Chapter Two
Crash site. Location unknown.
Present Day
"Well, I suppose things could be worse."
Sen shot his former apprentice an inquisitive glance, then returned his gaze to the smoking heap of parts that was, just minutes ago, their shining new shuttle, the Destiny's Charter.
"You told me that you could fly a shuttle," Sen said admonishingly. He folded his arms across his chest, letting out an audible sigh.
"Yes, you're right. I did say that," Logan replied. "But if someone had just let me take the Perlemian Trade Route instead of trying the Hydian Way, we wouldn't have run into an asteroid field. And if we didn't run into an asteroid field, we wouldn't have lost our engine and been forced to crash land on… where are we?"
Sen looked around. Trees. Everywhere he looked.
"Well, if I could venture a guess, I would say we were on a primarily botanical planet."
"A brilliant observation, Master."
"Indeed. I would assess the validity of my 'brilliant observation,' but the Charter's scanning equipment is in… questionable condition."
Sen forced himself to smile, looking over at the recently Knighted Logan Vriel. He was fiddling with a large tear on the sleeve of his brown robe, probably a result of their last-minute leap from the cockpit of their doomed starship.
"This was a new robe," Logan said somberly.
"Jedi are not vain, Logan. A robe is only a robe."
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Logan ceased moping over his torn robe, and proceeded to rummage through the wreckage. "I'll see if any of the food made it through the crash."
"Alright. I'm going to take a look around. I have my comm if you need me." Logan didn't reply, but Sen knew he had heard him. He also knew that Logan liked to busy himself when he knew he messed up. The Knight would get over it, however; for the moment, Sen had far more troubling things on his mind. He left the crash site and entered the dense jungle.
The aesthetically vibrant forests were a direct contradiction with the presence feeling of death that seemed to grasp the very air; Sen couldn't shake that feeling. It was odd, indeed, to be so awed by a planet's liveliness and vibrancy while, at the same time, to be compelled to constantly be on your toes, as if the planet itself was waiting for the right moment to gape open and swallow you. The air, thick and moist and warm, seemed to be unable to disengage itself from a very thin layer of fog, just enough to be visible to the eye and impair ever so slightly one's vision. It was an eerie feeling, walking in the jungle, and as Sen looked up and observed the pale green hue of the sky, he had the sudden urge to return to the crash site. Then, it hit him.
The Jedi Master knew of only two predominantly forest planets on the Perlemian Trade Route, and he was pretty sure that they had not traveled far enough to reach Toprawa. He was also quite certain that the Destiny's Charter had forced them off the Trade Route when the asteroid belt had wandered into their path. If his assumption was correct, then logically he was left with only one possible location in mind.
The Jedi Order exhausted considerable time and resources to monitor all the organized Force cults in the galaxy. When one of these cults gathered a significant enough following to be considered potentially harmful, they would intervene and shut them down. However, the Jedi Order has, for a very long time, been aware of a particular organization of Force Sensitives, and done little about them. Dangerous and mysterious, the Witches of Dathomir had, for centuries, trained their kind in the ways of Sith Magic. While, legend has it, an exiled Jedi Knight had started this matriarchal group of Force Sensitives, it shared very little in common with the Jedi Order.
However, the Witches were not Sen's primary concern—it was those who even the mysterious spell-casters deemed abject enough to exile from their society: the Nightsisters.
Sen stopped walking and looked at the trunk of a large, rather beaten up tree. It sported several long, deep gashes across the length of its considerably sized base. Only a handful of creatures on Dathomir could have made such a large mark on a tree as sturdy as the one before him. The native malkloc, Sen knew, was a herbivore, but was of such immense size that only a fully-grown rancor was able to take it down. Being the size that it was, a malkloc would hardly notice if it accidently trampled, say, a pair of unfortunately stranded Jedi. Then, there was the rancor. A nightmarish creature that, Sen surmised, even he and Logan would have difficulty taking down. Quite unfortunately for them, Dathomir was infested with the abominations. Sen turned around. It was time to return. Formidable as Logan was in battle, he was in danger being alone; especially since he wasn't aware of what dangers were out there in the forest.
When Sen reached the crash site, he was relieved to find Logan sitting against the base of a tree, gorging on a pack of provisions. Logan looked up, swallowed his food, and greeted the Jedi Master. "Welcome back. Enjoy your walk?" He reached into a battered durasteel lockbox, removed a package of provisions, and held them up.
Sen smiled, walking over to Logan and accepting the food. "Oh, yes. It was quite, ah, enlightening, you could say."
"Really? Did you manage to figure out where we were?" With a smirk, Logan added, "Aside from a 'primarily botanical planet,' I mean."
"I did, actually. Well, I'm almost positive, anyway." Sen opened the package of food and began to munch on a breadstick. Logan looked at him, awaiting further explanation.
"Well…? Where are we, then?"
Swallowing his food, Sen cleared his throat and replied, "Turns out we ended up on Dathomir. At least, that's a fairly educated guess."
"What?!"
"Hmm?"
"What do you mean, 'hmm'? We're in a terrible position right now! Even worse than that time you pissed off that Herglic on Fondor."
"He over-reacted."
"You told him he was fat, Master."
"No, no. I didn't say it. I implied it. And you're overreacting right now. We'll be fine. I'm sure the sound of our crash has frightened most of the rancors and malkloc away."
"What's a malkloc?"
Sen was about to reply when he felt an all-too-familiar feeling in the back of his mind.
Danger.
And whatever it was, it was big, and it was hurtling towards them with unnerving speed. Apparently Logan had felt it, too, because he had put his provision pack down and was unclipping his hilt from his belt. He looked over at Sen and nodded. The pair stood up, ready to face whatever was coming through the tree line ahead of them.
No amount of Jedi breathing techniques could have calmed them enough to keep them from jumping back when the malkloc came crashing through the line of trees, its rancor pursuer claw-deep in its flesh. The malkloc fell, belly-up, to the ground, kicking at the rancor with its massive legs—but to no avail. The rancor, nearing ten meters tall, slammed its massive fist into the soft underbelly of the creature. Feebly, the malkloc attempted to clamp onto the arm of its opponent. But the rancor, sensing the life of the malkloc fading, grabbed the neck of the creature with both hands and, using both of its feet to keep its victims torso steady, tore the head from its body.
"Malkloc?" Logan asked quietly.
"It was," Sen confirmed.
"Any chance of us sneaking off while the rancor chows down?"
"Probably not. They have quite a keen auditory system, I hear."
"I thought they had a good sense of smell, not hearing."
"Actually, it's both," an unfamiliar voice said from behind them.
The two Jedi spun around quickly, lightsabers activating simultaneously with a snap-hiss.
"Welcome to Dathomir, Jedi. My name's Kanteera. It's been a while since we've had one of your kind come to visit us," said the stranger. She was pretty girl, even with her elaborate facial tattoos and overly flamboyant headdress. Aside from her headdress, Kanteera wore very little: a simple brown loincloth, and a similarly colored top covering her chest. In her hand was a wooden staff, which she leaned on. The end of her staff was sharpened to a point, but aside from that she did not seem to have any weapons in her possession. She smiled at them, and her girlish smile betrayed her youth. Sen estimated her to be barely thirteen.
"We're not here for a visit," Sen replied. "As you might have noticed, we're having some difficulty with our ship."
Kanteera looked past the Jedi to the still-smoking heap of parts that was once a ship.
"I see. Why don't you come with me? I can take you back to my village. I'm sure that someone will be able to help you with your… ship trouble."
Sen and Logan exchanged wary glances. The fact that neither of them had sensed this girl made them uneasy. She seemed harmless enough, but Sen knew better than to trust his eyes. If Master Atreides had taught him anything during their time together, it was never to trust your senses; they, unlike the Force, can be deceived.
"Where am I?" asked the middle-aged Jedi Council member. He was sitting directly in front of Sen, and they were both staring at each other.
"Master? You're right in front of me," replied Sen, confused.
"Am I? How do you know this?"
"Because… because you are. I can see you."
"Wrong! You don't know I'm here. Your eyes are telling you that I am sitting in front of you."
"But you are sitting in front of me, Master!"
"You believe that because your eyes are telling you that I am. Do not trust in your eyes, my Padawan, or any of your other senses. The only thing you can rely on is the Force. Open yourself to the Force; let it flow in you, through you. You are a conduit for it."
Sen closed his eyes. He pictured himself standing on a rock in the middle of a great river. The river was flowing calmly, now, but continuously. But he urged the river to flow faster. 'Go on,' he urged. 'Flow freely.' And it did. The river flowed with great force, and he felt the cool water wash over him.
"Good, I can feel it within you. Can you feel it now, Sen?"
"Yes, Master."
"Now, Sen, where am I?"
"You're right in front of me."
"How do you know this?"
"Because the Force told me so."
Master Atreides smiled and patted Sen on the head. "You'll become a wise and powerful Jedi one day, my Padawan."
Sen felt that same river of power enter him again, and with it he searched Kanteera. What were her intentions? Judging by her appearance, she was a Dathomiri Witch; part of one of the tribes of Witches in the area. But was she a member of the true tribes, or was she a Nightsister? Sen could sense an unnerving well of energy within this girl, and he hoped that the former was true.
"That would be very appreciated, thank you," he said.
Logan looked questioningly at his Master, who powered off his lightsaber and returned it to his belt. The Knight hesitated before following suit.
"Great!" said Kanteera excitedly. "Gnomnom will lead the way!"
"Gnomnom?" the two Jedi asked at the same time.
Kanteera puckered her lips and made a long, shrill whistle. The two Jedi exchanged worried glances as the feasting rancor, upon hearing Kanteera's call, lifted its head from inside the open belly of the dead malkloc and lumbered over to them.
"Don't worry," she assured them. "Gnomnom is usually pretty friendly! Well, except for when that one guy tried to shoot him a few days ago. It was some fat whale with legs! Gnomnom took care of him, though."
"Whale with legs?" Logan asked, looking over at Sen. "You don't think…"
"No, it couldn't be," replied Sen, sounding unsure himself. "Well, Fondor was a long time ago. And, now that you mention it, I do recall the NaviComputer saying something about Dathomir."
The rancor stopped directly behind the trio, peering down at them with beady yellow eyes.
"Bring us back to the village, Gnom!" shouted Kanteera, and skipped gracefully behind the rancor as it entered the woods.
Sen shrugged, tightening his robe around him. "Well, let's get going."
"Are we really going to follow a rancor, Master?"
"No, of course not, Logan. That would be ridiculous." Sen stepped over a tree that Gnomnom had knocked over, and began to follow the path it had left. "We're following the girl."