Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [253]
Palpatine’s eyes glowed with power, casting a yellow glare that burned back the rain from around them. “He is a traitor, Anakin. Destroy him.”
“You’re the chosen one, Anakin,” Mace said, his voice going thin with strain. This was beyond Vaapad; he had no strength left to fight against his own blade. “Take him. It’s your destiny.”
Skywalker echoed him faintly. “Destiny …”
“Help me! I can’t hold on any longer!” The yellow glare from Palpatine’s eyes spread outward through his flesh. His skin flowed like oil, as though the muscle beneath was burning away, as though even the bones of his skull were softening, were bending and bulging, deforming from the heat and pressure of his electric hatred. “He is killing me, Anakin—! Please, Anaaahhh—”
Mace’s blade bent so close to his face that he was choking on ozone. “Anakin, he’s too strong for me—”
“Ahhh—” Palpatine’s roar above the endless blast of lightning became a fading moan of despair.
The lightning swallowed itself, leaving only the night and the rain, and an old man crumpled to his knees on a slippery ledge.
“I … can’t. I give up. I … I am too weak, in the end. Too old, and too weak. Don’t kill me, Master Jedi. Please. I surrender.”
Victory flooded through Mace’s aching body. He lifted his blade. “You Sith disease—”
“Wait—” Skywalker seized his lightsaber arm with desperate strength. “Don’t kill him—you can’t just kill him, Master—”
“Yes, I can,” Mace said, grim and certain. “I have to.”
“You came to arrest him. He has to stand trial—”
“A trial would be a joke. He controls the courts. He controls the Senate—”
“So are you going to kill all them, too? Like he said you would?”
Mace yanked his arm free. “He’s too dangerous to be left alive. If you could have taken Dooku alive, would you have?”
Skywalker’s face swept itself clean of emotion. “That was different—”
Mace turned toward the cringing, beaten Sith Lord. “You can explain the difference after he’s dead.”
He raised his lightsaber.
“I need him alive!” Skywalker shouted. “I need him to save Padmé!”
Mace thought blankly, Why? And moved his lightsaber toward the fallen Chancellor.
Before he could follow through on his stroke, a sudden arc of blue plasma sheared through his wrist and his hand tumbled away with his lightsaber still in it and Palpatine roared back to his feet and lightning speared from the Sith Lord’s hands and without his blade to catch it, the power of Palpatine’s hate struck him full-on.
He had been so intent on Palpatine’s shatterpoint that he’d never thought to look for Anakin’s.
Dark lightning blasted away his universe.
He fell forever.
Anakin Skywalker knelt in the rain.
He was looking at a hand. The hand had brown skin. The hand held a lightsaber. The hand had a charred oval of tissue where it should have been attached to an arm.
“What have I done?”
Was it his voice? It must have been. Because it was his question.
“What have I done?”
Another hand, a warm and human hand, laid itself softly on his shoulder.
“You’re following your destiny, Anakin,” said a familiar gentle voice. “The Jedi are traitors. You saved the Republic from their treachery. You can see that, can’t you?”
“You were right,” Anakin heard himself saying. “Why didn’t I know?”
“You couldn’t have. They cloaked themselves in deception, my boy. Because they feared your power, they could never trust you.”
Anakin stared at the hand, but he no longer saw it. “Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan trusts me …”
“Not enough to tell you of their plot.”
Treason echoed in his memory.
… this is not an assignment for the record …
That warm and human hand gave his shoulder a warm and human squeeze. “I do not fear your power, Anakin, I embrace it. You are the greatest of the Jedi. You can be the greatest of the Sith. I believe that, Anakin. I believe in you. I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.”
Anakin looked from the dead hand on the ledge to the living one on his shoulder, then up to the face of the man who