Eve spent the day helping the villagers harvest the wheat. It was not a large village, barely a hundred families—less than three hundred people, and almost two-thirds of them children. But they were all hardworking, united under the sense of belonging that characterized their lives. Anyone who could separate chaff from wheat was in the fields, doing just that. Those who could not had their own chores: repairing houses, watching over the toddlers and infants while their parents worked the grains, the millers pressed the grain into flour, and the smithy's fires lighted the midday air.
It was nearing sundown when the chores were finally finished, the harvest over. It had been a successful season, with produce in abundance. Eve smiled in delight. Now they had enough grain to make enough bread to trade for enough goods when the peddlers came the following month. By her estimate, there would still be plenty left over for her own people to use, as well. It had been a very good season.
With things so very positive for her village, Eve felt no guilt in heading back into the Lower Woodlands. The sun was well below the mountains, sending all into darkness. But she was not afraid of the dark, nor of the woods she trod. Again she wore the simple tunic she always wore when delving into the forest, with the same pouch strapped to her belt. But now she had a simple leather brace slung over her shoulder, and dangling from it, holstered in a crude sheath, was the broken sword.
Its edge had been sharpened—her doing, a long and tedious chore—so that it came to a point. She polished it, too, so that it gleamed in what little moonlight shone through the canopy. It felt right bouncing against her hip as she walked deeper into the forbidden woodlands. It was her heritage, and it was right for her to claim it as her own. Her father had said so.
So she walked and walked, the predators and plants giving way to her, almost bowing before her. This night she came for another treasure hunt. The deepest parts of the Lower Woodlands held metal relics from a bygone age, when her people soared among the stars. Few ever saw the heart of the forest, but she had—indeed, she saw it regularly. It was time for another look.
Hours passed as she pushed onward, past the vines and the trees, the insects and the animals, the cloying darkness and the hidden moonlight. It soon became too dark to see well, so she took out a glass vial from her pouch and captured some fireflies, using their light to show her way. And then she came out on a ledge overlooking a barren pit, where no tree grew or creature roamed. In that pit were great metal beasts, enormous and darkly beautiful.
Some looked like dolphins to her, conical and smooth, streamlined and graceful. Others were monstrous blocks, jagged at every corner, bestial and terrible. There were sounds, too, groaning and humming and chattering, as if the gutted metal giants were speaking…or letting out their death throes.
Eve smiled gaily. Every time she came to this place—this place she called the Metal Graveyard—she always found something of interest. But she never took her findings back home. Her people would never allow it. There were legends and stories of a curse that befell those who stole from the Metal Graveyard. It was unholy ground, so went the tales. But Eve only laughed away those yarns whenever she ventured here. There were far too many beautiful, wondrous things to be frightened away by ghost stories.
She hopped down the ledge expertly, knowing the safest way down to the pit. Her feet navigated the uneven terrain unconsciously, so often had she traveled its hidden roads. Her boots clanked against the metal and she began her search. For hours she sifted through the ruins, plucking away slabs of steel and coils of silvery material that she could not identify.
And then she let out a squeal of happiness. She pushed aside a plate with red markings on it—AETHERSPRITE STARFIGHTER, it said, whatever that meant; she did not care, since she had many similar plates with similar nonsense written on it—and found a glowing crystal cube beneath.
She held the glimmering item in her hands gently, fearing that its seeming fragility would shatter at the slightest touch. Its faces emitted a strange green light, keeping the darkness away better than any bottled firefly ever could. It was nothing short of mesmerizing, and it seemed to drink her attention, drawing upon her, glowing brighter and brighter with every breath she took.
She saw things in that cube, reflected upon its six surfaces. A falling star of metal, striking the mountains near her village. A woman in black, carrying a torch of green flame. A hideous man cloaked in shadow, his eyes yellow and evil. The woman and man fighting with arcane gestures, lightning crackling between them. The woman panting tiredly. And finally three objects—a wand, an amulet, and a knife—and Eve realized that the knife was the broken sword hanging from her shoulder.
The images faded from her mind as she opened her eyes—which she did not recall closing—with a start. The visions were like ghosts, wispy and untouchable, and they were not even a memory when she finally became aware of her surroundings. The pit had grown lighter. It was almost dawn.
"Oh no!" she cried. She had not expected to stay out so late, certainly not the whole night. "I'm going to be in so much trouble for this!" She hurried to the wall of the pit where a sliver on moonlight sliced through the canopy. There, she pulled out a rock, revealing a crevice she had found on one of her initial sojourns. It was cramped, tiny, but it served her well enough as a place to hide her treasures. She slipped the crystal cube between a tattered book in a language she could not read and a sphere with blinking numbers on it. Then she replaced the rock and climbed out of the pit. It was time to go home.
The sun was beginning its climb above the mountains when she finally reached the village. She was met by a group of worried villagers, her father forefront among them. Her shoulders sagged and she braced herself for the lecture she knew she would receive. To worry all of them so—she had disappointed them.
"What do you have to say for yourself, daughter?" her father asked sternly.
She said nothing, for she had nothing to say. Her dejected look and lowered head were words enough to express her shame.
"We're readying the mills and silos," her father said simply. "You will be in charge of the children. Be glad that I don't ask you to wear your hair in a girl's braid or to carry a girl's toy doll." That was a telling blow, for only the old and incompetent were given the role of caretaker when all others worked the grains. It was to teach the punished responsibility and patience and to remind them of their childish ways. Her shame was complete and she made sure not to look at anyone in the eye as she made her way to the grassy knoll where the children always played.
The day passed uneventfully for the workers, especially since their chores consisted of hauling bales of wheat to the mill or bags of finished grain to the silos. Eve found her morning, afternoon, and twilight consumed by the crying, howling, running, and anarchy of childcare. Girls in braids threw dolls at boys in ponytails, who in turn made silly faces at the girls, which only fanned the flames of gender war. No matter what she tried, Eve could not calm the raucous children. It was utter chaos and her ears rang in her head until the tinning ceased. She thought she had gone deaf from all the shouting.
It was, sadly, only temporary. Her hearing returned, as did the perpetual wailing of the next generation. Night finally fell, bringing exhaustion to the children and reprieve to their caretaker. The parents returned from their work and took their sleeping angels away to bed, leaving Eve alone to curse them as loud-mouthed devils. But she did not mean it. She was fond of the children, and they were fond of her; she simply had reached the limit of her patience.
Now soothing night and silence massaged her neck and shoulders, taking the tension from her like a miracle balm. The stars winked in the midnight black above her and she lay back on the grassy knoll to enjoy the view. Streaks filled the air, and she thought it was a meteor shower. But something was strange, for the streaks were not the white of stars or flying rocks, but red like blood. They became larger, sharper, distinct. And she saw that they were not meteors or stars.
It was something else—like something she had seen in the Metal Graveyard.
It shrieked in the night air, like a dying dragon or a vengeful demon, and it died crashing into the face of the mountains. A plume of fire and earth erupted into the darkness, showering the village in lights not seen since the last fireworks festival three winters back. There were startled cries as villagers went out of their homes to witness the strange event. The roar of fire, the moaning of a dying metal beast, the howling of the wind—all serenaded the destruction they saw before them.
Eve was one of the first to examine the wreckage, for she ran like the wind, leaving others to follow in her wake. Her feet were like clouds, ethereal and light, and she seemed to leave no print upon the ground. The flames raged like maddened demons from the depths of hell, surrounding the red-hot metal slabs of the slain steel beast. They danced like horrible devils, scorching the grass of the valley and the stone of the mountain. They were monstrous, all-burning, all-consuming.
Eve stared at them, undaunted and full of pride, for she was the princess of the valley. These flames would obey her. One by one, the flames extinguished, parting before her. That was when she saw her. A woman lying unconscious, possibly dying of asphyxiation, surrounded by the fires. She was dressed in black.
Eve waved a hand at the fires and they parted. "Help her," she ordered to the villagers nearest to her. "Bring water from the river and the medicine woman from the village. This woman here needs her cures. You and you, make a stretcher from that sheet of metal there. Make sure it isn't hot. You, help me carry her." They lifted the black-garbed woman carefully and laid her just as carefully onto the makeshift stretcher. "Now, let's get her out of here. Put out those flames, the rest of you! We can't let this spread to the fields. We'll search the place later."
They brought the black-garbed woman to the village walls, where the medicine woman waited for them with baskets of plants and poultices and mortars and pestles and bandages and other such things as a medicine woman would need. "Help this woman, please," Eve begged. "She is familiar to me, somehow, though I swear by the trees that I've never once seen her. But heal her."
The old medicine woman knelt by the black-garbed woman and pressed her withered ear to the ashen lips. "Princess," the medicine woman said, "this one lies dying. There is no air in her. Bring me my baskets. I will make a potion to give her air."
The potion was foul in scent and probably far fouler in taste, but the medicine woman unhesitatingly poured the vile libation down the still throat and gently tilted the head forward, to let the drink flow down to the belly. The black-garbed woman was lifeless, like a corpse, but suddenly lurched as coughs wracked her body.
"The air will enter soon," the medicine woman said confidently, as the black-garbed woman coughed and coughed and coughed. "She must remove the poisons she has breathed. She must purify her lungs."
Purification came with a gag and a final cough, and reached a crescendo with the smell of vomit. Blackened mucous spilt upon the dirt of the village and the black-garbed woman gasped in the fresh air of the valley.
Eve knelt before her, laying a calming hand upon the black-garbed shoulder. "You are all right," she said. "You are safe, whoever you are."
"Where am I?" the black-garbed woman asked numbly through stiff lips. Eve blinked—the strange woman spoke her language! "Who are you?" the woman asked.
"You are in my valley, where my Papa rules," Eve answered, overcoming her initial shock. "I am Eve, princess of the valley. Now no more questions. You must rest." She turned to a villager and saw that it was Atroclos, the night watchman. "Atroclos, inform Papa that there will be a guest in our household. I will take this woman to the tower. She needs rest and the hospitality we can provide."
Eve turned to help the black-garbed woman to her feet, but she had already fallen asleep.
Angela woke in a strange bed in strange clothes. Her head hurt as if she had spent a week of nights tossing back round after round of high-grade Corellian ale. It was a struggle to simply open her eyes, and she almost had to call upon the Force to silence the pounding in her skull. But it was no hangover, she knew—it was worse. Injuries flamed to life, sending searing agony through her limbs.
A concussion then, she reasoned blearily, congratulating herself on even that simple coherent thought. She forced her eyelids open, ignoring the white flash that became her vision. It cleared slowly, and she surveyed her surroundings.
She lay in a cot with a crude leather skin or pelt for a blanket. The room was a sparse affair, made of mud bricks and masonry, also crude, yet also noble in its innocent simplicity. There were no furnishings other than the cot and blanket. Her clothes were likewise simple: a frock of cured hide. She wore no leggings or boots, and her bare legs were cold in the dim room. A pair of leather wrappings—shoes, she realized—lay at the foot of the cot.
It seemed so backward to her, so plain. She recalled an auburn-haired girl in a dirty red tunic telling her she was in a valley. Eve, she had named herself.
The thought of names brought Angela to full attention. "Atropos!" she cried in alarm. "Damn it, where'd he get to? He shot me down and I returned fire, but I don't remember if I killed him or not."
The door opened suddenly, and Angela reflexively pulled the blanket to her chest. "You are awake at last," a sprightly teenager greeted warmly, entering with a tray of cloths and a bowl of water. "I would have knocked if I had known you were up." She had auburn hair and wore the red tunic from the night before.
"You are…Eve?" Angela asked. Though the young Jedi had never heard the girl's language before, she had no trouble speaking or understanding it. Long ago, she mastered her inborn talent of using the Force to comprehend any spoken dialect. It was, plainly enough, a useful ability.
The girl nodded. "I am." She could not have been more than fifteen.
"It's a pretty name."
"Thank you, you are too kind. Here." She handed her a cloth soaked green. "The medicine woman wants it placed over the wound on your shoulder."
Angela did as she bade, though she winced at the foul odor and the bite of the concoction's sting as it touched her wound. "Dreadful stuff," she grunted. "What is it?"
"Something to take your mind away from this," the girl, Eve, answered, placing white powder into a clay cup of water. "Drink."
Angela did so and almost gagged at the foul taste. "So what's this?" she squeaked.
"Willow bark."
"Oh." She was familiar with the potion—it was the basis of many painkillers. But it suggested just how backward this girl and her people were, if they referred to it as willow bark. "Well, that green stuff didn't take my mind away from that drink."
Eve laughed. "I suppose not. It works with the children. What is your name?"
"I am Angela Marshair, a Jedi Knight."
Eve blinked. "You have a pretty name too, Angela Marshair."
"Just Angela will do."
"Angela, then. But what is a Jedi Knight?"
The brown-haired Jedi knew then that she was truly on a backwater world. Rather than delving into a complicated and time-consuming explanation, she gave the girl the basics. "I'm a wandering servant of justice. A knight-errant, I guess."
"So what were you doing falling out of the sky?"
"I was shot down by someone. An evil man."
"Shot down?" Eve asked wonderingly. "I do not understand. You fell down. You were in that great metal beast, the animal that died when it hit the mountainside. We found you in it."
"Great metal…oh. You mean my ship."
"Ship? It was no ship, Angela. The ships of this valley are of wood, not metal."
Angela sighed. "Um, let's forget about it, Eve. Let's just call it the great metal beast. Speaking of metal things, I did your people find a lightsaber—I mean, a shaft of metal about this long. I guess you'd call it a rod. I'd like it back, if you did find it. But you shouldn't play with it because it's very dangerous."
Eve nodded eagerly. "We found such an item. You were wearing it. The girls helping the medicine woman put it away with the rest of your clothes when they dressed your wounds last night. It's all under the cot, actually."
The girl knelt at the bedside. "Here, let me get it for you. You shouldn't be up, not with those wounds. Ah." She held the lightsaber and gave it to Angela.
"Thank you, Eve." The Jedi laid her hands and weapon in her lap and smiled warmly at the girl. "You and your people have been very kind in taking care of me. Is there anything I can do to repay your hospitality?"
Eve's smile took in her ears. She remained kneeling by the cot, but then propped her chin on her hands, planting her elbows on the cot itself. "We do not expect payment from guests, Angela. It is not our way. We like visitors, you see, but only if they are friendly. But you look like someone who's seen a lot of wonderful things, been to marvelous places. You look like an adventurer."
Angela chuckled. The girl was certainly observant. "I suppose I do. And I have been on many adventures."
"Then tell me a story if you want to pay for our kindness." Her eyes—a stunning blue, Angela noted—twinkled merrily. "I like stories, you see."
Another laugh escaped the young Jedi. "I had a…good friend…who liked stories too. He's dead now, but I can tell you one that he told me. How old are you, by the way?"
"Fifteen."
"Ah, well, then you'll like this one, because it's about a boy and two girls who were exactly your age. They went to a magical world made of ice and snow, looking for something."
"What were they looking for?" the girl asked.
"You'll see. Now, the thing that they were looking for was a magic man who knew answers to questions they had. The questions were not important, though. It was finding the magic man that was important. So the boy and the two girls went through the snowstorms and up the mountains for many, many days and nights. Then they found the magic man's palace, a grand stone temple hidden in the mountains. It was covered with snow and looked very beautiful.
"They entered it, of course, because they thought that they could find the magic man. And they did. But he was not the magic man they were looking for."
"What do you mean? I'm confused—how could the magic man not be the magic man?"
"It was a trick. The magic man they found was a monster, a ghost who took over the bodies of other people. The magic man died a long time ago, and the ghost took over. The boy and two girls were frightened, but they tricked the ghost and escaped."
"How'd they trick it?"
"I…I don't know, actually. I never asked. Um, anyway, the boy and two girls got away, but the ghost was very angry at being tricked. It planned to kill them and followed them. But they had another trick ready. What they did was lure the ghost to a magic pool, where it was weak. They fought the ghost and destroyed it. And that's the end of the story."
Eve looked at her blankly for a moment, seemingly judging the quality of the tale in her mind. Then she said, "It's a so-so story. You need to work on your delivery."
Angela shrugged and smiled weakly. "I'm not much of a storyteller. My friend told it to me better. He really liked stories."
"What was his name?"
"Oh. Ran Tonno-Skeve."
"It's a funny name, but…warm-sounding." The girl nodded, agreeing with her own assessment. Angela found that she, too, agreed. Ran had been a warm and wonderful man.
Eve stood up and picked up the tray. "Well, I'll leave you to rest. Thank you for the story, Angela."
The girl was about to leave when the young Jedi raised a hand. "Wait. I have a question. Did you find anyone else near me? Anyone at all? Were there any other ships—er, metal beasts?"
The girl shook her head. "You were the only one we found. The medicine woman will be around to check up on you later. Sleep well, Angela." The door shut, leaving the young Jedi in solitude.
