Palpatine hit the ground, emitting a hiss of pain and anger.  This was a lot more difficult than his Master had made it out to be.  Just subdue a few witches and retrieve their secrets.  Should be easy.  Easy.  Hah.

The Nightsister hovered closer to him, a look of interest on her face, as if examining an unusual insect. He took the opportunity to jump to his feet, lashing out with his lightsaber. 

He recoiled as the red saber hit something unyielding.  Staggering backwards, he looked between the saber and the Nightsister in bewilderment.   

She currently floated serenely inside a green bubble of Force energy, some bizarre conglomeration of Dark and Light powering the thing. 

“You have so much power,” she mused.  “And yet you limit yourself just as much as your foolish Jedi foes do.” 

“And you weaken yourself with your use of the Light Side,” Palpatine scoffed.  He held his lightsaber in a defensive pose now, though he didn’t think it was going to be of much use against Talzin. 

“You admit it then,” she said, sounding intrigued.  “You choose to reduce your abilities.”  

“Hardly a reduction,” Palpatine said.  “Perhaps you are projecting your own diminishment of talent.”

She laughed.  “I see.  Of course.  That’s why I’m losing.”  She put a hand to her chin, appearing to ponder the situation.  “Wait, I don’t believe I am.” 

“You only think you’ve won.”

“Oh, you are an amusing one, Sidious.  We don’t get many outsiders, Sith Lord.  And our men are so--obedient.  They know their place.  It gets a bit boring after a while.  So it’s quite a treat to have met you twice.”

“I won’t say the same.  I liked you better the first time,” he said, grimacing as an attempt to attack her with Force lightning recoiled from that accursed green bubble of hers and rebounded back onto himself.  He stopped the attack immediately. 

Talzin laughed again.  “You mean when I was still half-dead from childbirth?  Still a lowly servant to my own mother?  Don’t you enjoy the thrill of battle with a worthy opponent?” 

“I would hardly call this a battle,” Sidious said, “when all you’ve done is float around in that Force shield of yours.”     

“I disagree.  This has been truly an invigorating experience.  You are like an irascible, untamable rancor.”

Sidious narrowed his acid-yellow eyes.  “I don’t think you are taking this seriously.”

Talzin floated closer to him.  “On the contrary, I am entirely serious.  In fact, I’d like to offer you something--a rare gift.”

Sidious tilted his head.  “Is this another child?  I don’t have need of it.  The last one was perfectly sufficient.” 

“By the Twins, no,” Talzin responded. “But that reminds me--how is my dear Maul doing?”

“He is in good health.  One day he will be a powerful Sith,” Sidious said.  The child was currently being cared for by Palpatine’s caretaker droids.  He had seen Maul a total of two times to confirm that he was growing sufficiently, but of course it wouldn’t be possible to begin his Sith training until he was older.   

“Good,” she said.  “I’ll accept only the best for my firstborn.”

“You mentioned a gift,” Sidious said, curious now what she had meant by that.

“Ah, yes,” Talzin said.   “You came to steal our secrets, did you not?  So I thought I might freely offer you one instead.”  

“All right, you have my attention.”  

She beckoned him with one languid hand, and began floating backwards.  Palpatine followed in anticipation.  Soon they reached a dark pool of reflective black liquid.  Palpatine could feel that this place was not simply an ordinary pond, but a true Dark Side nexus.  She gestured, and he stared at it, transfixed.  “What is this?”  

“We call it a Font of Power,” she said.   “They are unique to Dathomir.  When you drink from this one, you consume pure Dark Side power.  The effects are permanent.” 

Sidious frowned.  “What’s the catch?”  Her words rang true.  His senses told him this place was one of power, and furthermore, power that could be taken.  But nothing could possibly be this easy. 

Talzin’s expression became one of mock seriousness. She put a hand to her breast.  “You’ll feel things.  Emotions are evil.”  

Sidious smiled wryly.  “A passable imitation of a Jedi.” 

“Oh, that wasn’t a Jedi.  That was a Light Witch.”

“They sound pathetic.”

“They are.”

Sidious looked back at the black pond.  “Do I simply--drink it?”

“Yes, that’s the idea.”    

Sidious walked over to the pool and knelt at its side.  He hesitated.  This could be a trick for Talzin’s amusement.  But--the power was real.  And if there was one thing Sidious would never refuse, it was power.  He cupped his hands in the pool and drank.

And felt the Dark Side grow within him.  After that, he drank more of the liquid, and more, until he found he couldn’t bring himself to drink another drop.  “Why can’t I--?”

“The Font will only allow any one person so much of itself.   I confess I was surprised to see that you were allowed as much as you were.”

He stood, feeling invigorated.  He turned to Talzin, a cruel grin forming on his face.  “Perhaps we should have a rematch.”

To Palpatine’s surprise, Talzin dismissed her Force-shield and walked closer to him.  “Are you sure that’s what you really desire?”

“Of course that’s what I wa--” he began, then stopped as she stood directly in front of him.  She really was--quite fascinating.  He took a step backwards, surprised by the intensity of his traitorous thoughts.  He looked over to the pool, then back over to Talzin, his eyes narrowing.  “There’s something you didn’t tell me.”

Talzin laughed.  “You catch on quickly!  I did not lie, though.  It is a Font of Dark Side Power.  It is called the Font of Love.”

“Love?!”  Palpatine hissed.  “I have no use for that.”

Talzin floated away, laughing cruelly.  “It’s too late for second thoughts now, Sidious.  Anyway, you should thank me.  It will make you more powerful.”

Palpatine frowned, glancing at the dark pond.  He had felt the raw power of the place.  It was, undoubtedly, a Dark Side nexus.  But--love?  “Gratitude is not the way of the Sith, Talzin.  Anyway, you did trick me.  You should thank me for not blasting you out of existence.”

Talzin smiled.  “I thought you said that’s exactly what you were about to do.  Have you changed your mind?”

Sidious crossed his arms.  “That remains to be seen.  Your gift was tainted.  But perhaps you have something else to offer me?  An item of power?  A spell?  I might allow you to live if there is some benefit to me.”

Talzin shook her head.  “Tsk, tsk.  So ungrateful.  Still, I have many things to offer.  But there will be no more gifts.  I will offer further knowledge, further power, for exchange only.  That is the way of the Nightsisters.”

“Do you think me incapable of further hostility?  Do not mistake my deliberation for mercy.  Your attempt to bind me to your service has failed,” he sneered.   

“Bind you to my--?”  Talzin stopped, seeming to realize something.  Then she laughed.  “Oh, no.  Oh, how tacky that would be.  How pedestrian.  No, Sidious, that was not some simple love potion, as a simpleton might concoct to create a doting thrall.  There is no thrill in that, and I daresay you are too powerful to be affected by such a thing.”

“Then what is it, and why did you trick me into consuming it?”  

Talzin floated onto a tree branch and settled there.  “There is a beauty to nature, don’t you think?”

“Answer the question, Talzin.”

“Life.  Death.  A cycle. There is chaos, and order.  Order within the chaos, and chaos within order.”

“Don’t try my patience, Talzin.”

“The Sith are a threat to the Nightsisters, Sidious.   It is my duty to destroy such threats.”

“And yet here I stand.”

“Yes.  Because we could be allies, Sidious.  But only if the Sith are capable of caring about something besides their own personal gain.”

“Love is weakness.”

“I think that you already know that not to be true.”

“You have hobbled me.  But it matters not.  If I am truly ruined by this, my Master will simply destroy me and choose another apprentice.  The Sith will continue.”

“Is that what you want, Sidious?  Are you ready to die?”

“I said if.  Plagueis is more knowledgeable about the Living Force than you imagine.  I daresay he will know a way to reverse this.” Palpatine walked back over to the pond and knelt again at it.  He pulled a flask off of his belt and filled it with the liquid.  Curious, he brought it to his lips.  But he was unable to drink any more of it still.

Talzin laughed.  “You surely seem eager to consume more of that which has hobbled you.”

“I don’t see how it can do any further harm,” Sidious retorted.  And there was real power in the liquid.  Perhaps that power could be separated from the--unfortunate side effects.  Surely Plagueis would know how it could be done.  He would bring the liquid to his Master for examination.

The Sith would certainly not be defeated by some jumped-up primitives from a nowhere backwater like Dathomir.

 
Plagueis had warned Sidious that his channels were not currently secure, and he should contact his Master only in his guise as Palpatine.

But he had not warned Sidious about this.

“Oh, hello,” the teenage Muun said pleasantly, swivelling back and forth in his chair.  “You’re that Ambassador from Naboo, right?  Sheev Palpatine?”

“Why yes.” Palpatine said, his face a kindly mask, all the while wondering why a child was answering his Master’s comm line.  “And who might you be?”

“San Hill,” the Muun said.

“It’s nice to meet you, San.  May I speak with Magister Damask?”

“No,” the Muun teen said cheerfully.  “He’s busy.  But I can take a message if you’d like.”    

Sidious took a deep breath.  “This is really quite urgent.”

“You don’t understand,” San said.  “My Uncle is doing an experiment.  Those are very important to him.  He would, and I quote, ‘flay alive and leave to be eaten by jarrel wolves anyone who interrupts him now’.”

“I see,” Sidious said.  “In that case, please tell him that the Ambassador of Naboo wishes to discuss those important matters which we earlier discussed.  It’s quite urgent.  Please let him know as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing, ambassador man.”  San said and then cut the connection.

Sidious scowled at the empty screen.  Of course he was familiar with Damask’s assistant Larsh Hill.  But he could conceive of no reason why that assistant’s progeny should be allowed access to his Master’s comm lines.  This is very inconvenient.

Still, Sidious also knew better than to interrupt Plagueis during his experiments.  He wished Plagueis would use droids to take his messages, though, and not the unreliable creature  he’d been presented with.   

Sidious sighed, leaning back in his chair as he slipped into hyperspace.  He would travel directly to Sojourn and return to his Master as soon as possible.  

For now, though, he would meditate on his situation, try to find the root of the rot that Talzin had infected him with.  

He had always known he was different.  Better than everyone else, really.  He didn’t form attachments like others did.  Not even to his own family.  

He closed his eyes, recalling his father’s screams of pain as he died, savoring the memory.

That wasn’t so bad.  Perhaps the effects are not--

Then came a stab of anguish as he recalled his mother.

"Oh, open it already!" his mother said.

Palpatine squeezed the wrapping paper. "One part brick, two parts squish," the teen boy said. "This is another sweater-book combo, isn't it?" He gave her a disappointed look. "What is it this time? The third book of Jedi Sage? I told you I hate that entire saccharine series. I would murder the author myself if I could get my hands on him."

"I think you'll like this one," she said. "Better than the last two, anyway."

He sighed and ripped the silvery paper open.

"A blue sweater!" he said with mock excitement. He noted the bit of gold lettering near the fold. "I'm sure I'll have many occasions to wear a sweater that says--" he opened it all the way out, letting the object inside drop without so much as a glance, "--Pal."

His mother smiled. "Your name, right?"

"You're missing a few letters, mother," he said, but smiled back. He looked down at the book, then, and noting the unusually weathered cover, picked it up, examining it with sudden interest. "This is--Artifact 204." Which was written in an indecipherable language that Palpatine was positive was Sith.

"Yes, I saw how you looked at that thing at the auction before Cosinga made you leave."

"How did you get this?" Palpatine asked, turning it over in his hand. His father certainly hadn't given her the money for it.

"You know my friend Vera, right?"

"I don't know any of your friends."

"Oh, of course. Anyway, she bid on it for me. I told her I was interested in it."

"Thanks, mother. This is possibly the best thing I've ever received."

He didn't think his mother had ever looked happier.

She had cared for him so much, and he had always been her favorite. Even at the end.

His mother, staring between him and the charred husk that had been his father in shock. "Pal?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You've missed a few letters, Mother."

Lightning crackled from his fingertips, and she screamed, trying to plead with him, trying to reach out to him, until her heart finally gave out and she grew still.

He scowled down at her. "Pathetic."

Palpatine tried to calm his breathing, but then the next memory came. No, no, not Ricar. He didn’t want--

Ricar walked up to him and held a smooth stone out. "This is yours."

He looked down at his four year-old brother's mop of tousled brown hair. The odd one out, Ricar didn’t look much like his father at all. He wondered about that sometimes.

"I've never even seen that thing before."

"I'm giving it to you. You're the rock."

Palpatine was fairly certain he had been a lot smarter than Ricar at that age.

"And why am I a rock?"

"Because you're strong," Ricar said. "Take it. It's a lucky rock."

Palpatine accepted the odd gift. "All right. But I don't believe in luck."

Ricar gave him a wide smile and ran off. Palpatine watched with curiosity as he noticed Ricar stop next to a trash bin and pick up a shard of glass.

And if I were a good brother, I would tell him he shouldn't play with glass shards or trash. But let's see where this train of thought leads little Ricar, shall we?

His brother then made a straight beeline to his parents.

"Pa!" he cried out. "I have a present for you!"

Palpatine grinned. Perhaps despite his lack of intelligence, Ricar had some redeeming qualities after all.

Palpatine was having trouble breathing.

Ricar, crying over his mother's still form while Palpatine simply stood there, feeling nothing until the boy's cries began to irritate him. He felt the power inside him reach out and saw it snap the boy's neck. Ricar's body fell over his mother's.

Palpatine closed his eyes. But that only seemed to increase the clarity of the memories.

"Let's play a game!" Mayelle said.

"Let's not," Palpatine said, attempting to nap on the sofa.

Ignoring his response, the child dropped something on the table in front of him with a loud thud. "You'll like this one."

"Is it called 'murder noisy siblings so I can sleep'?" Palpatine asked curtly.

"Nope," she said. "It's called dejarik." Palpatine opened one eye, glaring at the tiny girl with her red hair in a ponytail.

"You're way too young for that."

"I'm eight. You can't tell me what to do."

He opened the other eye in resignation.

"No, I mean I'd destroy you. It's a strategy game, May. And you have all the strategic ability of a Gungan."

"Mil would be mad at you for saying that. She says the Gungans are smart."

"Yes, she would say that. But perhaps she wouldn't say the same for you?"

Mayelle stamped a foot. "Are you going to play the game with me or not?"

"Not," Palpatine said.

"Bet you're just afraid you'd lose."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Fine, I'll play. It's surely better than exchanging what passes for witty repartee with you."

"Whoohoo!" she exclaimed.

She’d eventually become quite good at it, of course, so good in fact that she’d even beaten him.

Mayelle screaming and screaming until he broke her neck, too. He bent down over her wide-eyed, still form and pulled the award ribbon off her dress. The Aurebesh read 'Junior Dejarik League, 1st Place'.

"Looks like I win this one, sis," he said, his voice almost monotone, cold and uncaring.

There was a sound issuing forth from Palpatine’s throat now, a strangled croak. He couldn’t seem to control it. He wasn’t ready for this, but still the memories came pouring forth.

"I need some advice," Markon said.

"Sure. Go away. There's my advice."

"How do I talk to girls?"

"You must be joking."

"No, really." Markon insisted.

"Go ask Mil."

"No way. She'd just tell me not to and laugh in my face."

"Sounds like good advice!" Palpatine laughed.

"Come on! I don't know what to say!"

Palpatine pretended to ponder the question. "First I need to know what your end goal is."

"What do you think? Dating. Doing it."

"Oh, that's simple then. You're way too young for that."

"I'm 13 years old!"

"Which explains why you're asking your celibate virgin brother for dating advice. That sort of thing means nothing to me."

Markon gave him a surprised look.

"Only girls are virgins."

"I want you to think really hard, Markon, about why what you said cannot possibly be true."

Markon frowned. "If you’re a virgin, it means you haven’t done it yet. Which means--I’m a virgin."

"Congratulations, you figured it out! I promise I wouldn't have explained it to you if you hadn't."

"But you! You must have done it with hundreds of girls! You go to all those parties. The ones you're not supposed to." he said the last part in almost a whisper.

Yes, of course he did. It was the perfect chance to collect blackmail on his fellow political proteges.

He smiled at his younger brother. "There's more to life than the fleeting affections of mayflies, Markon. But if you'd like, I can get you into some of those forbidden parties."

Markon's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Of course. What else are older and entirely irresponsible brothers for?"

Those had been some fun times, corrupting his father's favorite. He'd also come to realize that Markon looked up to him, almost worshiped him really, and he'd--liked that. He really should have--

Slowly he choked Markon, the favorite of his father. Of course he had to die, no matter how much he had begged, promised he wouldn't tell. Everything his father loved must be destroyed.

He put his head in his hands. It would be over soon. It would be--done.

"Hey, I need you to sign this petition for--"

"Go away, Mil," Palpatine said, laying in the grass turning the pages of Artifact 204. What did it say? No one seemed to know how to translate Sith. Probably because those greedy Jedi hoarders--

"Oh, come on, Cos."

"Don't call me that. I changed my name almost a year ago."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Inconveniently, you attend an all girl's school."

"Yeah, and you never call. Or write. What did you change it to?"

"Just call me Palpatine."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "That's my name too. We're all Palpatine."

"Fine. Call me whatever you want, then. Just--not his name."

"Okay. Sign my petition, then, Sheev."

Palpatine closed the book and looked up at his teen sister. Her red hair was tied back in some elaborate style, and she wore a simple red dress. Her hands were on her hips, clutching a datapad in one and a pen in the other.

"Sheev. Sheev?" He raised an eyebrow.

She lidded her eyes. "Yeah. You look like a Sheev."

He snorted. "Because that's the name of someone who's going far in life, right?"

"Maybe it's the name of someone who won't sign my petition."

Palpatine grabbed the datapad and read the heading. "Petition for Naboo Withdrawal From Northeastern Gungan Lakes.” He looked up at her. “And how exactly do I benefit from this?"

Milena gave him a steely look. "It's Father's favorite fishing spot."

Palpatine gave her his brightest smile. "Save the Gungans!" He took the pen from her and signed 'Sheev Palpatine' on the datapad.

It was too much. Excepting his father, he’d always had the most adversarial relationship with Mil, but then that made sense, didn’t it? She’d always wanted to be a hero, helping the helpless, saving the day. Caring too much about everything. Still, much unlike his father, he hadn’t ever hated her. In a way, she’d amused him. And now? Now she was twisting the knife in him worst of all. Which was fitting, he supposed.

"It's over Mil," Palpatine said calmly, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard in the other room. She'd locked him out, unsurprisingly. "It's just you and me now."

"Stay away from me!" she screamed from behind the door.

"You know I can't do that, Mil."

Frantic muttering from the other room and then a loud, "Kriff! Kriff! Kriff!"

"Language, Mil," Palpatine said in that same dead voice.

A clattering noise from the other side of the door. Palpatine walked to the control console, searching his memory until the passcode came to him. He keyed in his father's override command for the door and it slid open.

The kitchens were in chaos. Shattered glasses and dishes lay on the counters and floors, and cabinets and drawers were opened seemingly at random.

And there was Milena, sinking to the floor and hugging her knees, a desperate horror on her face and tears streaming from her eyes.

"Don't do this, Sheev! Don't do this..."

But the most interesting part of the tableau were the knives, perhaps thirty or forty of them floating above her in midair, and every single one of them aimed right at him. He stared at them, transfixed.

She looked up then and seemed to notice them at last.

"What are you--what are you doing with those knives?" she asked in almost a whisper.

He looked down at her, surprised.

"Those aren't mine," he said. He lashed out, then, with blast after blast of blue electricity, and one by one the knives fell to the ground like a metallic rain.

He stopped when the last knife clattered to the floor.

His sister lay in a heap on the tiles. He stared at her lifeless body in a kind of numb shock. Wasn't the hero supposed to win against the villain?

Disgust rose in him, then. She was just as weak as the others. She was always trying to save everyone. But in the end, she couldn't even save herself.

Desperately, he tried the usual rationalization.

They were weak, and so I destroyed them.  They --he could feel the tears that came to his eyes, unbidden.  No.  No!  I am over this. I conquered this long ago...

But he hadn’t, not really.  That had been different.  Bewilderment over the suddenness of it all.  Fear of what would happen to him with his entire family dead, and him the killer.  The worry that he could never truly control such raw power, and that it might at any moment destroy him as well.   There had never been this feeling of complete and utter loss.

Sidious hoped his Master would cure him of this soon.  It was unbearable.  Intolerable.  Worse than any physical or mental anguish he could recall ever feeling--and as a Sith Apprentice, he had felt plenty of both in his time.  It was a gaping psychic wound and he knew that nothing he did, nothing he told himself, could make it go away.

You will pay dearly for this, Talzin, he thought, as he wept over the control console.