. She left it there. She needed water. She needed to sit. She needed to get to the extraction point. That whirling of the world only continued in the corner of her vision. Fingers tightened into the fabric of her damp tunic. Her boots dug into the mossy jungle ground as she turned her back on the jedi and his noble brow and cut a path into the tangled mire surrounding them. She found comfort in its depths and darkness.

Her frame was all delicate lines, narrow shoulders tapering into a willowy figure that seemed better suited to drifting through the world than enduring what the jungle had to offer ahead. And as the spinning in her vision increased, she began to fall sideways.

Loren Ardemark

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Language of souls....

Perhaps that was why it sounded so beautiful. And so dangerous. The chant lingered in his ears like silver chimes. A frown perplexed the Jedi's brow as the strange woman turned away from him and ventured deeper into the mire, boots pressing down the flora where she trod and leaving a trail of footsteps in which he followed.

Still clutching a hand to his side, Loren could scarce believe what she'd managed. He traced a finger across the burn scar where once he'd been lain sorely open by the Sith's blade. His thoughts were clouded by pain and the presence of the Dark Side in this place just as much as his exhaustion. Mystery clung about this woman's narrow shoulders, wrapping around her lithe frame as though a cape.

But it seemed her power and mystery did not come without a price.

Loren felt her fall a moment before it happened, a flicker in his mind's eye in the Force.

The Jedi darted forward, oversure of his abilities in his state. He wrapped his good arm about her waist and caught her before she toppled into the mud and the mire beneath their feet. But his boot stuck in the mud and the wounded Jedi toppled over as well. The best he could manage was to land on his back so that he might cushion her fall and keep her from the mud by using his own body to break her fall. His shoulders struck the ground hard and he grunted in pain, his newly healed wound flaring with white hot agony.

"Ah," he gasped, laying there panting for a moment before he could manage more, "Nysa... are you alright? I'm sorry. This is my fault."

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

The world came back in pieces. And a familiar voice from far away. First came the sound of insects droning somewhere beyond the reeds. Then the damp heat pressing against her skin, the scent of stagnant water and moss. Lastly came the dull ache that settled through her limbs, heavy as though something essential had been drawn out of them.

Nysa's dark lashes fluttered as she sprawled across the hard lines of the jedi beneath her. Her dark, wavy hair would tickle the skin of his neck and cheek as her head shifted. Her mouth dangerously close to the corner of his. A small breath against him.

"Water," her voice seemed as small and far away as she felt.

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Water...

Loren fished in his utility belt. Jedi did not run about with canteens, but the Order did not send him off into the hot marshes of this place without any means of sustenance. He clicked open the flap of a pouch and pulled out a small packet. Using his teeth, he tore open the top and carefully held it up to her mouth and tipped the contents in.

"Drink this,"

A teal liquid poured out.

"It will hydrate you while I..." he looked around, his brow knitting together in apprehension. They needed a better source of water. Nothing but bog around them. Had he not crossed a creek to get here? He could purify the water from there with the Force and she might be able to drink that.

"There's a stream not far off. This should hold you for now," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Can you stand?"

Loren answered by getting to his own feet and trying to help her up. The mud and brackish muck squelched underfoot. The back of his robes were now coated with the filth. All around them was naught but the incessant buzzing of insects. Millions of them. The very trees around them seemed to be alive with strident hums and chirping. Loren grimaced. The heat here was oppressive. What sort of people called this planet home?

"Come on, let's get moving."

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Loren Ardemark

Head tilted and lips parted. The strange teal liquid slid across her tongue, cool against the dryness in her throat. She swallowed slowly, her brow knitting for only a moment at the unfamiliar taste before the relief of it settled through her. Dark lashes finally fluttered open.

"Thank you," she said quietly. The words did not come easily. Any discomfort at being atop him or this close proximity was not revealed. She watched him search the marsh with an urgency he tried to hide beneath calm instruction. It struck her as curious. He had every reason to leave a stranger to her fate, yet he remained. Whether it was duty or simple compassion, she could not tell.

Nysa hesitated only a moment before accepting his help up. She allowed him to pull her to a stand, her elegant fingers, still cool to the touch, sliding into his own. The world had stopped spinning. Though she found herself leaning against his support longer than she would have preferred. A faint breath escaped her as she steadied herself.

"I can walk," she assured him, her voice a balming breeze in the humid air.

Her gaze drifted across the endless marsh, lingering on the stagnant pools and twisted trees. There was life here, hidden beneath the stillness. She took a few careful steps. Boot squelching in the soaked muck. Fingers brushed along her thigh for a moment. She felt that subtle shift in the air around them. Then she froze.

"We're surrounded," her whisper was calm even as her stomach clenched. A slow glance upward. "Get to the trees but don't run."

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Loren's spine stiffened at her words and he tried to avoid immediately glancing around. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, then he steadied his breathing as best he could in his state though the drum of his heart still beat a quickening tattoo.

Glancing briefly up at the treetops, he thought he saw a rustling. It must be a rustling, for there was no wind here to grant slight relief from the accursed heat. Loren ran the back of his hand across his brow to wipe away stinging sweat.

He walked swift as he could beside Nysa, their passage through the marsh slowed on account of the boggy nature of the soil beneath them - mostly muck with scant few patches of hardened earth.

"What are they?" he said in a whisper as he leaned close to her.

This close, through the stench of the marsh, he caught a note of smoke and incense from her and those dark tresses. His brow furrowed and his fingers moved almost of their own accord to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber at his belt.

The Force warned him of looming danger, a tingle down his spine. But its nature was amorphous. As inscrutable as the morning mist in the marsh.

Ahead, as they made the treeline, he took another step only to go completely still at the sound of a rumbling, low growl from the bushes.

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

The low growl that rolled through the trees was not the uncertain warning of a frightened creature. It was deeper than that. Older. A sound that carried hunger, territorial anger, and the certainty of something that had already decided what stood before it.

Her eyes shifted toward the brush.

"They are hunting."

The bushes ahead trembled.

Nysa's gaze narrowed slightly as the shape within the foliage moved. Too large. Too deliberate.

"Tigers," she breathed. Powerful predators that did not hesitate when they had chosen their prey. Her attention moved briefly to Loren, catching the way his hand hovered near his saber.

"Do not run." A simple instruction. Not because she doubted him. Because she knew what fleeing from a predator often meant.

"They will see it as weakness." The first flash of fur appeared between the trees, eyes reflecting in the dim marsh light. Incantation in that language was muttered on her lips and the shadows grew and lengthened around them even as the second tiger appeared. With a blink, her form seemed to melt away and into the shadows themselves.

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Loren almost scoffed.

Run? Him?

He was a Jedi Knight, a scion of Tapani. He would not run.

A low growl emanated from the depths of the trees and seemed to vibrate through the depths of Loren’s entire being. His knees felt like liquid and his heart fluttered. The urge to run grew almost overwhelming as his blue eyes stared ahead, wide and afraid.

He breathed in and out quickly, the air sawing in his lungs. Two enormous furred shapes approached him.

Loren looked over, “Nysa we-“

But she was gone.

“Nysa?”

Loren looked back at the still approaching beasts, they had their maws open and fangs flashed within.

Struggling to recall his animal training, Loren reached out to them in the Force and tried to blanket them with a sense of calm and peace.

“Good kitties,” he started backing up, “Shh. Stay.”

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Nyra's figure flickered into existence near the edge of the trees across that small, misty clearing. A high-pitched whistle sounded and arms waved at the tigers before her figure darted across the grass like a ghost gliding across the ground, heading toward the midnight depths of the gnarled trees. One of the tigers near Loren turned, and pounced after the movement it saw. Powerful muscles taking it away.

The other one stayed locked on the jedi.

A different set of invisible eyes watched not too far away. The hilt of a familiar weapon clutched in the witch's hand.

 

[Loren Ardemark]

The tiger darted off after what appeared to be Nysa, but Loren frowned - both because one tiger stayed behind to stare at him like it invited him to dinner and forgot to mention he was the main course and because Nysa’s presence in the Force still seemed to be nearby somehow. Loren’s lips firmed into a line. He must be more direly wounded than he thought or Nysa possessed powers far beyond mere healing.

”Shh,” Loren stretched out a hand.

The prospect of the tiger pouncing on him and shredding him seemed all too real. But Loren had no desire to take out his lightsaber and cut down a beast this beautiful. That seemed so wrong. It was merely hungry.

“It is ok,” he said, sending out a ripple in the Force of placidity and an absence of violent intent.

The tiger paused.

“I am neither food nor foe, friend,” Loren smiled wearily as he took a step toward the tiger, pushing through his own fear and letting himself go in the river of the Force. That flow surrounded him and the tiger both, awash in a tide of serenity.

The beast stared at him with amber eyes, but did not retreat its spring forward. Step by step, Loren drew nearer to it until at last he placed a palm on its forehead.

“Hello, you are a beautiful beast,” he said, smile broadening as he took in the tiger’s stripes and coloring. Incredible.

The tiger pushed back against his palm and chuffed.

Well. Crisis averted.

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

The witch had remained wrapped in the shadows, watching the exchange with the sort of quiet fascination most people reserved for sunsets or peculiar clouds. Curiosity won over any fright. Rathtiir tigers were rarely as simple as the stories people told about them. With a silent yawn, the shadows released her and she stepped quietly next to Loren.

She wandered closer only once the great cat had leaned into Loren's hand, its rumbling chuff rolling softly through the clearing. The corners of her mouth lifted into a small, absent smile.

"It's curious that everyone assumes the tiger changed its mind," Nysa said quietly. "Perhaps it simply discovered you weren't pretending to be something else. Creatures usually like honesty. I imagine it's rather lonely being treated as everyone's worst expectation."

The tiger blinked slow amber eyes at her before giving another contented chuff, its tail swaying lazily behind it. She was close enough for the tiger to see and notice her, leaving the last bit of distance entirely to the animal to decide what it wanted to do. The dagger she'd held in the shadows sheathed before she stepped out.

Nysa took out her comm, checking coordinates. The jungle had begun to settle into the softer sounds of approaching evening, the birds changing their songs as the light filtered through the trees in long golden, eerie ribbons.

"Oh," she said at last, as though she'd only just remembered something important. "We ought to make camp before it gets dark."

Her gaze drifted toward the canopy overhead.

"I think this little one knows the woods rather well." She nodded toward the tiger. "If it decides to stay nearby, we'll probably sleep more soundly than we realize." She began to walk across the clearing, toward a small pool of water that was big enough to be a swimming hole. At the very least they would have more water.

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Loren started as Nysa just appeared next to him.

"Force!" he exclaimed, eyes wide and hand jerking back from the tiger.

The tiger seemed amused.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Loren followed Nysa toward the water pool.

"Are you sure? If we push on maybe we can make my ship before last light."

But that would be foolish, he supposed. If Raltiir tigers were out here, who knew what else lurked. More Sith perhaps? Glancing over his shoulder, Loren saw that the tiger had not left but was had followed them and was laying down near some bushes. Interesting.

"No... you're right. I'll make a fire."

Taking out a flint and tinder from his belt, along with some fire starter, Loren began the process of scraping together enough dry materials to spark a flame. Then he looked around for some dry sticks. He snapped one, testing the wood to see if it was too wet.

"Nysa," Loren began, "What... what are you, really?"

Sitting back on his heels, he fed the halves of the stick to the small but growing flame. Red-orange light reflected in his blue eyes, he looked up at her.

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Nysa watched the flames dance for a long moment before answering.

"I'm not entirely sure there's a simple answer." She smiled with quiet amusement. "Simple answers are usually the least truthful ones."

"I've been called many things. Some kind, some frightened, some terribly inaccurate." Her eyes flicked toward the tiger, who seemed perfectly content beside the bushes. "It doesn't seem especially concerned."

She gathered water into a hollowed out piece of wood. Dropping in some treatment drops from a pinch on her belt. Then she dipped her hands into the pool, bringing up the water to trickle down her face and neck.

"Perhaps I'm just someone who's here with you tonight. Sometimes that's enough."

A pause as her hands lowered. Moonlight catching on her glistening skin. So pale she seemed to have an ethereal glow. “Will you go back to the Jedi? I’m assuming with the High Republic?”

There weren’t many Jedi left. The assumption wasn’t something she had to reach for.

 

[Loren Ardemark]

The young Tapani man nodded to himself at her words, vague and amorphous as they were they made a kind of sense. He massaged his hands in front of the flame. As the last of the light died on the horizon, the putrid heat of the swamp gave way to a bone chilling and wet cold.

Being here, surrounded by the jungle and unable to see further than the treeline, was unsettling for Loren.

"Yes, I report to the Order now," he frowned into the flames, the heat warming his palms and his cheeks, "All I have left, besides my family."

He took in a deep breath, then winced at the pain in his side.

"Someday I hope to see Pelagon again. That's my homeworld," he glanced up at her, then back to the dancing tongues of fire losing himself in coruscating shapes, "Great, glittering blue expanses of oceans. Vast and endless. Far as you can see. And the smell of salt air. The cries of the birds overhead... I miss it."

Loren pursed his lips.

"I do not know if I will ever get to see it again."

The Tapani man glanced at her again, "But tonight I suppose I am just someone here with you... and the tiger."

A smile curled the corner of his mouth.

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Brow furrowed thoughtfully as she brought some of the filtered water to the fire. Sinking to a cross-legged position next to Lorn, she placed the water between them. Hands reached forward, soaking in the warmth the fire had to offer.

Dark eyes, like the jungle around them, sweeping the landscape. She did not sense any immediate danger. “Rest, Loren,” Nysa said quietly. Nightsister magic weaving in her voice. A whispered caress that would try to lull him to sleep. A test of the bond she held between them with that prick of her dagger, earlier.

And if it worked?

She would gently catch his form, placing his head in her lap. Gently running her fingers through his blond strands as she remained on watch. A quiet glance to the tiger. The beast would sense her intentions. And she meant him no harm. At least, not tonight.

Maybe he would dream of the home he lost not so long ago.

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Sleep drug at his eyelids, which grew heavier and heavier. Her words carried to his ears like a gentle lullaby. Loren's head nodded forward, jerked up, then nodded forward again and he tipped into her arms. A vague awareness of the witch's fingers running through his hair came to him as he drifted off in her lap.

When he dreamed, he dreamed of Pelagon. Wind-swept oceans, the cries of the gulls, and the smell of saltbrine. The sound of snapping sails awoke him, then he realized it was just a gust of wind through the giant leaves of the trees above. Daylight filtered through the canopy. Groggily, Loren stirred, pushing himself to his feet.

Strangely, he felt well rested despite everything.

"Nysa?"

He looked around.

Gone.

A low rumble came from behind him and Loren turned around, eyes wide.

"Oh, hello."

The enormous Raltiir tiger was still there, staring at him.

"I guess she's gone."

The tiger growled again and Loren felt it as an obviously in the Force Bond between tiger and man.

"I should get off planet. Do you... want to come with me?"

Food?

"Yes, I have food."

Meat?

"It's freeze dried."

Ok. I come.

The tiger stopped licking its paw, got up, stretched, and padded over to Loren's side.

"Now... where did I park my shuttle?"

* End of Part 1 *

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

​

Part II

Dathomir

Loren Ardemark

The last potion hadn't worked. Its dark purple contents that smelled like lavender sat half-drunk upon the dark-wooden table next to the old leather couch. Nysa had been on and off dozing in a fevered sleep. For nearly a fortnight. She'd used to get this way as a child. Whispers because it was how she'd been born. That ethereal connection she shared with the Netherworld.

The witch wasn't sure what it was this time.

She'd felt it coming on when last she'd journeyed to the Nether upon Abregado-rae. Being back home on Dathomir usually helped. But this time something felt off.

A dark green blanket entangled her clammy form. Dark tresses of hair loose and fanned in a wild wave upon that dark leather's surface. Her form shivered. Body and soul reached for something. Searching for help. Fevered dreams swirled in her mind and magick slithered within her blood. There was a faint glow of green from her skin and eyes as she called upon someone.

Crackled lips mouthed his name within her abode upon the rocky outcrop.

Loren.

A siren's call. A desperate plea. Her body trembled again. The sickness taking over.

✦
​

 

[Loren Ardemark]

Across the galaxy, a Jedi Knight heard the cry of the Nightsister and answered it. No matter that the call came from Dathomir, deep in the heart of Mandalorian Empire territory, where they murdered Jedi for sport at the behest of their Sith overlords. Loren Ardemark journeyed there all the same. His cloaked shuttle touched down near a hut, high in the mountains. He ventured the rest of the winding path up the mountain to her hut on foot, accompanied by an enormous furred beast that padded along beside him.

Loren surveyed the hut set onto the side of the mountain. The term did not actually do the construction justice, for though it was no domed palace of Naboo it certainly was an enormous construction, though he wondered if some of those timbers were bone and not wood. When no one answered his knock, he looked down at the beast beside him.

"Guess we have to go in, Prince?"

The tiger licked a forepaw and across their bond Loren felt a flash of emotion that was more or less: Obviously.

Loren tried the door and found it unlocked, he pushed it open and stepped inside. His calf-high boots clicked on the wood floor. Looking around, he saw the interior cluttered with shelves which in turn were cluttered with old scrolls and parchment and bound volumes that must have been ancient. The young Jedi pushed tousled locks of golden hair back from his face.

"Nysa? Are you here?"

He swallowed and adjusted his cream-colored robes, which he wore above a dark brown tunic and pants of the same. In truth, the witch unnerved him. But she had saved his life once and helped him find Prince and Loren was not the sort who took such things for granted. Loren owed her a debt.

"Hello?"

Nysa Veilwalker

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Loren Ardemark

A whimper would be heard in answer to the Jedi. A soft, pathetic thing. Drifting from
above the set of spiral stairs that wound up to a bedroom loft. Her shivering form entangled in spider-silk sea foam sheets.

Long, dark lashes fluttered open.

Then closed, moving quickly beneath closed lids. Skin was clammy and cold.

Loren.

A call through their bond. Through the force. A brush of a fevered mind to Prince. A familiar greeting to the wild cat. A polite acknowledgement.

Before her control slipped. And her presence faded. Fingers gripped the sheets tightly, body moved restlessly.

Help.