Bright Shadow Chapter 9

Previous Chapter:  Chapter 8 - Assassination Attempt 

Chapter 9 - Lessons in Redemption

The fifteen minutes Zhen had granted Vycerant had passed. He had limped all the way back to the Sith academy where he had seen the Sith healer. His injury had been encased in a thick layer of bandages and stitches; but only after the healer had used her lightsaber to cauterise the wound first. The process of mending the gash was almost as painful as the moment the shard of glass had pierced Vycerant’s flesh. Using his distaste for the healer’s methods and his warranted lust for vengeance against Doran, Vycerant had pried himself free of the recovery beds and set off for Zhen’s quarters, just as he had been instructed.

Upon entering the Lord’s quarters, Vycerant found his master suspiciously absent. Zhen was usually never one to keep anyone waiting, not even a lowly acolyte such as himself.

Deciding to await his master’s arrival, Vycerant scoured the shelves that dotted the walls of his master’s room; an incredible collection of artefacts, rocks and hunting trophies coated the walls of Zhen’s office. A tooth from a Krayt Dragon, a helmet from an archaic Sith Lord and a block of obsidian said to be over one billion years old and from a planet destroyed during a galactic supernova. All worthless trinkets to the other Dark Lords, of course. The other Sith never shared Zhen’s appreciation for the history of the galaxy.

So this is why Zhen is so different than the others. Vycerant thought to himself. ''Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. ''Seeing an old lightsaber on the lowest shelf, Vycerant curiously reached out to touch the antique weapon.

“Hands of the relics if you will, acolyte,” said Zhen’s voice from the entrance of the room.

Vycerant’s hands jerked away from the primordial blade upon hearing the voice of his master. He turned to see Zhen strolling into the office with his cape in hand. He folded the black leather in his hands and levitated it into one of the draws in the wall. His once mirror-like boots had lost their shine and were glazed in dirt and grit from travelling in the sand and rock of the Dark Canyon.

Zhen was a meticulous man. He would like to take his time with his operations and pains-takingly orchestrated his masterful schemes. He was still wholly motivated to achieve his objective of reforming the Empire to something akin to his own vision. Even after Vycerant’s close call with death, Zhen had kept his composure and his plans remained unaltered.

Vycerant bowed before his master and waited for Zhen’s permission to stand back up. Zhen merely rolled his eyes as he walked over to his desk and sat in his throne-like chair.

“Do away with the formalities, acolyte,” Zhen said. “You and I have known each other long enough to ignore such pretentious practices.”

Vycerant looked up in confusion. He should have remembered that Zhen was a post-traditionalist and desired a new version of the Empire. The clarity of his master’s vision, however, was still murky to Vycerant. His ideology was riddled with contradictions and Vycerant desired clarity to his master’s plan. His was unsure of Zhen’s endgame, although he knew that he had a significant role to play in helping his master achieve his goals.

“Please, take a seat,” Zhen continued. Vycerant did as he was ordered and sat across the desk from his master, his wound burning slightly as his thigh muscles tensed up.

“You’d best hope that injury heals before the final trial,” Zhen said.

“Final trial?” Vycerant asked, surprised that his master would let him still participate in the last test.

“Of course," Zhen continued with a chuckle in his voice. "You think that one simple defeat against a lowlife acolyte like Doran will change my mind regarding your abilities? No, no, no, you are far too intrinsic to my plan for me to get rid of you. In fact, that’s the reason I’m late. I had to explain my actions to Darth Oddisor. Let’s just say he was less than pleased with me interfering with your little skirmish."

Vycerant felt as if a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The burden of worrying about Zhen’s punishment had been stripped from his mind. His mouth hung ajar, looking for the right words to say to his master. He wanted to thank him for his mercy, but no words were said.

“No need to thank me, acolyte,” Zhen said, once again reading the mind of his apprentice. “Let’s just say you owe me one. Fair?”

Vycerant nodded at his master’s conclusion. Although he was now freed of his anxiety, dozens of questions now filled the void in his mind where his nervousness had once been.

“Why me?” Vycerant asked simply. “Of all the other acolytes, why me? You saw what happened tonight. Doran had me defeated. You could have taken him on as an apprentice. But you still chose me?”

Zhen took a moment to consider his apprentice’s query. “Ever heard of the Voltrans?” he asked, leaning back in his large chair. “They’re an insectoid race that built an Empire on the planet Voltrus Prime.”

“Never heard of them,” said Vycerant.

“Their homeworld also happens to be the same place where the old Sith Dynasty were defeated a-hundred years ago. The Voltrans allied themselves with the Jedi and baited the Sith armies to come to the planet. The Voltrans slaughtered the Sith through their superior sense of unity.”

“Sense of unity?” asked Vycerant, curious as to where Zhen’s story was going.

Zhen nodded at the acolyte as he leant forward in his chair. “The balance of power between the people and their rulers is a fine one. There was an old rhyme that united the Voltrans and kept their government in check. A sort of binding constitution, if you will. It stated, ‘Upon this mound I build my keep, as the poor and sick gently weep. The machine of war fuels the fire, while the piles of bodies grow higher and higher. When the time for battle arrives at my gates, the mood of the people becomes agitate. There is no support in my people left, as the gap between my head and neck is cleft'.”

Vycerant stroked the bone spurs that protruded from his chin, letting his mind try to decipher Zhen’s words.

“Without the voluntary support of the people, the system will inevitably collapse,” Vycerant concluded.

Zhen nodded at his apprentice’s partially accurate deduction. “There is more to it than that; no matter how tight the iron fist of a kingdom clutches onto its people, there will always be people who slip through its fingers. An oppressed people will have no commitment to an Empire that holds them back. In the face of the destruction of said Empire, the people will gladly swap allegiances if the ruling regime collapses. This rhyme implies that the government must be kept in check and willingly supported by the people or it will corrode and fall from within.”

Vycerant nodded but did not say a word. He wanted his master’s monologue of wisdom to continue. “I wish to transform this Empire from within. But I cannot build a new kingdom on rotten foundations. My efforts are mired in politics. In its current state, the Empire is weak. Destitute in its ability to rule the galaxy. It’s perfectly possible for the Sith to conquer the galaxy and take it from the Republic. Dare I say it would be easy. But we will have a hard time holding it. Uprisings from across the galaxy will force us on the defensive and eventually our Order will collapse. The people of the galaxy must be willing to submit to us. To let us take the helm of the galaxy. Otherwise we will never rule the galaxy. At least not for the long run.

“My ambitions are being adjourned by my rivals and my only hope is you. This is why I need an apprentice like you, Vycerant,” he continued. “Someone with your moderate mindset will bring help me bring about a new age to the Empire. An acolyte akin to Doran will simply bring more senseless destruction without purpose. Kristina and Belushi do not have the stomach for a mission such as this, despite their skills. They are comparatively weak. But someone like you will bring the stronger ideas. Which is why I am not incensed at your defeat at Doran’s hands.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Vycerant said, aghast at his master’s bizarre forgiveness.

Zhen smiled at his young prodigy. "Besides, Doran's already in the pocket of Dulcia. None of the other Lords want to admit it. They know its against the rules. Even Oddisor is aware of her favouritism with him. However, Dulcia has too much power. It's not necessarily her political influence that they fear. They fear Dulcia herself. She's an expert in torture and a deadly foe with a blade. Most Lords stay out of her way and let her do what she wants. Things like that cannot be allowed in our Empire. Lords running wild with their power, abusing it at every corner. That was the old Dynasty's way, and that's why it lies in ashes today. Emperor Anaxun made the right first step in outlawing the power struggles but Kalluux has done nothing to mitigate it further. We're slipping back into our old ways and we cannot allow that to happen."

Zhen looked down at his desk and an expression of stress came over him. “Can I trust you to assist me in my quest, Vycerant?” he asked at last.

Vycerant looked down at the floor briefly, quickly considering all the events that have led to this moment; the death of his parents, his life as a vagrant wandering the streets of Vortem, his relationship with Kristina and his bitter rivalry with Doran. He knew that if anyone were to help him survive in the Empire’s cruel hierarchy, it would be Zhen.

“Normally I would say something like ‘do I have a choice?’ but now I see that there is method to your madness,” Vycerant said, making Zhen chuckle slightly. “Ever since my parents died, I’ve been looking for my place in the galaxy. And I think I’ve found it by your side. There are times when I wonder what I would possibly be doing if you hadn’t found me in Vortem. Would I rather prefer to still be a beggar on the streets of that derelict city? Or would I prefer to be here; on the verge of becoming apprentice to a Sith Lord? The amount of power I’ve been presented with over the last few years has opened my eyes to my true potential. And if I was offered the opportunity to do something that would make a difference in this galaxy, to transform the Empire into something I would be proud to serve, I would take it. Because it’s all I have left now.”

Zhen leant back in his chair, pleased with his apprentice’s outlook on his future. The child he had found in Vortem three years prior had grown into something he was somewhat proud of. “Then let us pray you are ready for the final trial,” Zhen said after a brief silence.

Vycerant suddenly felt his stomach churning. It still hadn’t registered with his mind that he was on the verge of finishing his life as an acolyte and beginning his life as a Sith. With the death of Doran’s henchmen, there were now enough candidates for the last test. Himself, Belushi, Kristina and Doran will be faced with a fight to the death that will eliminate one of them. In front of a crowd of jeering Imperials, the four young neophytes will face their toughest challenge yet. Vycerant and his two allies will combine their efforts to at last defeat Doran. Vycerant would finally be free of his nemesis and allowed to ascend the Sith hierarchy with Zhen as his guardian angel.

With Zhen’s approval, Vycerant left his master’s office and headed back to his quarters to see Belushi and Kristina, no doubt to be greeted with a myriad of different questions. His mind was not set on the words his friends will say. He was converging his hatred against Doran and preparing his mind and spirit for the final gladiatorial battle. But something lingered in the back of his mind; a seed of doubt. Hopeful as he was about the upcoming trial, his thoughts were wracked with concern. A flower of scepticism had blossomed in his head. What if Kristina is killed by Doran? What if Belushi dies at the hands of his nemesis? Yet, through the painful contemplations, he buried it under thoughts of hope for the future. He could not afford to waste his time on disconcerting ideas.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to supress the unsettling feelings, subconsciously it remained in his mind. No matter what happened during the last trial, one of them was going to die.

Next Chapter:  Chapter 10 - The Final Trial 

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019