The Valley of the Force

Timeline: 35 years after the Battle of Yavin

Chapter One: Her Father's Daughter

The Lower Woodlands were very dangerous. Little sunlight could penetrate through the canopy to the marshy forest floor, leaving the trees in perpetual darkness. Creatures great and small, many poisonous and all irascible, haunted the bile-colored greens. Their songs could be heard in the still air. It always smelled of decay and corruption in the Lower Woodlands.

But Eve welcomed all of it.

Here, strangely enough, she felt at peace. Aside from the chatter of the woodland denizens, the forest was quiet. No other human soul dared to tread the shadowed paths of the Lower Woodlands as Eve did. She made her way through the heavy flora as if they were not there. The bright flowers—which could exude a deadly spore capable of rotting a human's lungs in seconds—bent away as she passed. The vines—covered with sharp thorns that spilled muscle-decaying fluids—parted in homage to her.

Here, she was untouchable, for the Lower Woodlands did her bidding. But that was not the proper way to put it. Here, she was a friend.

Eve found the raptor lying on its side between the split trunk of a tree. It struggled wildly, its razor teeth snapping viciously. Claws backed with the strength to tear through bone with ease raked at the air, enfeebled and useless. Eve approached the predator with compassion, a soothing aura radiating from both her and her consoling words.

"Calm down, friend," she whispered into its ear, daring to brush a hand down its scaly neck. The raptor mewled and bit its jaws at her. But she did not flinch. Her strokes became firmer, but gentler, too. The beast settled down. "I'll just carry you out of there, all right?" She placed her hands beneath the frightened creature's neck and belly, carefully lifting it out of the trap and settling it beside the tree.

"There, now you're all better." The raptor licked her bare hand and then sprinted into the darkness. Eve wiped her hand on the skirt of her tunic and resumed her walk through the foreboding wood that she felt so comfortable in.

Thirst parched her throat, for her sojourn had lasted most of the day, from the early hours of dawn to the twilight of the afternoon. She came to a pool of water that she found over a month ago and sat by its edge. She filled a leather water-skin and took a long drink, letting the crisp liquid appease her burning throat. Then she splashed it over her sweat-drenched face, neck, and shoulders before refilling the skin.

The darkness of the Lower Woodlands grew darker. It would soon be night, and even audacious Eve knew better than to linger when the moon rose. When the stars appeared, the denizens of the forest were filled with a vile insanity that drove them to manslaughter—if any pitiable humans presented themselves. Their behavior was a mystery to Eve and to all who lived near the forest's edge, but they had long ago accepted it as the natural cycle of things.

Eve shouldered her water-skin—the only article she carried aside from a large belt pouch and a stout knife—and retraced her steps back to the edge of the woods. Waning orange-red light greeted her and caressed her face. The sun was just beginning its dip behind the far mountains. It would be full night by the time she reached the village.

Her return home was a much easier journey than tromping through the Lower Woodlands. The golden fields of wheat that sustained her people were pliable in ways that the forest never could be. Where the vines and flowers paid her homage, the grains were her subjects. They formed a path before her and she walked it willingly, knowing that home lay at the end.

Her estimations proved correct—the moon was high in the air and the candle lamps were aflame by the time she reached the mud and thatch houses that were her home. The sentry this night was an elderly fellow who looked more a farmer than a guardsman. She waved to him. "It is a cool night, Atroclos," she greeted heartily.

"Princess Eve," the old man said with a reverent nod of his head. He was too old to bow properly. "A pleasant evening it is, and a pleasant day before it. Not that you'd have seen it, by the looks of you. If I may say so, my lady, you're filthy!"

Eve laughed and tugged on the sleeve of her tunic. "That's what happens when you explore the Lower Woodlands, friend Atroclos."

"Ah, well, only you would have the courage to brave that foul wood, my lady." The old man spoke with a heavy measure of respect. "Speaking of things foul, you father is in a particularly bad spell this night. He has been worried sick for you all day. He does not approve of your treks, my lady."

She shrugged, unconcerned. "Papa's always disapproved, Atroclos. I will speak with him later."

"Well, I'd best be getting back to watching the fireflies. A good evening to you, Princess Eve."

"And a good one to you as well, Atroclos."

Eve left the old guard behind and strode into the village. With night in full force, there was little activity on the streets. It was a peaceful village no matter the time of day. She had heard tales of bandits and thieves in larger towns, but never once had she seen such maliciousness among her own people. Here, people worked together for the sake of helping each other. It showed in their wooden crafts, in their mud buildings, in the low stone wall that surrounded the village, in the windmills that pressed the grain into flour. It showed even in the simple wicker baskets that carried the grain to the mills, in the heavy bags that stored the flour, in the clay bakeries that turned the flour into bread. Their communal living was everywhere.

She saw it in the precocious child that ran up to her, crying out her name in welcome. The child had been taught the traditions and language of her people, the lore of the land, and the ways they lived by the forest runners, the hunters, the farmers, the potters and blacksmiths, the night watchmen like Atroclos, and every other person in the village. So Eve knelt and scooped the child up in her arms, whispering a quiet hello even as the child's mother came running up with apologies.

"Princess Eve," the mother said breathlessly, having run straight from her mud house. "Little A'yannah here heard you had gone into the woods again and vowed to stay awake to welcome you home. I'm sorry about the commotion."

Eve smiled warmly. "It's all right, Kaddas. I'm happy you came you to greet me, A'yannah, but its your bedtime now. Remember, harvest is tomorrow, and everyone needs to help. So you be a good girl and go get your sleep. You need to be strong and healthy for work."

The child bobbed her head in agreement. "All right, Princess Eve!" Eve watched the child and her mother walk back to their house. Then she pressed on through the empty streets, heading for her own house—the largest in the village.

It was a tall and proud tower, the only building made of stone aside from the windmills and the smithy. It was built on a spire of rock jutting up from the valley, where the Upper Woodlands became one with the Great Cliffs. Only a thin bridge of stone connected the tower to the village. Eve crossed that bridge and entered the tower, her footsteps echoing loudly.

"Ah, Eve," her father boomed in greeting as she entered his bedroom. He was a hale man despite his wintering years, garbed in a thick cloak made from the pelts of the predator cats that roamed the plains beyond the grain fields. A leather cap ornamented with bright beads adorned his hoary head. "Welcome home, daughter."

She knelt before him and took his wrinkled hand in hers and kissed it. "I'm home, Papa."

He seemed to sniff the air. He touched a spot on her tunic, a black stain made by the leavings of a rather large scavenger animal. "You went into the Lower Woodlands again," he said accusingly.

She lowered her head, but nodded all the same. She could never lie to her father, nor hold back anything from him. "I went searching for something, Papa," she explained.

"Did you find whatever it was you were looking for, daughter?"

"I think so." Her hand went to the large belt pouch tied to her waist. She drew forth a broken sword hilt. A hand-span's worth of blade remained fixed into its handle, broken clean. "I believe this to be the weapon of your father, Papa. You told me once that he died in the Lower Woodlands on an expedition for materials we could use to build a new windmill. His remains were never found, you said. I found them."

Her father's eyes closed as memory assailed him: happiness from his days of youth, sorrow at the loss of his parent, worry over his own flesh and blood running in the same hells that claimed his sire's life. Then he looked at his daughter, his lovely bright-eyed daughter, and looked at her with pride. He took the hilt from her hands. "This is indeed my father's sword. Is this why you've been going into the woods for the past month? Against my permission, no less?"

"It is, Papa."

He took her hand and pressed the hilt into it. "My days are closing, daughter. I was to inherit this blade, once. Now I pass it to you, for you will be the next ruler of the valley. Do you remember the story of the sword?"

She nodded solemnly. "When our village was founded, the original settlers of the valley were led by a great warrior who carried this sword. For ten generations, the rulers of the valley were men and women who proved their wisdom by never drawing this sword in anger, blindness, or hatred. It can be passed to anyone, and thus anyone can be ruler, as long as that person abides by our laws and traditions and always upholds the sanctity of the valley and the sword."

Her father nodded. "This sword is yours now, Eve. You may rule or you may find a husband and let him carry the sword. You are a courageous girl, my daughter. You disobeyed me, went into the forest, but you came back with a treasure I thought I would never again see. Above all, your actions allow us to uphold our traditions." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "I am very proud of you, my daughter."

"Thank you, Papa."

"Now, take you to your bed, my dear girl, and sleep. It is harvest time on the morrow, and you have a lot of work to do."

"I know. You have a lot of work to do as well, traveling to the other villages. You sleep, too. Good night, Papa."

She went to her room, a humble abode adorned only with the treasures she found in the Lower Woodlands. A branch from the tallest tree should could find, a twin-shaped leaf, the fossilized claw of some great arboreal animal, the skin of a lizard beast, a glass shard, an old metal rod that released beams of burning fire that lay beside a metal egg, a piece of that metal egg. These and more she kept all around her room, giving it the strange smell of wood and steel, life and death. She did not know what everything was, but she knew that she liked them. Others in the village thought her treasures strange and alien, but they applauded her efforts to understand the Lower Woodlands that had always seemed so frightening to them.

Eve took a folded leaf from her belt pouch and opened it. It was filled with the small husks of insects from the Lower Woodlands. Each shell looked like petrified rock, with bits of glimmering stone imbedded within. They were beautiful to behold. She pierced each husk with a needle and threaded a line of string through them, making a necklace. She hung the ornament on a hook by her bed and then pulled off her boots, belt, and tunic.

Once she was stripped to a simple linen shift, she poured out cold water into a stone bowl from a pewter pitcher and washed herself clean. Then she slipped into her cot, pulling the thick fur covers to her neck. The music of nocturnal insects lulled her to sleep.


Angela Marshair had not been to her homeworld of Trista Prime in over four years. Little had changed during that time, except for the standing of her household. As could be expected, the Marshair noble family had risen beyond its previous status, achieving new heights of opulence and influence. A part of her felt proud, another felt tired. It all seemed so pointless to her, this drive to acquire more power.

She said as much to the man before her, a meticulous and intelligent man in his fifties. Her father.

He had not taken her assessment well.

They sat in silence at the breakfast table. In his soft morning robes, he dined on fresh fish lathered with cream and a portion of hare imported from the wilds of far-off Edera with buttered buns made of fresh from the bakery. He downed it all with the richest of beverages. It was a feast rich in taste and price.

She ate a sparse meal of fruit, granola, and toast. It had been her breakfast of choice since Ran Tonno-Skeve began her training, and she continued the meager tradition out of respect for her slain master. That, and it was at once simple and wholesome in its own quaint way. She was dressed in the black tunic, trousers, and boots she had fashioned for herself when she declared herself a Jedi Knight. They were unflattering, plain, but they were serviceable. It was all a stark contrast to her father.

"And you are leaving for yet another mission, Angela?" her father asked, the first words he said to her all morning. Indeed, it was the first he had spoken to her in the past two days since their argument.

"I am," she replied stiffly.

"So you come to my household simply to see your mother's funeral."

"I felt I had to pay my respects. We did not part on…gentle terms."

He sent his fork down loudly. "No, no you did not. When you left, it broke her heart."

"It broke my heart that she—and you!—wanted to use me as another pawn for your power-grabbing schemes," she shot back. She would not accept the burden of guilt, not for this.

"We wanted what was best for you."

"No, you wanted what was best for our name, and don't deny it!"

"What nonsense you've learned," her father said. "I thought the Jedi taught wisdom, not nonsense."

"They taught me a whole lot more about real life than you ever did," she hurled back with much vitriol.

He slammed his hands on the table and shouted, "We gave you everything, Angela! We never asked for anything except a peaceable marriage! Was that so much to ask? Did we spoil you so much?"

"You wanted to cage me, Father," she returned. "I would have married a fool if I did what you wanted. A brainless fool. I'm glad I left, because I found a life of my own."

"Does it matter at all that by finding a life, you took your mother's?" he said quietly.

Her hands went cold, her heart stilled. "How dare you," she growled. "That was a cheap shot, Father."

"Well, it's true. It broke her heart, you leaving. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping. She drank all night. Drank herself right to death, eventually. I noticed you didn't say any words at her burial."

She straightened in her chair, stiffer than ever. "There were none that I wanted to say aloud."

"What did you want to say?"

"I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes and suddenly he seemed so small and tired and old. "I see. I think she would have liked to hear them." They ate in silence for a long time, thought neither could taste their food, rich and plain alike. To them, it tasted like ashes.

"You're mother left you something."

She nodded. "I know. I found it in her will."

"You're not wearing it."

"I…I don't wear jewelry anymore, Father." She tugged at her tunic. "This is who I am now. A Jedi Knight—I do not need material things."

"And so you deny her last gift to you. That's very cold of you, Angela."

She shook her head. "I'm not denying it. But I won't wear it. It is not who I am anymore. I hope she understands that."

Again came the silence. He broke it. "Where…where will you go now?"

She shrugged. "There's an assignment lined up for me. I have to arrest a dark Jedi who turned to piracy and may even be instigating rebellion. Master Skywalker asked me to do it because I've had experience in capturing people like him—pirates, that is. I have an idea of where to start looking, too. I have some friends I can talk to, who can tell me where he is."

"And so you're running with the gutter swine of the galaxy," he said sadly. "We raised you better than that, Angela." He looked at her sharply. "I even heard that you took such swine as your lover. Pre-marital relationships aside, you couldn't even find a decent boy."

"You will take that back now, Father," she said hotly, her temper flaring. "Ran died a noble and heroic man. I won't let anyone—especially you—disparage his memory. Understand? He was a better man than any of you."

Her father had heard enough. He set his utensils down, wiped his lips roughly, and stood. "It seems we've little else to talk about, Jedi Marshair. You know where the doors are. You can show yourself out." He left without another word.

Angela left the Marshair estate minutes afterward. She sat in the cockpit of the X-wing loaned to her by the Jedi Order, heating up its engines and cycling it through its take-off routines. Though her body, her fingers, and her eyes were on the flight instruments, her mind was latched to her bitter conversation with her father. But no matter how she turned the words in her head, she could not help but feel that her father was in the wrong.

"I'm not coming back here again, ever," she growled. The engines roared and she soared high in the sky and soon entered the white-and-black of space.

She turned on her communications channel. "Master Skywalker," she said, "I've finished my business and am heading out. Could you relay a message for me to an information broker named Bard? He should be operating out of Corellia."

"Certainly, Angela," replied Skywalker, his voice muddled by static. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother. My condolences."

"Thank you, Master Skywalker," she said perfunctorily, though she did not feel any gratitude at all. The last thing she wanted to remember was her own bitter words to her mother four years ago. "About that message."

"Go on."

"Tell Bard that I'll pay him two thousand credits for the location of that dark Jedi. He doesn't need to give me anything else other than that. I can handle the rest."

"Message relayed. Good hunting, Angela."

"Over and out."