Temple of the Jedi, Coruscant eight years before Phantom Menace:
Kyranon Jinn was awake before the first rays of the pale sun had touched the tops of the trees in the lush Temple gardens. The fifteen-year-old Windwalker and former Starhawk officer was already limbering up her muscles for her morning practice routine. She had gone through the same ritual since she had first had a practice blade placed in her small hand at five years old. Tall and with a grace that rivaled the hunting cats of her home planet of Salishar, Kyra ignited her vibroblade and stood in the center of the training arena.
Bringing the glowing emerald blade parallel to the floor, she spoke the ritual blessing to the seven warrior gods in the circle she worshipped. "Honor to my sword and Thee." She whipped her curved blade up, nearly touching her head in a formal salute. Then she glided back in the first set of basic forms, the ones a new recruit of the Starhawks learned as part of his or her basic instruction. Thrust. Parry. Riposte. Lunge, back and forward. Kyra had long gone beyond such elementary moves, but she still practiced them as a warm-up exercise.
By the time she had danced her way through the basic forms, barely even breathing hard, her blade glittering in the light of the arena, and had just begun on the master-level sword forms, she heard a discreet cough behind her. Shifting directions in midair, Kyra twirled herself around, her blade spinning out in a perfect thrust to face her father, Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who had entered the arena to observe her practice.
"Nicely done." He smiled his approval.
Kyra returned his smile. "Care to test your luck, sir?"
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "Think you're up for it, apprentice?"
"Always." Kyra nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with challenge.
"We'll see." The Jedi Master ignited his own lightsaber, a brilliant green blade, and glided forward, his own eyes hardening with concentration.
Kyranon watched warily, too experienced to lunge at the master warrior, leaving herself exposed to his lightning quick moves. She had seen him spar before with Obi-Wan, but never before had she offered him the chance to spar with her until now.
Qui-Gon spun his blade in a lazy circle, taunting her, trying to draw her out. Kyra knew it, refusing to be drawn, she blocked the blow, bringing her vibroblade up to meet his with a sharp hiss.
"That the best you've got?" she teased, moving backwards, her sword held across her body.
"Impudent brat!" her father scolded. "You need a lesson in manners." Then he came at her, moving with the agility of a Lemboran viper, his saber slashing down in powerful overhand chop.
Kyranon met the blow, wincing at the ache in her wrists. Qui-Gon was done playing, she sensed. Now he fought her in deadly earnest, no quarter given. Not that the Windwalker expected any. She spun away, using the Force to make her preternaturally swift.
She counterattacked, meeting his combination with her own, the Tempest matched the Lightning's Fury. The two swords crackled, spitting sparks, and Kyra went low, ducking Qui-Gon's return thrust.
The Jedi Master reversed his strike, his saber blurring, hoping to catch her unawares. But Kyra had not been trained by the best swordswoman in the Starhawks for nothing. She read his intent before he had completed the move and in less than half a second she used the Force to leap over him, bringing her blade back in a powerful reverse thrust that nearly caught Qui-Gon off-guard.
Only his Force-sensitive nerves warned him in time, allowing the older warrior to dodge her perfectly executed strike. The Jedi stepped back, bringing his blade up as she spun about to face him.
He grinned his approval of her bold move, then he lunged at her, moving at twice the speed he had been before. Kyra gave ground before his furious assault, her blade weaving a seamless defense, keeping his saber from touching her by mere inches. Gods in a circle, but he's blasted quick. And using seventh-level forms too. The Windwalker found her breath coming in sharp pants now, as the Master pressed his attack.
Kyranon was a fifth-level swordfighter, close to sixth, and her mastery of the Force enabled her to execute some of the techniques Qui-Gon demonstrated, but she was not quite up to that level of mastery yet. Still, it was not in her to admit defeat easily, not even when met with superior skill.
The Windwalker allowed her father to drive her back for a few more feet, lowering her blade a fraction, making the older warrior think he had exhausted her. She saw Qui-Gon's eyes twinkle, as he moved to finish her.
Kyra went down to one knee, then moving like a cat, she dropped her left shoulder and twisted, somersaulting back and away.
It was a maneuver that only someone trained by the Jedi could have executed, and had she been off her timing by a millisecond, his sword would have hit her unprotected back, stinging her sharply. But Kyra was one with the Force, and she ducked under Qui-Gon's blow and escaped the trap he had tried to spring on her with consummate grace.
In the next second, Kyra had landed on her feet, gaining herself maneuvering room to launch an attack of her own. Emerald blade hissing, she came at her father in a maneuver called the Tiger Strike, her vibroblade twirling in a deadly pattern that swept aside all but the most determined blows.
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow in astonishment. He had not been expecting that. The girl was good, almost his equal. In a few more years she'll match me. One day she'll be my master with a sword. He parried her onslaught, stepping back quickly. But that day was not yet. Flashing her a grim smile, he countered her sword-form with a blinding slash called the Iron Wall, a maneuver that would block all but the most advanced sword-forms.
The shock of the saber meeting her own blade nearly caused the Windwalker to lose her grip on her weapon. Only her reflexes saved her. Parrying, Kyra stepped back, her eyes widening in awe. "How did you do that?"
"Experience." The other answered, attacking relentlessly. "Looks like you don't know everything, right?"
Kyra parried, acknowledging his words with a nod. The blue-eyed warrior met his attacks fearlessly, giving ground but not surrendering. Her arms ached from meeting his blows, for the Jedi Master was not pulling them as he normally did when he sparred with a student. Kyra was too good with a blade for him to give her that kind of consideration. But that was all right. An enemy would not have done her any favors, and she expected him to be hard on her. Only by being so would she improve.
Gritting her teeth, she met his thrust with a cross block, keeping his blade from her vulnerable throat by inches. She felt her arms tremble with the effort of holding his saber away. Then she disengaged, spinning her foot around in a snap kick at his knee.
Qui-Gon hopped back, avoiding her foot by a millimeter. "Clever, very clever, girl." Then he twitched a finger at her, and she found herself thrown halfway across the arena by his Force-generated will.
She rolled to her feet, bruised but undaunted. She had forgotten that the Force could be his ally as well as her own. He landed in front of her in a crouch, the lightsaber painting his face in a lurid green glow, making him appear like a demon. His sword came down in a fierce swipe, forcing her to parry awkwardly.
"Had enough yet?" he queried.
She shook her head stubbornly. "See you in hell first . . .sir." she spat, adding the honorific at his glare. Then she brought her sword up and about, driving him back.
"Stubborn." He reproved. Then he grinned. "Very well. Defend yourself." He stepped up his attacks another notch, thinking, I haven't faced such an opponent since Mace Windu. Or Ilaren, five years ago. And she's less than half their age and almost as skilled! What will she become years from now?
The best warrior he had ever seen.
The two warriors fought even more fiercely, moving all over the arena, grace and power incarnate. For several more minutes the only sound in the arena was the hiss of lightsaber and vibroblade and the sharp breath of the combatants. Back and forth they glided, the dance of swords executed with matchless skill, a hymn of everlasting praise to the seven war gods of Salishar.
Sweat soaked their tunics, stung their eyes, but neither warrior even considered quitting. Half-an-hour had passed, enough time for both fighters to feel the sharp ache of weary muscles, but they had transcended mere physical discomfort, too caught up in their contest to feel the pain.
Then Kyra miscalculated a thrust, a tiny mistake, but enough to allow a master swordsman like Qui-Gon an opening. His blade stung her wrist, leaving a red mark to remind her of her carelessness. She took the blow with a warrior's stoic acceptance, shrugging away the sharp pain.
Then she counterattacked, trying to sneak past his guard with the Mongoose's Tooth, a sideways, twisting maneuver that used her opponent's own blade against him. But Qui-Gon was too wise to be trapped, and danced away.
They fought for several more minutes, neither willing to admit they were growing tired. Kyra had caught the Jedi with a well-timed thrust on the shoulder, leaving a black scorch mark on the fabric of his tunic. Qui-Gon came after her relentlessly, his blade a mere flicker, using combinations she had never seen, much less learned how to counter.
She defended as well as she could, but her knowledge and quickness was not enough this time. At last he backed her into a corner, and using his greater strength, overwhelmed her with one well-timed kick that knocked her on the ground. His sword battered hers away then came to rest lightly at her throat.
"Match, young one."
"Acknowledged, sir." Then she smiled. He held out a hand and helped her up. "Mother said you could fight. Guess she wasn't exaggerating."
Qui-Gon switched off his lightsaber. "I haven't used forms like that against a student in years. I never needed to." He stretched lightly. "Well done, Kyra. In a few more years you'll be my equal, if this practice was any example."
She stared at him in astonishment. "Really?"
"Absolutely. Few among the Masters come close to matching you, except Master Windu and myself. And perhaps Master Yoda. You honor your sword, young Windwalker."
"Thank you, Father." The girl said. She rubbed her wrist, massaging away the sting. "That'll teach me to pay attention when I fight a master swordsman." She glanced up at the tall Master. "Will you practice with me everyday?"
"If I am able, yes." He agreed. "You sharpen my skills. I was growing a bit, ah, rusty fighting only students. And so were you."
"Yeah. It's nice to have someone to challenge me again. At home, Mother was the only one who could beat me." Kyra said reminiscently. "The week before I left Hawk Haven we sparred and she kicked my butt worse than you did."
"I can imagine. Ilaren was always a tough opponent. Both on and off the practice field." Qui-Gon acknowledged with a laugh, remembering the fiery Commander of the Starhawks with a fond smile.
"When you sparred, who won?"
The Jedi Master shrugged. "We were about even. She won sometimes and so did I. After awhile we stopped keeping score and sparred for the fun of it. But she was as stubborn as you. She never admitted I had her until I knocked her sword out of her hand. She used to say, a warrior is never beaten until you have her weapon and even then she can still come back and kick your ass if you don't kill her right away."
"Gods in a circle, is that ever true." Kyra agreed. "Once I thought I had won a match when I disarmed her, and I lowered my blade, thinking she was going to surrender. Instead she came up and kicked me right in the jaw, took back her blade and stomped me into the ground."
"You too, huh?" Qui-Gon gave her a sympathetic grin. "She did that to me once. I ended up flat on my back with her sword at my throat before I could blink. I never underestimated her again. No one can fight like Ilaren."
"Not yet, but someday . . .I will." Kyra said quietly.
"I don't doubt it." Her father said. "Now, why don't we go and get some breakfast?"
"The kitchens aren't open yet." Kyra reminded.
"That's right." Qui-Gon nodded. "I ought to know that by now." He frowned at himself.
Kyra thought for a moment. "Hey, Mother used to tell me stories about some camping trips you two used to go on. She said you used to make some wicked blueberry waffles. Think you can remember how, Father?"
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at her insolent tone. "I think so . . .if a certain apprentice minds her mouth and asks me politely."
"Please, sir?"
"All right. Come on then." He led the way to the large kitchens at the back of the Temple. "Watch and learn."
"I hear and obey, Master." Kyra said with a wink. Qui-Gon began to mix flour, eggs, and milk into a bowl. "Where'd you learn to cook anyway?"
"Your grandmother taught me." He answered, removing a can of blueberries from the pantry. "When I was around five, I think. Before I was tested and came to the Temple. That's one of the few memories I have of her. She was always cooking something. And my brothers, Sarin, Mellin ,and I used to try and sneak tastes of her cooking when her back was turned."
"Did she ever catch you?"
"Yes. She used to whack our hands with her spoon. Then she'd laugh and give us what we wanted anyway." The Jedi Master admitted with a wry chuckle. "Funny, I haven't thought about that in over twenty years." He poured the batter in the heated waffle iron.
"I never knew you had brothers."
"Two of them. They were older. Mellin, he was a wanderer, he became a trader and he left home as soon as my father said he could. He owns a shipping business now. Sarin, he was the oldest, and he was always bossy, he liked to give Mellin and me orders. Mellin, he never minded, he was always easy-going. But I never took orders well. I used to tease him until he lost his temper. Once he threatened to throw me off the observation tower if I didn't shut my smart mouth."
"Oh, is that where I get it from?" Kyra asked sagely.
"Unfortunately, yes." Qui-Gon admitted. "Sarin became governor eventually, so he could order around everyone officially. He could be arrogant, but he had a good heart." He removed the waffles and put them on a plate. "Here you go. I think I remembered what my mother taught me."
Kyra took the plate, sniffing the aroma of blueberries. She poured syrup over them, and took a bite. "Mmmm. These are heavenly."
"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." Her father said, making some more.
"Do you ever see your brothers now that you're a Jedi?" Kyra asked, swallowing a mouthful of waffle.
"I still see Mellin on occasion." Qui-Gon answered. "But your uncle Sarin was killed by political malcontents a year or so ago, him and his wife. I arrived too late to prevent his death." The Jedi's eyes were dark with sorrow. "The most I could do was rescue his son Taryn, your cousin. He was nine at the time. Sarin made him run and hide when the partisans attacked the palace. I found him after it was over. Since I was the closest relative he had left, I took him back with me to the Temple."
"He's a Jedi like you?"
Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. He has no Force talent." The Jedi Master sighed, carrying his own breakfast to the table. "What he does have is a talent for trouble. I think Sarin and Anandra were too busy with their careers to give him the attention and discipline they should have. And now he's become, I hate to say it, a spoiled little brat."
"Where is he now?"
"With Mellin. He offered to give me a break, took him off on one of his trading cruises last spring." The Jedi answered. "I was never so glad to see someone leave in my life."
"Was he that bad?"
Qui-Gon nodded. "I had to keep reminding myself that I was a Jedi Master, and control the urge to strangle him. I think he drove even Master Yoda crazy." He began to eat his own waffles.
"What did he do?"
"Whatever he could get away with. Once he hot-wired all the speeders in the temple and challenged some of the more daring apprentices to a contest like they do down in the tunnels of Coruscant. He crashed almost all of our bikes than he had the nerve to tell me it wasn't his fault! Another time he sneaked out the window and managed to get himself involved in a duel with a Tuskan Raider and a Gorgon. With laser knives for a hundred credit bet, no less. He said they insulted his honor." The Jedi shook his head. "He has no concept of restraint, and no forethought to speak of. Ideas and action are simultaneous with him. And he thinks that his rank as the son of a former governor absolves him of responsibility. Not all of my lecturing could make him change his mind."
Kyra listened intently. "He sounds like that highborn snot Rilyan I had a run in with three months ago. Seems to me he could use a good dose of Starhawk discipline."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I considered it, but I was afraid it would only make him more rebellious than he was already. And the last thing I needed was for him to run away and never come back. He is my nephew, after all, and I have a responsibility to look after him."
"What about Mellin? He's the kid's uncle too." Kyra reminded him.
"Mellin travels too much to be a proper guardian to Taryn. He'd have the same problem Sarin did, too little contact with the boy to correct his behavior."
"You travel too."
"True." Qui-Gon forked up another mouthful of waffle. "But when I'm here, I'll watch him like a hawk. And I'll do my best not to let him indulge in the kind of attitude Sarin allowed him to get away with. I think I'm the only adult who has ever set rules for him to follow, and while he might hate me for it now, one day he'll thank me for it. I hope." If his reckless stunts let him make it as far as adulthood, Qui-Gon thought.
"I'm sure you'll knock him into shape eventually, Father." Kyra said cheerfully. "He's what, ten? You'll have plenty of time to make him learn manners."
"I think I'm going to need it. Wait until you meet him. You'll see what I'm talking about."
Kyra longed to tell her father that she could imagine what the little brat was like, and that she feared there would be trouble between them from the beginning, for if there was one thing the young Windwalker had no patience for it was spoiled brats. But she did not say so aloud, for Qui-Gon had enough to worry about.
Instead she said, "I thought most Jedi students didn't remember their families, or have much contact with them once they became Jedi."
"Most don't." Qui-Gon told her. "I was more fortunate than most to still have some remembrance of my younger years and my family. Some in the Order would say that my ties with my family distract me from my duty, but I think they are wrong. Personal relationships are important to a Jedi, for compassion is one of our greatest assets, the thing that sets us apart from our dark kin. You can't learn kindness and love as an abstract, it has to be experienced. And I learned how to love from my parents and siblings first. That was one of the most important lessons my mother ever taught me."
"That and how to make the best blueberry waffles in seven star systems." Kyra remarked, finishing the last one with a sigh of regret. "Mother was crazy to let you out of her sight. Any man who can cook and fight like you is too good to let get away."
Qui-Gon smiled. "Thanks for the compliment, little hawk. But I don't know of many warriors who have been put on a pedestal for making waffles."
"You do now." Kyra looked longingly at his plate, which still had a waffle on it.
"Here." He shoved the plate over to her. "You're growing, you need it more than I do."
Not about to refuse the Jedi's generosity, Kyra took the waffle and began to eat it. At that moment a great white vorcel hawk entered the room. This was Wraith, Kyra's bondmate. "Good morning, Chosen, Master Qui-Gon."
"Morning, Wraith." Qui-Gon greeted the hawk, who settled himself on the back of Kyra's chair soundlessly.
The bird eyed Kyra's waffle. "Hey, greedy, let me have some."
"You eat waffles?" Kyra cried in astonishment. "But you're a meat eater."
Wraith clicked his beak. "Actually, I'm an omnivore. I eat fruits as well as meat. And those are Qui-Gon's waffles. I remember them from Salishar. Sirath and I used to eat them regularly. Remember, Qui-Gon?"
"I do now that you mention it." He turned to Kyra. "Everytime I made them for your mother, Sirath and he used to come and beg some from me."
"Beg!" Wraith screeched indignantly. "Bite your tongue, Qui-Gon Jinn! I never begged anything in my life!"
Qui-Gon slanted a wry grin at the hawk.. "Steal, then. Have it your way. However you want to describe it, you and Sirath used to snatch waffles from my plate when I wasn't looking."
"It was fun!" Wraith chuckled. "And you never managed to catch us, even with your Jedi powers. Vorcel hawks are simply too quick for mere humans." The hawk said smugly.
Kyra burst out laughing. "Gods in a circle, I would have loved to see that! It must have been hilarious."
"Ilaren certainly thought so." Qui-Gon smiled. "The first time they did that to me, she laughed so hard she almost fell off her chair."
"And you thought it was funny too, admit it, Jedi Master!" Wraith trilled, lowering his head to accept a piece of waffle from Kyra's hand.
"All right, you incorrigible bird. It was quite amusing. Though you're lucky I have a sense of humor."
Wraith eyed the Jedi fondly. "That's one of the things I like about you, Qui-Gon. You can laugh at yourself. And so can your daughter. You're not all the serious Master you seem to be on the outside. Which is a good quality to have, for no one, even a Jedi Master is perfect."
"Or a vorcel hawk." Qui-Gon shot back.
Wraith gave a soft cry of agreement. "But not for lack of trying." He turned to his bondmate. "Now if you are done with your breakfast, I have something new to teach you. Come, fly with me."
The great hawk spread his iridescent white wings and soared into the air. Kyra glanced at Qui-Gon. "I'll do the dishes later, okay?" He waved her away. She rose to her feet, summoned a wind to her and soared into the air, flying after her hawk with the speed of a falcon.
That was one of the things she loved about being a Windwalker. The sheer freedom and joy of flight. She never tired of flying, it was as intoxicating as practicing with her sword and she counted her ability to fly as one of her greatest blessings. She nearly felt sorry for the Jedi, because though they too could manipulate the Force, they could not fly as a Windwalker could, becoming one with the wind and the sky. That power belonged to the Windwalkers alone, as they were granted mastery over winds and the lesser creatures of the air.
She shot out of the double doors of the Temple like a streak of light, trying to catch her bondmate, who dove and circled in the air quicker than thought. She swooped and dove, using the wind the way she would have a glider, to hold her in the air. It swirled about her, running over her with its icy tendrils, curling in her hair, tugging it loose from its braid to fly free like a honey-colored cape down her back.
Laughing she pursued the vorcel hawk across the sky, the Force flowing through her like a never-ending ribbon of light, linking her to all life there was. She perceived the Force as a silvery web, each strand marking an individual's life-energy, all interconnected. As a Windwalker, she could use that primal energy to tap into the web, and affect some of the life-energy she saw there if she chose. But she did that only when necessary, for a Windwalker's main duty was to keep the Balance between Light and Dark. To that end she wielded both sides of the Force, Dark and Light, becoming a Gray user.
It was a heavy responsibility, one that had made her serious beyond her years. But she knew that even a Windwalker needed time to relax, time to play like the adolescent she still was. And so she did, Wraith streaking about her head, teasing her, the vorcel hawk's mental laughter chiming like bells in her mind. For almost a half an hour the two played, content to simply be in each other's company, flying upon the wind, free as only a creature of the air could be.
Then at last Wraith settled down on a low-lying branch of a larch in the garden, his violet-blue eyes whirling in amusement. Kyra followed him, releasing her hold on the wind as soon as she was on the ground. She caught a glimpse of herself in the still pond that was next to the tree and gave a rueful grin. Oh gods, look at my hair. What a mess! Guess it's a good thing there's no one here right now save Wraith to see. I look like Medusa.
Brushing back several golden strands that insisted on clinging to her face, the Windwalker seated herself beneath the tree, leaning back against the trunk. "Okay, Wraith. What do you have planned to show me today?"
The vorcel hawk was her main teacher in the lore of the Windwalkers and the use of her special powers, for only Wraith now remembered what she needed to know. Everyone else had forgotten the Windwalkers ever existed, even the Jedi. It had been over a thousand years since a Windwalker had been born, the Sith had killed them all long ago. For only a Windwalker could prevent the Dark Jedi from rising again and conquering the galaxy, subjugating all that lived to their cruel design. Betrayed by one of their own, the Windwalkers had fallen, their power and courage lost for centuries. Only the vorcel hawks who had been their bondmates now remembered the Windwalkers, the powerful warriors and healers, the protectors of all but especially the Jedi, their friends and cousins in the Light.
"Today it is time you learned how to speak with the dead." The hawk answered calmly.
"What?" Kyra cried. She could not have been more shocked than if Wraith had told her to stab him with her vibroblade. "How by all that's holy can I do that?"
"You know the Force connects all things." Wraith began. "You know that when a Force-user dies his or her spirit becomes one with life-energy that surrounds us. So the Jedi teach."
"Yes, I've heard Master Yoda say that. He says that when a Jedi dies he achieves a final oneness."
"Master Yoda is correct, in one sense. You see, a Force-user never truly dies, not the way most things do. They are reborn anew, blanketed in the living power. Their physical body is gone, but the spirit, what was once that person, remains. They drift within the Force, alive and not alive, unobserved but ever observing. They are aware of all futures and even the present. More than ever they were when they were alive."
"So you're saying that when I die, I won't really cease to exist, but only become one with the Force forever?"
"Yes, my young apprentice. And when you so choose, you may speak with those still living, to offer advice and comfort. Not all those who have died can do so, or are aware that they may do so. But we vorcel hawks rely on the memories and experiences of those who have gone before, that is how we discovered the spirits within the Force."
"But the Jedi don't seem to know about this." Kyra pointed out.
"That is so. We tried to explain to the Jedi long ago about the spirits of the dead, but they refused to listen. They maintained that the soul of a Force-user, once it has become one with the energy, cannot separate itself from it and act independently. In short, they do not believe the dead can speak and interact with the living. They are very much mistaken. For all vorcel hawks commune regularly with their ancestors, receiving from them their wisdom and knowledge."
"So that's why you all seem so wise!"
Wraith nodded. "That is our secret. Ours and the Windwalkers. Through your connection with the Force you can speak to all those Jedi and Windwalkers who have gone before, seeing glimpses of what has been and what might be. It is one way you can stay one step ahead of your own apprentice when you have one."
"Me? But I thought I was the only Windwalker."
"The first, yes. But not the only. There are others out there, young ones seeking to understand who and what they are, looking for their bondmates. Eventually it will be your task to locate them and teach them as I have taught you. Did you think to face the Sith Lords all by yourself?"
"Well, no, but I thought the Jedi and you would be the only ones to help me. I never considered there would be others like me."
"But there are. You are no longer alone, Windwalker. Someday there will be an academy for your kind, similar to the Jedi Order. And you shall be WindLady, leader of the Windwalkers, as of old." Wraith chirped at her alarmed expression. "Don't look so alarmed, Chosen. That time is not yet, and you still have much to learn. Now, as I was saying, a Windwalker can speak with the dead. You can only speak with one who is willing to communicate, and usually the one you summon will only give you as much information as he or she deems necessary. The dead know much the living do not, but only a portion of that knowledge may be revealed, for the Balance must be maintained in all things. Sometimes too much knowledge is as bad as too little."
"So how do I talk to these spirits?"
"You enter a meditation trance. And you must request their presence very respectfully, some of the spirits are very cranky and don't like being disturbed merely to answer a pesky apprentice's questions." The hawk informed her. "I suggest you start with Windwalker Salicia Dahl, she is a patient sort and is always willing to speak with her descendants."
"And I'm her descendant? How do you know that?"
"I have spoken with her, of course. She is related to you on your mother's side. You have Windwalker talent on both sides of your family, you know, so we weren't surprised when you inherited that talent."
"Looks like you know more about me than I do myself." Kyra said shortly.
Wraith preened. "As it should be, Chosen. I am your mentor, after all."
Kyra rolled her eyes. "Gods save me from all-knowing bondmates." She too several breaths, calming her heart rate. "All right. When I speak with this Windwalker Dahl, what should I say?"
"Greet her the way you would an honored elder on Salishar. She may reveal to you certain things on her own, things you will need to know. It's hard for me to tell you exactly what will happen, for each time you summon and speak with a spirit things are different. Sometimes, if there is great peril or need, a spirit will contact you directly. But that happens rarely. Most spirits do not interfere with the living unless asked."
"Have you spoken to your spirit ancestors?"
"Many times. They are wise, and know more than I do at this moment." Wraith admitted. "Pay attention, young one. This is important. There are dark spirits as well as light. What one was in life, so he is in death. The dark spirits are part of the fabric of existence, and they too wait to be summoned. They will seek to find one who can speak with them, and sometimes, if they are strong enough, they will appear when not summoned. They will seek to cause discord and trouble, much as they did in life. Any advice they offer is not to be trusted, for it is twisted to suit their own ends. So beware, Windwalker, for the Dark seeks ever to destroy the Light."
"How will I know if they are evil?"
"You will know. The aura of a Dark Force-user cannot be hidden. As Darth Majestrix was when you fought him, so too will any dark spirit feel."
"And if one comes to me, can I drive him away?"
"You may refrain from speaking to it, but the spirits cannot be killed, and it is difficult to send one away once it has made up its mind to stay. Though if a dark one attaches itself to you, I think I can call upon some of my ancestors to help get rid of it. Hopefully, that will never be necessary. For now, concentrate on calling Windwalker Dahl."
"As you will, Chosen." Kyra acquiesced, putting herself into a deep meditation trance.
She let her mind find the center of her power, the shimmering golden pool that radiated an unceasing level of warmth. She immersed herself in the golden lake, diving without hesitation into the middle of it. The Force surrounded her, filled her with its eternal song of harmony.
Cocooned in her power, Kyra reached out to the shining web of Force-users, noting now that some were dimmer than others, yet burning with a cool pale light. Those, she surmised, must be the spirits. Windwalker Dahl, I, Kyranon Jinn, Windwalker, desire your wisdom. She sent wordlessly, using her link with the Force to project her need through the astral plane. Speak with me, great Lady, if you would be so inclined.