"Yeru." The voice was comforting, the voice of the betrayer.
"I'm here, Master." The Dark Lady made sure, through all her (some would say
over-keen) powers of the Force, that no one, sentient creature or droid, was
listening. She knelt before a holocron, a humble red object glowing with power.
"You've disappointed me. Even though I have been cast into Outer Darkness,
my presence utterly stripped from the Force for millennia, I can still sense you.
Such is my power, and such will be yours if you continue along your path."
Traya paused for a moment. "You're thinking of Kaltas, aren't you?"
"Aye, Master," said Yeru, known formally as Darth Mortis, Lady of Death. "His
is the death that shall complete my power, my presence in the Dark Side. Once
I slay him, I'll live forever, or at least I'll have a reason to. I'll be at peace."
Traya laughed cruelly. "Have you learned nothing? Peace is a lie.
There is only passion." Darth Mortis bowed her head meekly, her
sorrow mixed with anger. "As long as you're a slave to your emotions,
you will not truly master the Sith. Or the Dark Side. Give him up, Yeru,
and die to this frail ghost of your past."
"I can't. How will I complete my power unless I learn to channel my hatred?"
"Hatred may be the Sith way, but it has destroyed as many as it's brought to
power. Stand up, slave." Her voice was cold. "Do you wish to learn my true
teachings? The reason for my fatal Force bond to the Jedi Exile? The secret
to victory, not only destroying the Republic but the Jedi, once and for all?"
"Of course, Master," Yeru rasped, almost weeping now. This was torture.
"What Sith would not want this, after all the years of silence and defeat?"
"Go to your apprentice, Yeru," whispered Traya, "and yield to death's embrace.
Rely on the Force to sustain you, and the Force only. If you survive, I shall
teach you. If not, you'll be no more, but will you care?" The holocron darkened.
Darth Mortis rose from her kneeling position and went to see her apprentice.