Chapter 1
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
(Approximately one year before the Battle of Yavin...)
The wasteland stretched in every direction for kilometers without end, abutted by mountains thrusting themselves into the sky like the jagged, penetrative teeth of a sarlacc's maw. It was a field of white snow and patches of ice sparkling under the gray, overcast sky, an atmosphere of imposing cumulonimbi migrating across the stratosphere in a nomadic herd that loomed above those foolish beings who dared trek the wastes below. The relatively flat landscape was occasionally broken by deep, yawning gorges and hillocks topped by gnarled conifers, all dispersed by some mad twist of nature. The winds howled across the expanse, sculpting great dunes of snow and whipping miniature cyclones of ice particles into treacherous, meandering hazards that trekked the plains. The wind was only growing in intensity and fury, and the astute and those knowledgeable in the local weather patterns of this region of Yanibar would immediately spot the white haze on the horizon, the underskirts of the dark clouds even now moving inexorably across the sky. One of the legendary storms of the nigh-inhospitable planet was fast approaching, though the inevitability of this forthcoming event was lost on the pair of travelers racing across the white and gray fields.
They were astride 74-Z speeder bikes, clad in the white and black of Imperial Stormtrooper armor in an abbreviated design that maximized movement and flexibility at the expense of protection. Specialized packs on their backs were attached to the power supply of their speeder bikes, their vehicles providing them extra warmth in the subzero temperatures and unforgiving wind chill. The polarized goggles in their helmets filtered out the glare of the snow and prevented the loss of vision associated with the meager light's reflection upon the covering of ice particles as they sped across the plains, their bikes never more than a half meter or so above the ground. Strapped to their bikes were satchels with provisions and equipment commonly carried by the individuals enlisted in the Emperor's Scout Units, accompanied by the versatile and deadly accurate lengths of the E-11s Sniper Rifles each Scout Trooper carried and was proficient in the use of. Their speeder bikes made a high-pitched whine that was nearly drowned out by the rising ferocity of the wind as they flew across the dunes and drifts of snow, angling for a particular ridge, crowned in a grove of scraggly coniferous trees. They reached the slopes of the ridge within minutes of spotting it across the plains, and the whine of their bikes ground to a silent halt as they coasted to a stop.
The "Snow Scout" named Arj Relles leapt free of his bike after detaching the coupling protruding from his backpack and slinging his E-11s over his shoulder. His helmed head turned to regard his partner, Vo Sureeka, better known as "Pit" for his expert knowledge on mechanics and maintenance on almost any machine known to sentient beings, from speeder bikes to droids to refreshers. The nickname had been a derogatory monicker assigned him, referring to the DUM-series Pit Droid model, known for their wide usage in repairing pod racers, as well as their incessant antics and deplorable stupidity. The latter was also attributable to Vo, which was evidenced by the fact that he took pride in the nickname. "You sure you got some life readings out here, Pit? You're not still hung over from last night's round of jet juice, are you?"
Pit hefted his blaster rifle and trudged forward through the snow, approaching the meager canopy of the grove while he spoke through his helmet's comm channel. "Alright, Arjie, I'll admit, I'm still kind of groggy...I mean, when Lieutenant Kella makes jet juice, you gotta hit that stuff 'cause it will put you under the table every time. Every. Time."
"You're going to get a court martial, you keep that up," Arj replied snidely. "And don't call me Arjie...no one gets to call me Arjie, not even my grandmother."
"Oh, I see how it is. You and the boys can call me 'Pit' all you like, but when I try to make up nicknames for you guys, you get all sensitive."
"Yeah, 'cause all your nicknames are stupid, 'cause you're an idiot. Now, where did you spot these lifesigns?"
"It showed up as a blip on my readouts," Pit grumbled, pointing ahead, up the slope and into the thickest portion of the trees. The wind was monstrously powerful now, evidenced by the pronounced bend in the trunks and branches of the trees before them. "I figured anyone crazy enough to be out this far in the murglin' wilderness on a day like today must be looking for a place to hide. And anyone who wants to hide from us is probably rebel scum...or one of them Zeison Sha we keep hearing about."
Arj blew an exasperated breath and he proceeded up the hill, the snow sucking at his boots and making it decidedly more difficult to ascend. "You know, I keep wondering where we drew the short straw to get trapped on this hellhole. Blistering hot summers with heat storms and dust cyclones, and winters where the snow never stops coming, and the ice falling from the skies could punch a hole in a gundark's skin. And all to find these mysterious 'Zeison Sha' warriors, supposedly dangerous allies of the extinct Jedi and rebel sympathizers." He slipped on a patch of ice, but regained his balance before he collapsed completely. "But this dirtball is full of colonists and nerfherders too stupid to get offworld and too stubborn to give up their worthless territory to the Empire without a fight. Yeah, there's rebels and malcontents here, but so far, I haven't seen any evidence of Jedi sympathizers and fanatical Force cultists. Why we're wasting our time here is beyond me. I'd rather see some real action, like at Sulon or Taris. But out here, you can't even get any decent news from the HoloNet...I'm not even sure if we won at Taris or not..."
Pit shuffled forward, pausing a moment to glance at the horizon, which was becoming far more indistinct as the impending, cataclysmic storm approached quickly. "Hey, about that storm..."
"Why couldn't we be assigned someplace fun, like Spira or Nar Shaddaa? I could really use a real Fogblaster, and a busty Twi'lek on my lap..."
Pit stopped and nudged his partner with the butt of his rifle, and being none too gentle about it either. "Hey! If you're done moaning, you might want to take a look over there...another one of those blasted storms is coming, and I for one don't want to be caught out in another one."
Arj paused to regard the storm, and found himself taken aback at the sheer wall of snow and dark clouds racing toward them. What had been a barely-imperceptible haze on the farthest edge of the horizon only minutes before was now a catastrophic tumble of white, gray, and black howling with all the force and size of a Star Destroyer crashing from orbit. "Sithspit! Forget the life readings...we can check on them later. Get back to the bikes...we need to get the hell back to base!"
Pit needed no further encouragement as he turned immediately and began to slide back down the icy slope so quickly he slammed into his hovering speeder bike hard enough to make the vehicle jump. He looked back up to see if his squadmate had witnessed his bumbling, but Arj was absorbed in retreating back down the slope more carefully, avoiding patches of ice and clumps of wet snow. Pit was about to make a wisecrack regarding the speed of his partner and his age, when he caught a glint of metal and rapid movement as some sort of narrow, spinning object flew out of the trees, curved in midair, and passed through Arj's throat. The Snow Scout did not even make a sound as his helmed head was separated from his shoulders in a spray of blood that arced across the snow. Arj's body collapsed in the snow and tumbled down the slope as the object that killed him whipped back into the tree cover. Pit yelled an unintelligible noise of denial and surprise as he shouldered his rifle, but the unknown object was already whizzing through the snow-laden branches, almost too fast for him to see. He took a wild shot at it, trying to knock it out of the air, but it merely spiraled above his head and curved back down like a hawkbat descending on its prey. Pit did not even register any pain as the object spun through his throat, tearing through his skin, larynx, muscles, and jugular, nicking the vertebrae in his neck and spilling his lifeblood all across the snow. Pit was coughing his last breaths in an eruption of blood within his helmet before he collapsed across the saddle of his bike, but the unevenly distributed weight of his body sank his remains to the snow.
The whirling, bladed object spun around as if it had a mind of its own and whipped back up the slope to the waiting hand of its owner, even as the being bursting from the trees sprinted down the hillock to the abandoned speeder bikes. The object had been a discblade, an archaic and esoteric weapon consisting of a circular handle set within a circle of metal containing four razor-sharp blades curving back on themselves. The cool, shiny surface of the blades were now smeared with bright red blood, but its owner did not seem to care as she stashed the weapon in a specialized holster she kept on her back. She was a Twi'lek, a Rutian with pale, minty skin, large emerald eyes, and a narrow face with pert lips and a skinny nose. A scar ran from her left eye and slightly along her left lek, known as the tchun in Ryl. She dressed herself in a heavy, fur-lined coat, her lekku shoved in her hood to keep them warm as she sprinted down the slope, somehow keeping her footing on the treacherous surface, despite the near-impossibility of such a feat. Over her shoulder was slung the slain carcass of a durni, as well as a small satchel containing unknown objects. She leapt over the body of the Snow Scout known as Pit, and landed with the saddle between her thighs, activating the vehicle, spinning it around, and fully opening its throttle. She was nearly dislodged by the air resistance that hit her squarely in the face at the 74-Z's incredible speed, and the bike shot across the plains, leaving the hillock, corpses, and abandoned second bike behind as she aimed for the unseen collection of structures and prefab housing kilometers ahead.
The world flew past her in a gray, black, and white blur, but she barely paid attention to what was ahead, instead casting her gaze over her shoulder to the forces of nature bearing down upon her. It was one of Yanibar's legendary blizzards, speeding to catch up with her, the winds making her bike difficult to control as they buffeted the 74-Z's steering vanes. The Twi'lek ripped the handlebars side to side to compensate, snow beginning to fly around her, obscuring her vision. But the way home was instinctual; her knowledge of these lands was ingrained within her mind and body, having grown up here, lived here, learned to survive every measure of cruelty and harsh indifference nature on Yanibar could throw at her.
The storm was nearly upon her when the first shadows of the village she called home came into view on the horizon, rising out of the fields of ice like the last bastions of solidarity in the galaxy. She willed the bike to move faster, but its throttle was already fully open, and its engine was shrieking in the harsh winds attempting to wrest control of it from her. The buildings grew in size and shape, their contours becoming definite, their arrangements familiar. She knew where to look for her dwelling well before she saw it, and despite the bone-numbing chill of the wind on her face and ferocity of the storm swirling around her, she could not help a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.
She closed the throttle and slammed on the brakes as her house came into view, a low-lying rectangular structure, built in the stark, stoic, and traditional style of the Yanibar colonists, its stone walls thick, its windows able to be barred by heavy metal shutters. The 74-Z screeched to a halt, but she was already leaping off the bike even before it had fully stopped and powered down, and she sprinted through the sliding door to her house and slammed the heavy metal barrier closed behind her. The wind shrieked and screamed and pummeled at the door, but even Yanibar's storms could not pass through solid durasteel. She was safe, safe to wait out the blizzard's fury at her own leisure.
She pushed the hood off her face and took a heady, steadying breath in the chilly air. Her dwelling consisted of a main room that functioned as both living area and kitchen, with piles of dishes and pans in the sinks, a rough-hewn wooden table and chairs, and some ratty old rugs spread across the floor. A low doorway on the far side of the room led to a refresher and two small bedrooms which held little more than cots covered in sheets and furs, electronics manufactured before the Clone Wars, and small knickknacks she had collected over the years. The embers of a dying fire glowed in the alcove that served as a fireplace and a means for heating meat and stew, and the Twi'lek crossed the intervening floorspace quickly in order to rekindle the flames and absorb the heat they cast. She pulled the heavy leather gloves from her lithe hands and rubbed her fingers together rapidly to work the feeling back into the digits. She heard movement from the hallway, and turned to see her sister, a Rutian Twi'lek girl of only fourteen, her skin an aqua tone, with a somewhat stockier build than her older sister, but still in relatively good shape and health. Her face was also more rounded, her eyes smaller and almond-shaped, her lips and nose having greater prominence, her looks having favored their father. She was dressed in woolen and cotton robes belted by a sash, with slits cut along the legs and arms to allow a full range of movement. When she saw that her older sister was home, she beamed and ran forward for a crushing embrace that was difficult to extricate oneself from.
"Foyim'buma!" her sister exclaimed. "You beat the storm!"
Foyim'buma, also known as "Foyi" to the few people she counted as close friends and family, smiled and dropped the durni carcass on the table so that she could return the hug. Her sister, Tamam'buma, better known as simply "Tama" let her go after a moment and stepped back to inspect the durni. "Wow! We're actually going to have fresh meat tonight?"
Foyi nodded, shrugging out of the harness that held her discblade and the heavy coat that protected her from the elements. She was dressed in similar robes to her sister, though they were tighter -fitting and covered a pair of pants and tunic. "Hunting was actually successful tonight, thank the Force. I figured you were as sick of scrounging up cases of nutrient paste and ration bars as I am."
"Damn straight I am! I'll skin it and start up a delicious stew."
Foyi glared down at her. "Where'd you learn to talk like that? Have you been slumming around the spaceport again?"
Tama gave her a perturbed look. "I wasn't 'slumming'...I was getting to know some very nice spacers and spice runners. You know how much I love to hear their stories about the galaxy beyond the Outer Rim...beyond this nowhere dirtball."
Foyi made a face as her lekku twitched irritably. "You know they're probably just feeding you a bunch of bantha poodoo because they have an audience. And in my experience, spacers and spice runners are anything but 'nice'. How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the cantinas?"
Now it was Tama's lekku that were twitching as she peeled bloody meat away from the durni's skeleton. "As many times as you want, because it should be obvious to you by now that I'm not going to listen. If you interacted with people more often, you'd realize they're not all bucketheads and nerfherders out to take advantage of you. There are decent people, even amongst the scoundrels of the galaxy. And they've seen and experienced so much! What's wrong with trying to learn more about our galaxy?"
Foyi crossed her arms indignantly, her tchin wrapping about her throat in an annoyed gesture. "Nothing, Tamam'buma...but you have to realize that the galaxy is a big place...full of good and wonderful things, but also evil things, like the remnants of the Jedi, the Empire. The Empire may be here as well, but the stormtroopers we have to contend with on Yanibar are nothing compared to the power of the Empire in the rest of the galaxy. And being Zeison Sha, we do not want to attract undue attention...few beings in this galaxy actually pay attention to Yanibar, and it should stay that way."
Tama, who was in the midst of crafting the stew, slammed her fist on the table. "Don't you hear yourself right now?! You talk like the Emperor himself is going to stomp on Yanibar because I'm asking a few harmless questions of the local spacers! The Empire wouldn't even give a kriff for this fraggin' hunk of rock if it weren't for the rumors of the Zeison Sha! It's nothing I did, and none of my actions are going to bring them down upon our heads!"
"You know who else thought that way? Ma and Da, right before the Empire found out about them!"
Tama went completely still, refusing to look at her sister, glaring into the raw contents of the pot before her. "You're not the only one who thinks about Ma and Da everyday, you know. You're not the only one who loved them."
Foyi bit her tongue before another angry retort escaped her lips. She mentally kicked herself; her previous response had been insensitive, unnecessarily harsh, and disrespectful of the memory of their parents. Tama had a point. Foyi had been so caught up in her own selfish concerns and emotions regarding the Empire and the murder of their parents that she often did not consider that Tama had been old enough to remember their parents and form a meaningful relationship with them. The Twi'lek stepped forward and enfolded her angry sister in an embrace, pulling her head to her chest. "I'm sorry, Tamam'buma. You're right, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of curiosity, as long as you're careful. You're the only thing I have left in this galaxy, and I don't want to lose you too." She put her sister at arms' length so that she could lock gazes with her. "Just promise me that you'll be careful. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Tama managed a brief smile as she pulled away and went back to preparing the stew. "You know I always am, Foyim'buma. I know which spacers are safe to talk to and which ones are real murglaks. And the Imps never pay attention to me anyway; to them, I'm just some dumb kid wishing to see the stars up close."
"Well, they're not wrong about that" Foyi replied in an attempt at levity.
Tama gave her a playful, retaliatory slap to the shoulder. The rest of the preparations for the meal were carried out in relative silence. Foyi offered to help her sister with the meal, but one of Tama's favorite activities was cooking, and rarely allowed her sister to assist her, citing her assertion that Foyi would somehow "kark it up". Foyi wanted to speak with her sister about the filthy mouth she was developing, no doubt the direct influence of spending so much time at the spaceport, but she decided chastising her sister once was enough for the day, so Foyi momentarily retreated to her bedroom. It was a simple, spartan arrangement, containing a cot stolen from a crashed freighter on the edge of the spaceport, woven furs and blankets strewn across its less-than-comfortable mattress. Unused power sockets decorated the corner, and an unlit candle was the only source of illumination in the room. An old weapons locker pulled from the carcass of the same starship as the cot functioned as her closet and lockbox for her sparse wardrobe and personal belongings too valuable to carry on her person. Upon entering the room, she crossed to the locker and tapped the code into the door control to open the locker; when it did not respond immediately, she pounded her fist against the door, and the locker rattled as it popped open. The dark, musty space held a few tunics, pairs of pants, and fraying robes. Propped against the far corner was a dusty E-11 Blaster Rifle she had "procured" from a stormtrooper years ago, and had not touched it since. Beside some pouches and meager piles of credits was a suit of armor, made of portions of metal plating and thick cloth forming a sort of hip cape and robe about the more rigid parts of the armor. The metal was a dark gray in color, its previous silvery sheen dulled by dust and years of disuse, while the naturally dark green of the robes appeared almost black in the shadows of the locker. Cultural symbols and motifs were carved into the breastplate, characters and representations from the earliest memories of the Yanibar colonists, so old she was not even certain of the original intent or meaning of the symbols, despite having carved them herself. She reached out a hand to the breastplate and rested her fingers on the cool metal, feeling the spiritual connection she held with the garment. She knew every scratch, miniscule fracture, and dent in the metal, every frayed thread and tiny space between fibers of the cloth robe. It was imperfect, as all things in nature were, but it was an imperfection she was familiar with, one born of her own physical characteristics; to don it would feel like wrapping herself in a second skin. The armor was the defense and shield of a Zeison Sha Warrior, crafted by her own hands from painstakingly-acquired materials, imbued and attuned to fit her physical form like a glove, the defense the garment offered like an unconscious extension of her own defensive maneuvers. She pulled her hand back wistfully, and silently cursed the Empire. She had not worn the masterpiece created by her own hands in many years, for it was a physical affirmation of her membership with the Zeison Sha. When she was younger, the Zeison Sha Warriors had walked proudly through the streets of their colony and trekked bravely through the wilderness, their armor and robes on full display, discblades in their hands, protecting the innocent from criminals, lowlifes, and predators. But then the Empire came, looking to take out their vengeance on the Zeison Sha for the rebellion of the Jedi at the end of the Clone Wars. Those Zeison Sha too proud or too unaware to become nondescript, to hide their signature armor and weapon, became immediate targets and were gunned down in the streets or dragged away from Yanibar in Imperial prisoner transports, never to be seen again. The lofty, wondrous Temple of the Zeison Sha, the Sha Kalan, became the fortress from whence the Imperial troops launched their search parties, a place of learning and enlightenment transformed into a bastion of fear and tyranny overnight. The last few years had been better for the citizens of Yanibar; the spacers whispered of the Rebellion Against the Empire, of Imperial defeats at Kashyyk and Kamino, far-flung worlds she knew nothing about. Fewer and fewer stormtroopers walked the streets or patrolled the wilderness as more and more Imperial forces were reassigned to other beleaguered outposts. Many of the Imperials still on Yanibar were uncertain that the Zeison Sha existed, or ever existed on this world of ravenous predators and fantastically dangerous weather patterns. They had become less willing to venture from the relative safety of their base and the spaceport, which had emboldened those Zeison Sha still in hiding, regaining a modicum of their former roles within the community and only occasionally tangling with Imperial forces; those that did left no stormtroopers alive to tell the tale, or died fighting. It was Yanibar's own tiny rebellion, one that was gaining more of a foothold against the Empire as the officers and stormtroopers assigned to the planet were so few already, they were forced to pick and choose their battles carefully.
For her part, Foyi had attempted to stand up to the stormtroopers when she could, protecting herself, her sister, and their neighbors when they were harassed by Imperials. So far, she had done little to attract retribution against herself and the ones she protected, but she was hesitant to fight too openly. She was aware that the life she had crafted for herself and her sister stood upon the razor's edge of disaster; one wrong move could lay her low on the ground, bleeding on the street or the wild's cold stones. Or the Empire could suddenly return in force, locking the entire planet behind a blockade and searching door to door for their enemies, dragging people to interrogation chambers just for looking sidelong at a stormtrooper, TIE Fighters screaming overhead. She could not let Tama experience life like that. And if such an eventuality were to come to pass, she would make certain it was not due to any careless action she had taken.
Foyi stepped back from the locker and exhaled to steady herself, momentarily focusing her mental energies inward to find the calm center at her being. She slammed the locker door closed, then returned to the main room of their small house, where the strong smell of durni stew wafted through the space. Tama was stooped over the fire, where the stew sat bubbling and steaming, the younger Twi'lek slowly stirring the viscous liquid with a ladle. She glanced at her sister, and the slight curling of Tama's lekku from around her throat told Foyi that her sister seemed to be in a better mood. Foyi got the impression that she had been forgiven, which she took relief in. She walked closer, sniffed deeply of the gamey aroma sizzling from the pot, and nodded appreciatively. "It smells wonderful, Tamam'buma."
Tama nodded, a smile alighting her features. "Well, the durni you brought was a little skinny, but I threw in some tubers to thicken the stew...I just wish I had some spice to bring out more of the flavor..." She glanced up at Foyi, who regarded her inquisitively, then rolled her eyes. "Not that spice...you know, spices! Condiments! Whatever!"
Foyi gave a slight chuckle. "I know, I'm just teasing you." She crossed to the sink, extracted some relatively clean bowls and utensils, and began to arrange them on the table. She jumped a little as a particularly powerful wind gust slammed against one of the metal shutters, sounding a loud, metallic clang through the house. Tama gave the stew a last stir, brought the ladle to her lips, and sampled the broth. She shrugged, then brought the pot to the table, carefully ladling out decent portions for both of them before replacing the pot on the rack above the crackling fire, where the remaining stew would keep warm. The two of them sat on either end of the table, and without further ado, began devouring the durni stew like individuals who had been living off bland nutrient supplements for weeks. Which they had. Little was said for a few moments, as both of their mouths were too full of hot stew to speak properly or politely, though Foyi managed to waggle her lekku a bit to communicate her pleasure and gratitude.
They were both on their second helpings when Tama finally broke the silence. "Did I hear a speeder when you got home, or was that my imagination?"
Foyi smacked a hand against her forehead; the stolen speeder bike was still sitting outside, and she had completely forgotten about it. "Yeah...I killed two snow scouts who were tracking me while I was hunting, and used one of their bikes to beat the storm here. I'll slag it somewhere in the wilds when the blizzard's over...the Imps don't come out in these storms, so it should be safe outside for now."
Tama glanced worriedly at the door. "Assuming the winds don't smash the bike into our house."
"Assuming that."
Tama returned to finishing her second helping, but Foyi was not ready to let the conversation drop yet, so she opened a new topic for discussion. "Have you been practicing what I taught you recently, Tamam'buma?"
Tama made a face and returned to spooning up the last of her stew. "Kind of...it's just...I'm not very good at it..."
"And you'll never get better if you don't practice," Foyi replied. "Finish your soup, and then you're going to show me what you can do."
Tama grimaced again, but nodded. The two of them finished off the rest of the stew, unsure when Foyi would be able to track down more wild game, so they ate their fill. After clearing off the dishes and making a lackluster attempt to clean the pot, Foyi drew one of the rugs on the floor to the center, providing a cushioned spot for the upcoming training session. Tama took her usual place at one end of the rug and sat cross-legged, immediately settling into a relaxed, loose state, beginning the lesson with a few meditative breathing exercises, as she always did. Foyi settled into a similar position facing her sister, then stretched out her hand over her shoulder in the direction of the table. She opened herself past her physical form and limitations, calling upon the weapon that still sat in its specialized harness on the tabletop. She could feel the discblade in her hand, knew every contour of the handle and the blade, felt every ridge in the leather wrapping, the wickedly sharp honed edges of its blades. And suddenly, the discblade was in her hand, seemingly leaping free of its holster to her hand, spinning like a dervish of death through the air before settling in her palm. It felt no different physically than how she had imagined it; her discblade was attuned to her, and her to it. It was the ranged extension of her limbs, of her will. It was like a metaphysical link, a chain that bound her wrist to the handle of the discblade, never truly separated, and she need only give a slight tug on that chain to close whatever distance existed between her and the weapon.
Foyi brought her hand and the weapon it handled before her eyes, then opened her hand, the discblade floating free as Foyi submerged herself in the Force. To her, the Force was like a vast sea of cool, calm waters suffusing the entire universe around her. All beings walked its surface; those who could not feel the Force never saw the sea, or the endless waters, and being blind to this, assumed they walked on solid ground. But she could see it clearly; being sensitive to the Force, it was impossible for her not to see the truth. She felt the ripples and waves created by the passage of other, splashing about her feet. But when she opened herself to the Force, accepted the waves, she let herself sink below the surface, where the waters were warm, the currents powerful, her lungs breathing more deeply and more clearly than she ever could in the open air on a sunny day in the unadulterated wilds of Yanibar. She opened her eyes, and felt a profound peace, a serenity born of the realization that here, touching the Force, letting it flow through her veins like blood, the galaxy made sense. She knew how she fit in the great puzzle of existence, how she was supposed to be here, at this moment. There was a deep connection between herself, her sister, the floor, the discblade, the insatiable howling of the wind outside, the remains of the durni slowly digesting in her stomach and intestines. The Force was life. The Force was unity.
Foyi plunged herself into the Force as the discblade began to spin, first horizontally, then vertically, then diagonally, moving so fast that it appeared to be a sphere of blurred movement and flashing metal. The spinning ball of movement began to drift back and forth before them, then bouncing up and down, until the movement of the revolving discblade seemed completely random. Foyi's eyes were not focused on it, however; she was in tune with the Force now, and the Force supplied her with the concentration she needed. Her telekinetic powers were familiar and well-practiced to her, the hallmark of a Zeison Sha Warrior, master of thrown weapons, master of the discblade. As the whirling weapon began to spin slow orbits around the two Twi'leks, Foyi intoned softly, "Do you have the stone?"
Tama reached into her pocket and withdrew an oblong stone, its surface smooth from constant, anxious rubbing of one's palms. She showed Foyi the stone, sitting still on her open palm, and Foyi smiled. "Good. Now...make the stone go through the open center of the discblade, without touching the metal, or the handle, or being deflected off by its spin."
Tama pursed her lips, then closed her eyes again, grimacing as she fought for a deep connection to the Force. She stretched out her hand, and the stone slowly levitated off her palm, floating in midair. Tama's brow furrowed in greater concentration as the stone began to move, tracking the motions of the spinning discblade. Foyi, immersed in the Force, found she could focus on so many events and stimuli at once, mostly because these stimuli came to her of their own accord, like separate currents and waves rippling and splashing at the perimeters of her ever-expanding consciousness. She could see and feel Tama in the Force, a bright, warm presence, one comforting in its familiarity and proximity. As her younger sister stretched out with her mind and her feelings, her presence grew brighter and larger, creating cozy ripples and dancing waves that splashed against Foyi's consciousness. The stone hovered closer, and began following the spinning, weaving, bobbing discblade about, keeping time with it. Foyi smiled as the stone approached her discblade, but she could see the sweat beading on Tama's forehead beginning to trickle down her face in the strain of concentration. The waves she was sending out were becoming colder and more infrequent as Tama pushed herself harder, letting out a slight gasp of effort. Foyi breathed in mild frustration, but kept her voice calm. "Tama, maintain your focus, but don't force it. Let the Force flow...remember, you don't want the stone to fly through the hoop...the stone wants to...you exist merely to help it. Feel the connection between you, the stone, the discblade, me, and the event about to happen and just let it."
If Tama even heard her, she did not register it, and the current she was producing only became more sporadic and violent as Tama strained more and with a sudden application of the Force, the stone leapt forward at the discblade...and was immediately deflected,. The stone flew away, but Tama caught it again telekinetically and whipped it back at the discblade. There was another loud clang, and the stone shot to the ceiling before bouncing back to the floor. Tama let out a heaving gasp as her eyes flew open; she had given up on moving the stone, much less throwing it through the middle of the whirling weapon. She put her face in her hands, and Foyi, disappointed, stop the discblade's spin abruptly and let it sink gently to the carpet.
Tama breathed heavily, obviously exhausted by the mental effort and her continued failure at this particular exercise. "I'm sorry...I just can't do it, Foyim'buma. It's impossible! This is the...tenth time I've tried this, but I just can't do it."
Foyi leaned forward, frustrated with her sister's constant self-doubt, but she kept her voice serene. "Tamam'buma, it's not impossible-"
Tama's frustration boiled over, leading to a vicious retort. "Yeah, that's what you keep saying, but I've never seen you do it! Can you even do half the stuff you try to teach me? I wish Ma and Da were still here...they were always better Zeison Sha than you."
Still submerged in the Force, Foyi felt Tama's anger, frustration, and grief hit her like a full-frontal wave of cold water straight to the face. Her sister's words stung, but they had no true venom in them. Tama was merely frustrated with the lesson, and her training overall. Before the Empire, Tama would have been sent everyday to the Sha Kalan, to work with the Zeison Sha Masters in utilization and awareness of the Force, in the ways of the Zeison Sha warrior and the discblade, learning from people far more qualified and experienced than Foyi. Foyi, for her part, had actually gained some training from both her parents, as well as the Masters at the Zeison Sha Temple, but her tutelage had been cut short by the arrival of the Empire. Foyi, like so many Zeison Sha existing these days, had had to finish her training on her own, mostly through trial and error and the wisdom of others in hiding, practicing in secret or as far from prying eyes as possible. Despite these setbacks, Foyi had managed to excel in the ways of the Zeison Sha, especially telekinesis and wielding a discblade, the hallmark of the Zeison Sha order and tradition. But Tama held a more tenuous connection with the Force, no less strong than her older sister's, but with differing focus. Telekinesis did not come easily to her, and she regularly felt frustration and saw failure in almost every way she called on the Force due to her personal insecurities. Tama's naturally inquisitive and forward-thinking nature was getting in her way, preventing her from experiencing the present, the "here and now", and more often than not, she took her anger out on Foyi, her sister and her teacher. Foyi was certain that Tama did not mean the disparaging and derogatory remarks she sometimes levered the older Twi'lek's way, because ultimately, she believed that Tama recognized her own insecurities and issues as her own barriers to greater understanding and mastery of the Force.
But she was still a fourteen-year-old girl, and so rarely took responsibility for anything.
Foyi sighed again, then let herself sink beneath the cool, calming waves of the Force again. The discblade jumped into the air and began its bouncing, whirling circuit around them. The Twi'lek raised her right hand, and the stone floated off the floor, revolving around the discblade, following it. Foyi sent a current at the stone, and it began to pass through the middle of the whirling mass of wrapped leather and metal blades, moving perfectly in and out of the space in the handle almost a dozen times before Foyi let both sink back to the floor. She let out a heavy exhalation, then opened her eyes to see Tama staring at the two objects on the rug, completely aghast, her mouth slack-jawed. She met Foyi's dispassionate gaze and asked, "How? You made it look...so simple."
"In some ways, it truly is...that's what I've been trying to teach you, Tamam'buma. Remember when I told you that the stone wants to pass through the middle of the discblade, and in the exercise, you exist to help and facilitate it, not force it, not control it. Remember: you are not the beginning and end-all of the Force. The Force is in all things, created and nurtured by all living beings but with an energy, a will even, all its own. When you call upon the Force, you must feel its currents, its flow, and allow it to fill you, to move through you, to become part of it. When you impose your will on the Force, you will find yourself having unnecessary difficulty. But when you become part of the Force, when you let your emotions, your preconceptions, yourself go and simply acknowledge your kinship with the rest of the galaxy and the Force itself, then you will find your task easy."
Tama glared reproachfully down at the stone and the discblade. "You make it sound so easy."
'Because it's not as hard as you make it out to be. You're hampering yourself by approaching the exercise with your pent-up frustration and your anger. Use the meditative lessons I taught you; purge yourself of both negative and positive emotions. Allow yourself to become an empty vessel, a sponge for the Force."
"I'm sorry," Tama replied.
"It's fine, Tama...I know you're frustrated, and I know you're angry. Anger, rage, wrath are useful emotions as well, especially in the heat of battle, as long as they are controlled and used wisely. You must never let yourself be dominated by any one emotion...that's a slippery slope that leads to the Dark Side."
Tama leaned forward, her interest clear on her face. "You said once that you've seen the Dark Side, but you never really talk about it..."
Foyi nodded, her mind returning to unseen memories she had not viewed in years, memories that still made her shudder. "When I was very small, much younger than you are now, I took some of my lessons at the Sha Kalan, before the Empire came and claimed it as their base. There was a Master there, a Rodian with a cheery disposition but a mean streak when students or other Zeison Sha would anger him. Most of us Initiates liked him a lot because he was funny, intelligent, and had a way with everyone learning the Zeison Sha ways; he had a gift for recognizing exactly how he needed to change his teaching style to accommodate the learning habits of each and every student. But you never wanted to get on his bad side, because he could be genuinely scary.
"But everything changed for him, and for us, when he found out his family had been slaughtered by voorcats on a hunting trip. Everyone who lives here knows that life is hard on Yanibar, and these events do occur...family members, loved ones...sometimes they die to the claws of predators or the horrible storms we have. This...Master realized this, understood this like everyone else, but when his family died...he could not handle all the pain and grief he was experiencing, and he became angry until he was consumed by his wrath. He went out into the wilds for weeks, hunting and killing every single voorcat he found. Many in the community gave him up for dead, but when he came back, he was a complete stranger to all who knew him. The Force was raw, wild, and powerful within him, but he was so dark and cold...he returned to the Sha Kalan, to regain his teaching position, but no one would go near him. His presence was like a cold blast of water in the Force. The other Masters tried to help him, but he was too far gone, and lashed out at them. I wasn't present for what happened after that, but I heard Ma and Da talking about it in whispers some nights, and they said that he attacked some of the Masters and the students, and actually killed one of the other Masters before they killed him. It was...horrible."
"But...why do some people who can feel the Force turn to the Dark Side? Is it more powerful?"
Foyi shook her head. "I don't know if it's truly stronger...if it is, it comes at far too high of a price: the sacrifice of oneself. To fall to the Dark Side is to lose oneself completely to one's own base emotions and passions, to be ruled by emotion rather than being in control of oneself. To use the Dark Side is to impose your will on the Force, instead of allowing it to flow through you and be a part of you. Those who have fallen to the Dark Side try to command and control the Force in a vain attempt to gain more power, but the Force does not answer to any one person. Remember that you are part of a living, breathing system...if you are truly one with the Force, you won't ever feel the need to cross over to the Dark Side."
Tama sighed, but her stare never left the two objects on the rug. "I'll try and remember that. It's...just so hard..."
Foyi stood, smiling. "You know Tama, don't blame yourself for not getting the hang of this exercise. In all honesty, it probably took me hundreds of tries to get this right, and you're a lot closer to completing it after only ten practices than I was at that stage. Keep practicing, keep feeling the Force, maintain your focus, and you'll get the hang of it."
Hearing that her sister had had the same issues she was experiencing with the exercise seemed to motivate Tama, and they practiced it over and over until the middle of the night, where Foyi decided to call it a night for both of them. Tama had never actually gotten the stone through the center of the whirling discblade, but she came close enough to grant her some measure of encouragement. The storm howled and screamed at their door and windows throughout the entire night, and the walls creaked in the ferocity of the tempest, but inside the home, it was safe and cozy. Tama, more than a little disappointed in herself, but not as disheartened as she had been, went to bed exhausted, and Foyi could hear her light snores only moments after her younger sister disappeared into her room. But Foyi was too restless to sleep for the moment. Yes, her time spent attempting to train Tama had been tiring, but she found sleep elusive tonight. She kept thinking of the pair of snow scouts she had killed on the hillock in the wilds. The Imperial garrison would undoubtedly take issue with two of their number being absent without leave, and may even organize some sort of search party to track them down. If the blizzard had not been bearing down upon her, she would have disposed of the bodies properly, perhaps even mangling the corpses to make it appear that voorcats or some other predator had killed the scout troopers. She was not worried about the other Imperials discovering the bodies tonight; the Empire's minions knew not to venture out into Yanibar's horrendous storms, and by morning the corpses would probably be buried in snow and ice. There was still the issue of the stolen speeder bike parked outside, an issue that would have to be remedied as soon as the tempest abated, which could subside as quickly as it could arise. Which meant she needed to be ready to move at a moment's notice, so true, deep sleep was not an option. The excitement of battle and the sudden onset of the storm had made her reckless, and if she was being honest with herself, had put her and Tama's relatively safe and quiet existence in jeopardy. The lack of sleep would be her penance for her recklessness. She reminded herself that she was a true Warrior of the Zeison Sha. She should be far above such simple and careless mistakes.
Foyi sank back to the rug in a cross-legged position once more and closed her eyes, imagining the cool, bright waters of the Force. It was a simple thing to slip in between the waves, into the bright currents and relaxing breaths, as if the universe was breathing for her. Her breathing slowed, her heartbeat relaxed, and she felt disconnected from the rest of the world, the house, her own body. The only thing she consciously registered was the undulating shriek of the wind, the minute pitter-patter of snowflakes, the tiny metallic pings of ice splashing against the durasteel shutters. She submerged herself in a spiritual trance that would purge her of anxiety and negativity, that would rejuvenate her weakened muscles and sore limbs. She became one with the Force, and drifted on the currents of energy, of life, of unity.