Jiron’s Death

This is not a nice story.  It is quite graphic, and quite violent.  Rated M. I’ve been trying to write this for a long time now, but only just worked out how to do it without either making you sick or being sick myself. Unfortunately I suspect it is rather a whiskey sort of story – gets stronger with keeping.

File added to the Archives by Attriss Eriad. This content is restricted to Knights upward only on account of graphic details of torture. Padawans keep out. This means you, Kijé Yenseh!

This is what Padawan Nasriel Threeb told me about the death of her Master, Jiron V. Jados. These are her exact words, although I have removed repetitions and hesitations.

It was at Tatooine, you’ve been told, Master Eriad? We had gone there looking for General Grievous. Well, we found him. It was late, the moon was up, but you know how it reflects around on the sand, you can see less the more light there is, at night. Perhaps it is more accurate to say he found us. Because it was a hurried mission, we hadn’t had time to make up a story or anything to explain ourselves. I tell you, some of the stories we’ve played before have been quite elaborate, scary, but even masquerading as an underage Pantoran… well, you know, a prostitute, at Nal Hutta, that was better than having no story at all. Jiron was scared too.

Honestly, I don’t think it would have made a millimeter of difference if we’d had one. Well. It was dark, and there was the silver light everywhere, I couldn’t see, hardly. I’m pretty sure where we went was underground. It felt underground, something about the air pressure. All I know for sure is it was a very large chamber, with a sort of weathered, rough permacrete floor, and there were a few doors in the far wall, not doors, more like jagged cut archways. Four of them. And droids, lots of droids. Say about fifteen, I didn’t recognize the type, but they looked evil, their faces looked evil. There was a man there in a dark cloak, he didn’t talk at first. I never saw his face, and I didn’t know his voice, but he was quite tall, taller than Master Obi-Wan, but not so much as Master Jados. And he felt like a Jedi, but wronger.

At first they, Grievous and this man, I’ll call him the lord because he moved like one; I know how great lords walk; they were content with finding out from me what we were up to at Tatooine. Of course I told the truth straight up, as much as I could without naming anybody from the Temple. We hadn’t a story ready, so there was no point in lying. Usually there is. There was a wooden pillar in the middle of the chamber, and Jiron was tied to that, with his hands up above his head. I wasn’t important enough to worry about, I guess. Also they were busy with me, and it’s harder to kick things that can’t move. Mostly, though, it was Dark Side stuff. Hurts more than physical pain, I don’t know why, ask Master Obi-Wan.

By the time the lord was quite satisfied he’d gotten as much as I knew, he told the droids to quit, and signaled to Grievous, you know, just exactly like a lord who thinks talking about whatever it is he wants done is a bit beneath him. That reminded me of my father, it was just exactly what he used to do, sort of wave contemptuously at me when he was done scolding and wanted Minetz or Pierdas to take me back to my room. However, that is a digression. Grievous picked me up – he can pick things up very high – and, no, it wasn’t really dropping, he threw me at the ground. It hurt only a little, but Vokara says most of the damage happened from that.

So there I was, I didn’t really want to move, but I hadn’t figured out by then that I actually couldn’t have if I’d wanted to. And the lord took a can of transporter fuel, and he untied Jiron’s hands, and had two droids hold them out, stiff, in front of him, as far from his body as possible. And he… oh, I can’t.

(At this point, Padawan Threeb began to cry and had to be comforted before she could go on.)

Sorry. He poured the fuel over Jiron’s hands, and he lit them on fire. Just his hands. It burned, I don’t know why I’m surprised it burned. Very hot, even from down on the floor, and very red flames. It smelled like – well, like fuel, of course, but – I don’t really remember the last time when… never mind. Like a funeral pyre, but chokinger at the back of my throat. More bitter. And little drops of it dripped down onto the floor, and they would burn there for a while, and then fizzle out. Jiron was screaming, the whole time, screaming with the pain, but after a few minutes I didn’t even hear him.

Eventually the fire burned out, and his hands were – they were gone. Not really gone, I mean, but just black bones, right up to his wrists, bones, I say, and then just burned flesh, and then further up it looked perfectly normal. Jiron was just standing there, he couldn’t have fallen even if he’d fainted, he was tied up, I tell you, and he stared at his hands. He said, “I won’t be able to hold a caf mug now.” I don’t know why he said that, why that was what he thought of. This was the most horrible part: just as he said that, the bone at the tip of one finger fell off, it bounced on the floor. And I know, I know they didn’t want him to tell them anything, they were doing that because they’re Sith, they thrive on pain, and anguish, and fear. It was all so pointless.

I didn’t say, I forgot, before they tied Jiron up, they whipped him. It was a horrible, horrible thing, a piece of wire, about two meters long, and it had little sharp bits of metal sticking out all along it. And they beat him with that, on his back, it was awful, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. It sort of sprays, you know, when the person whipping is very strong. I had Jiron’s blood on my face, it was on the floor, on my clothes, his clothes, all over. He almost passed out from that, but they did something, I don’t know what, with a bit of another sort of wire. Perhaps it was electric; Jiron was tied, slumped down against the ropes, and the lord took this other piece of wire and touched it to Jiron’s chest, just there, on the sternum. It made a cracking sound, and he jerked back upright. I think it must have hurt him, there was a burn mark on his tunic.

When the lord picked up the whip, I was so afraid. I knew it was me he was going to hit next, I think Jiron did too, because he said – he couldn’t talk straight, not like usual – he said, “Don’t touch her, use that filthy thing on me if you must, but leave the child alone.” And I was ashamed of being scared, and he did hit me, just once, but it ripped, you know, not like cutting with a knife. I shrieked, I couldn’t help it, it startled me how much that one blow hurt. And then the lord grabbed Jiron’s face, and made him look at me. He said he should look well, because he wanted Jiron to choose – what would he like to do last: to see me hurt or hear me scream? Jiron said neither, so the lord… smiled. And he whispered, well, then, in turn.

He took a knife, a very sharp one, about the size of my dagger only durasteel, awfully shiny. It reflected the light so well I could hardly see it against the walls. Walking around Jiron, so as he couldn’t see what was coming, he swished the knife, awfully fast, and he cut off Jiron’s ear. The right one, and he threw it on the floor in front of him. Then the lord came back, and now I could see the knife, it had blood on it, that’s why, he took it and put it just in front of Jiron’s eye. He didn’t stab, he got a fistful of Jiron’s hair, he has really long light red hair, like it was bright red once and faded, not like pink, had, I mean, and the lord pulled on his hair and yanked his head forward, onto the blade.

Then there was a slit, in his eye, he had very dark eyes, there was a slit in it, in the dark, and there was blood, pouring out of that, all over his face and his tunic. And the lord waved at Grievous again, like, do this which I don’t want to do, and Grievous reached out, very thin fingers, like chopsticks only with joints, and he just picked Jiron’s eye right out, like picking a fruit. The lord took it from him, took Jiron’s eye, it was horrible, and gave it to one of the droids. He grabbed my chin, and my hair, and he made me open my mouth, I knew what was coming, I didn’t want to, but I’m just a kid, not strong like the lord, and the droid put this eye in my mouth.

It was wet, and soft, muji fruits feel like that in you mouth, bu they don’t taste like blood and terror. However hard I tried, I tried pretty hard, believe me, I couldn’t not vomit, so I did. I bent over double and threw up on the floor. And the lord took the whip, I didn’t see him, and he hit me again, on my back. Jiron tried to yell, say, Kal – that’s just what he called me – Kal, look out, but Grievous made him open his mouth then, and he took the knife, it still had blood on it, from his eye, he reached into Jiron’s mouth with this knife, and he cut out his tongue. He said, you’ll never speak to that bitch again. I think he meant me, I don’t know.

And I can’t say it again, I can’t, but they cut out his other ear, other eye, just the same way, only second time, the lord put Jiron’s eye in my mouth, again, but he held my mouth closed and pinched my nose, and I had to swallow it, I couldn’t breathe. And I was sick again. And he hit me with the whip again, but there wasn’t any point this time, Jiron couldn’t hear me scream. When they were done, done with the blood, they took more fuel, this time poured it over his head. Jiron was choking, trying to breathe under the fuel, it smells so strong you can’t breathe too close, and they set that on fire as well. Did you know you can scream even with no tongue? He was still alive when they burned him. I don’t remember, I don’t know when he died, exactly, because Grievous picked me up again, and this time he carried me out of the chamber, to a ship, and there must have been some sort of drug, because next thing I remember is when they were burning my arm with the lightsaber, Jiron’s lightsaber, in a cave on Hoth.

That’s all, that’s all I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry, but I didn’t feel like it was happening again, like they say you do when you tell ghastly things over, that scared me, I thought it meant I didn’t care that he’s dead.

Here the file ends. Attriss Eriad.

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About coruscantbookshelf

"A writer is an introvert: someone who wants to tell you a story but doesn't want to have to make eye contact while doing it." - Adapted from John Green
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One Response to Jiron’s Death

  1. Pingback: Life With ‘Roni | Against the Shadows

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