Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [17]
No one loves you. You are ugly, and disgusting, and if you ever thought anyone did care for you, you were tricked and lied to, and they laughed at your gullibility.
A blast of Force anger buffeted him, but he rooted himself against it and continued.
You will never be loved. You will never be adored or cherished. Only feared and hated. And there is nothing you can do, no words you can speak, no one you can become to change that. Luke Skywalker was appalled at what you were, when he truly saw you. He follows you, not as a young gallant, oh no, but to kill you and put the universe out of its misery.
She convulsed, writhing in pain in the heart of the Force, reacting to his relentless attack on her wounded area as if he were ripping at an infected cut in the physical world. Her attack on him changed from a desire to harm to a desire to escape. Elation filled Vol. He only hoped he could survive long enough to deal the killing blow.
You live causing revulsion, you will die that way. You will die now—
He threw everything he had into the attack, slamming his Force self into the psychic, oozing wound as if he were punching a lacerated torso.
NO!
Her pain exploded and hurled him back, releasing him, but causing the most exquisite agony Vol had ever experienced to race through every part of his being.
Vol surged forward out of the dream so quickly that he hurled himself from his bed and landed hard on the floor, where he lay gasping, weak, so weak, sweat-soaked and terrified. He—used to manipulating objects in the Force, leaping great distances, crushing things with a thought—had not the strength of a new-hatched uvak. It was an effort to lift his head, to push himself up off the floor, and the muscles quivered from that simple strain.
Grunting, he dragged himself to a seated position, muscles trembling. It would have to do—rising, let alone walking, would take several more minutes. He summoned his last drop of energy and sent forth an urgent demand to Revar, the young Sith Saber who attended him. Four seconds later Revar burst into the room, lightsaber illuminating the darkness and the younger man’s worried face with an eerie red glow.
“My lord,” Revar cried, lighting the room with a gesture at the same time he deactivated the weapon, “what happened?” He rushed and eased the old man up onto the bed.
Vol opened his mouth, but could not speak. Finally, he rasped, “Abeloth …”
“She was here?”
Vol shook his head. “No. In … dream …” He knew that he sounded senile, but he also knew that there were marks on his body that Revar and others could see. “My ship—take me to my ship. And awaken the Lords,” he said, alarmed at how feeble he sounded. “And the defenses—the city … she is going to … to make the city pay …”
Revar wasted no more time on questions. Using the Force, he lifted his Master as gently as possible, then, holding on to him, Revar raced, with Force-augmented speed, toward the hangar atop Vol’s estate. There was always a small personal vessel at the ready; one never knew when the Grand Lord might wish to depart on short notice.
As they fled, Vol began to weep. Revar was disconcerted, but not so much that he did not pay close attention to the mumbled words.
“Nothing can hold her … Fool to think I could use her … What is she?… Mistake … By the dark, the greatest mistake I have ever made …”
Abeloth had been wandering the City of Glass when she had attacked Vol. She had been enjoying the calmness and prettiness of the place illuminated by the fireglobes, and had been idly thinking about what she might do with it once it came under her control. Should she make this her base, from which to rule the galaxy? It was quaint and charming. Or should she give it to those who had served her well, as a reward?
Too, the attack on Grand