Star Wars:
The Grey Vigil
Chapter One
The Dive
Johran ran. He ran as fast as his feet could propel him, kicking up dust and dry stones as he tore across the volcanic rock. The night was at its blackest, but still always glowing blood red in patches across the horizon, seas and craters of lava bleeding light into the night sky. Johran sprinted, following the line of a lava river and its weak red light through the canyons of grey and black stone, the only light in the darkness. He turned his head momentarily, and caught the angry cries of the mob on his heels. He couldn't tell how close they were getting.
Johran clambered up a boulder, porous rock bit into his palms, and within the black night he saw a cave entrance, dimly illuminating itself by the oozing magma within. He broke away from the path of the molten river, towards the cave. The cries of rage, voices festering with an inhuman bile, grew louder. Johran threw himself through the entrance, hopping down the incline of rock, deeper and deeper into the sweltering cave. Rounding a corner he jolted, hand digging into the curving wall, feet skidding to a halt and casting pebbles into a bubbling pit of lava, inches from his toes.
His breath heaved, trying to catch itself. Before him lay an underground lake of lava, the deadest of dead ends. The intense heat warmed the inside of his lungs, stifling his mind. His head whipped left and right in vain. Nowhere left to run. The screaming voices echoed off the cave entrance and down to him. He fumbled at his clothing. Bandages wound around his torso, neck and limbs, native clothing. They had failed to hide his identity. No reason to hide anything else, he thought. Johran pawed at his abdomen, dislodging the bandages there, and releasing the weighty object slung in the small of his back.
His stomach and waist now bare to the intense heat, Johran fished around in the bandages and pulled out the heavy object, gripping it in both hands. The sound of angry bare feet patting down the stone echoed down to Johran, and within moments they rattled around the corner, and he was faced with the heaving crowd. Gasping as they saw him, their cries were swallowed up in a moment and they slowed to a predator's crawl to stand in front of him, heads cocked, eyes fierce. Their numbers reached back up the stone and out of the cave, dozens and dozens of them, torches held aloft, weapons in hand, and their pallid grey faces staring with soot black eyes, darting from his face to the object in his hand.
Johran heard the scattered guttural sounds of their language, few words of which he understood, but he could feel their fear, and their anger, and the hundreds of murderous thoughts darting between them like a cloud of flies. Johran calmed himself, gripped the object with renewed focus, and flipped the activator button next to his thumb. The lightsaber's blade shot out of the hilt with a hiss, and the mob flinched, gasping and then muttering.
It hummed with fierce energy, the blade burning the colour of dark bronze, an orange almost as deep as the magma that sat bubbling behind him. Johran thought for a moment about the weapon in his hand, the rare crystal that gave it that unique colour. How it would be lost here, on a distant planet, forever. A lost relic. Just like him. The muttering became whispers. The anger subsided and the fear rose. Johran caught a word he recognised. Then again. And again.
"Jedi!" they began to mutter together, rising into a scream. "Jedi! JEDI!"
Weapons were levelled at Johran, a wall of spears and blaster tips creeping closer and closer towards him with the shuffling of bare feet on the rough rock. Johran gripped his saber tighter, gritting his teeth and with a heave, swung it through the wall of flesh in front of him. Screams of anger and pain echoed through the cave and out into the night, audible to every single one of the thousand creatures that now descended on the lone Jedi.
Coruscant was a better place to live if you had a speeder. You could transit straight from your apartment, along the skyways to your workplace and back again. You didn't have to step foot on the surface of the planet, all the way down there, in the dirt. You couldn't even see it from up there, in high society, Quillian Kogg contemplated. Luckier still, he thought, those on the ground couldn't see that far up. Quillian shifted his legs, the cackling and synthetic noises of the holoscreen snapping him out of his own thoughts. He always preferred the side boothes in these dive bars. It was never quiet, not even in the early hours, but it was quieter back there.
He sat on the half-moon bench, feet up, occupying half the seats. He never wore his Jedi robes when he went bar crawling. Being seen here wasn't good for him, or the Order. Instead he kept to his half-tunic that only went so low as his knees, and an old disused flight jacket. Nobody suspected a Jedi would wear Bantha leather out in public. The look had the advantage of softening his age in onlookers' eyes. Despite achieving the age of forty, he still came across as an inherently youthful man, despite his short greying hair and the deepening lines of his welcoming face.
He kept his eye on a distant corner booth, as he had done all evening, peering through the thick blue smoke and ignoring the drunken laughter. That Trandoshan smuggler was still there, swilling his drinks and cackling like an idiot. Quillian hadn't caught his name yet, but patience wasn't known for getting quick results. As he peered through the haze of the bar, someone strolled in front of his table, blocking his view. Looking up with mild annoyance, he took in the simple Jedi robes, the beard and long hair before resting his gaze on the familiar nose and pronounced brow of an old friend.
"I hope this isn't how you spend most of your nights, Quill.' said Qui-Gon Jinn, those blue eyes betraying that kind smile.
"Not now you've blown my cover." Quill responded dryly. Qui-Gon rounded the table, sitting with deft grace on the bench opposite him. "I'm working." Quill added, slightly tense.
"The Trandoshan can wait." Qui-Gon reassured him. "The Council has something far more important and more urgent for you than a simple smuggling ring. Although," he paused, looking around at the peeling paint and cracked seats "if they knew where you spend your time they might reconsider."
"Well," Quill gave a short, terse smile "it's a damn sight more humble than a monolithic temple. I never could stand that place. All that carved marble and expensive carpeting." he stuck out his tongue in mock disgust. "I prefer it down here, on the ground."
"At least you're keeping your Padawan away from danger." Qui-Gon shrugged, spotting an Ithorian belching a Jakku Spritzer out of his nose in a fit of laughter. "And bad taste…" he added, his eyebrows raised.
At that exact moment, feminine hands placed a pair of drinks down on the table between the two men. Quillian winced. She wasn't in her robes, but Qui-Gon recognised her. A petite human girl, not a month past twenty, wearing a single delicate braid of her platinum blonde hair and a flushed expression of excitement on her sweet, angular face. "Master," the girl gushed to Quillian over the table, her voice excited "I think I overheard something at the bar-" she stopped, spotting Jinn sitting with Quill in the alcove. "Master Qui-Gon." she nodded respectfully.
"Sentina." Qui-Gon nodded back, his smile even warmer. Quill noticed him raise an eyebrow at her outfit, and was glad Jinn decided not to comment. He was even more glad, however, that Qui-Gon had also chosen not to comment on how long her Padawan braid was.
"Are you here to help with the mission?" Sentina asked, her enthusiasm apparent.
"No." Qui-Gon answered. "I'm here to give you a new one."
The bowels of Coruscant were not a pretty place. But Quillian knew every corner of the surrounding city, from the dumping grounds to the runoff gutter, and the water reservoir just around the corner from the dive bar. It was a large square tank, surrounded by a hive of piping, silos and droids maintaining it all. It was not a pretty place. But in the early hours, the square mile of water caught the reflection of the Ion Lights that lit up the night sky, and would shimmer in undulating blues and greens until the first rays of morning light began to creep over the horizon. Quill stood there, with Qui-Gon and Sentina, having lead them away from the bar not ten minutes ago. This was a much more scenic place for a civilised conversation. And much quieter.
"Master Johran hasn't returned." Qui-Gon said flatly.
Quillian felt a lump develop instantly in his throat. He was thankful for the briskness of Qui-Gon's delivery, the knowledge his old master had not reported back when expected had few innocent explanations. Sentina saw her master's face drop, searching it for an explanation. Looking to Qui-Gon, he only offered a knowing look, and no more.
"That's-" Sentina began, words catching in her throat. "I mean, I never knew him, but it's possible he just got delayed, isn't it?" she asked, eyes flitting between Qui-Gon and her own master.
"Not with the nature of his last mission, Padawan, no." Qui-Gon answered her. He allowed a pause, an offer for Quillian to explain personally. Gripping the railing that overlooked the reservoir, Quillian composed himself.
"Master Johran journeyed to a distant and isolated place." Quill began to explain. "Perhaps the most isolated in the galaxy. Gatorum." Quill said, looking dead in Sentina's eyes, his voice heavy with the word. "His arrival there was only possible during a small window due to the planet's orbit, as was his departure, when his mission was to be completed. That was…?"
"He arrived three years ago." Qui-Gon answered. "He was expected back two days ago. But there has been no sign. No Johran, no signal, no message, no sign. We sent Jedi to the sister planet and find out if he made landfall. The vessel arrived from Gatorum, right on schedule. Johran was not on it."
"Sister planet?" Sentina asked, on reflex. Quillian seemed to drift, his gaze moving out over the shimmering water.
"Gatora and Gatorum," Qui-Gon explained patiently "are twin planets in the Sullust system. They share a binary orbit, they circle one another. Gatorum is surrounded by a debris field, it prevents any ship from landing there, but natives on the other planet, Gatora, have a way of travelling to it, when the orbit is right. That's only possible every three years, and Master Johran was supposed to have returned during this current window. He has not. We can only assume something bad has happened to him."
"He could still make it through in time, right?" Sentina asked innocently.
"No." Qui-Gon answered. "The window is only five days long, and never has more than one vessel ever travelled between planets during that time." Quillian gripped the railing tighter still as Qui-Gon spoke. Sentina was not used to him being this quiet, and found she was not comfortable with it. A heavy silence hung in the air, save the sound of passing trade and the occasional distant cat-call.
"What am I missing here?" Sentina asked, her eyes narrowing, searching for clues in the two Jedi's faces.
"If I decide to find him, I have to be there within the next two days." Quill answered quietly, carefully. "And if I do, I can't return for another three years." Silence sat heavily between the three of them. Sentina mulled over her throughs, her birdlike face tweaking with almost childish curiosity.
"Don't you mean we?" she asked finally.
Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile. Quillian caught the smile, and moved between the two, the sea of light now at his back, eager to dampen the Jedi's enthusiasm. "Qui-Gon, she's taking the Trials next month." Quill explained. "She comes with me, she'll be a Padawan for another three years."
"She can speak for herself, thank you very much." Sentina interjected, drawing Quill's attention back to her.
Quillian held her gaze, and remained stone-faced. "Three years, Sentina." Quillian said, shortening the distance between them, his voice soothing, his hands moving up to hold her shoulders. "Three more years until Knighthood. Three more years until you're a Jedi. Don't give that up just for me. Johran was my master."
"But I'm your Padawan." Sentina said simply. "And you're my master." Quillian failed to withhold a smile.
"This is your choice, Sentina." Qui-Gon said, folding his robed arms in front of him. "This isn't an order than can be given. You have to make this decision."
Sentina puckered her lips. Quillian knew the expression well. It's one she picked up from him. "I get to learn from Quill for three more years?" Sentina asked, her naivete false, gently mocking. Qui-Gon let out a short, amused laugh, and with that Sentina allowed her face to drop into resolute confidence. "I'm going." she said.