It was dark, once more, as the Cor'dan made his way through the empty streets of the poorer quarters of Byss' royal city. His senses were stretched to their limits as he drank in the night, aware of everything, letting the impressions flow through his mind unchecked, guided by more than being fully aware of where he was going. Inside the shell that was his body Naas Deron's presence was floating in the protective embrace of his power, content for now to let events flow before him. But there was a hint of anticipation in his soul too. Where was he going? For what purpose? He did not know, and so far he had not yet grown accustomed to this passive state of awareness that Anakin Skywalker for one seemed to have been able to suppress in his time as Cor'dan. Idly, Deron mused about Roj Kell, then, and wondered how that independent-minded creature had come to terms with three thousand years of this. The conclusion to that thought came promptly: he hadn't.
A cool smile appeared on Deron's lips then, and gently he reasserted control over his own body, a sign for his having come to his destination. It was a Yuuzhan Vong dwelling, brimming with life, and the Cor'dan wondered briefly how he could ever describe to any of his acolytes what he was feeling right now. He couldn't. And that was a fact. His skin felt raw and overly sensitive, his eyes were blinded even by the darkness as he watched the currents of life that permeated the entire structure. It was a beautiful yet terrifying feeling, and he would regret having to give it up one day soon. But that was still in the future. The present was now. He recognised the dwelling at last, and smiled in understanding of what was required of him. Quietly stalking across the expanse of what passed as the living room he slipped into the quiet back of the building, where its owner slept fitfully, unaware of his presence.
He stood for a while, gazing down at her sleeping features, before he dived beneath that surface and into her subconscious mind. Vengeance, fury, triumph and fear crashed into his own self, making him stagger back for a moment. It took some strength to overcome the assault of her emotions, but once he had managed his expression turned very grim. She had known, just as he had suspected. Gently, he lowered himself down to sit on the edge of her sleeping bunk, then extended a hand to brush across her cheeks. "Wake up," he whispered softly. "Wake up."
She stirred, mumbled something in her own tongue, then her eyes fluttered open and her body went rigid as she recognised him. Her body jerked upright instinctively, but Deron's palm moved down over her chest to hold her back. "No fear," he murmured soothingly.
"What do you want?" Alyn Cha demanded, fear swirling about her like a swarm of piranha beetles.
Naas Deron smiled. "The truth," he replied. "Confirmation for what I know."
"I thought you knew everything," she snapped, anger lancing through the cloud of fear like lightning.
"Ah," he admitted, smiling. "But knowledge does not necessarily equal understanding. Domain Carr is not involved in this conspiracy, as you wanted to make Yana Dar believe. Does Jiliha know? Or care?" he continued bluntly, his almost black eyes resting unwaveringly on the priestess' face.
She gazed at him, her mind racing to sort through the implications of his quiet confession. But she could not possibly know how much he truly understood. Finally she answered, "Jiliha does not care. But she knows."
"And what do you stand to gain from that domain's demise?"
"You tell me," she hissed.
"You served Marayl Domain Carr faithfully, did you not? And your father betrayed him when he chose to accept Yana Dar as Empress. Which was why he had to die."
"I hate her," Alyn Cha pressed out. "She has destroyed my people, their pride, their heritage."
Naas Deron gave a solemn nod. "It had to die, Alyn Cha," he explained softly. "Sometimes change is needed in order to make survival possible."
"We could have won," she sobbed, her emotions flowing freely now, sucked into the vortex of the Cor'dan's presence. "We could have mastered this galaxy."
"Untrue," Deron countered then, his tone hardening. "Not as long as there was a guardian to protect our people against your invasion. And his successors will not let the future be turned into that past again. We have to look ahead, not back, Alyn Cha. It is that simple."
"I cannot accept this human empress," she retorted shaking her head vehemently.
"Then you cannot accept Jiliha either, can you?" he reasoned then, and saw her resolve falter. "And your father was killed for nothing. I know what game you are playing, priestess, you and your human allies. You delude yourself with dreams of purity. There is none, not while you are divided." His eyes narrowed somewhat. "What to do about you? Kill you? No," he answered himself. "That will not be necessary, I believe. You want your people's culture to survive? Then do not trust Jiliha. She will sacrifice your people for her ambitions."
"No!" the priestess exclaimed, anger flashing in her mind once more. "She has made promises, and I will hold her to those."
Naas Deron smiled. "It will be amusing to watch you try. But you now have a choice, Alyn Cha. Come to me, when you have made up your mind."
"You seem very confident that I will chose your side," she mused aloud.
He shrugged. "I know. And I understand," he told her then. "I am Cor'dan."
It did not take the occupants of the Morning Glory long to find a Chiss task force, and Luke almost felt relieved when they were hailed by one of the beautiful, camouflaged Stealth Cruisers. Edging his own vessel closer, he was watching Bray La's reaction guardedly, but found only a hint of fear and more than a hint of curiosity in the Falleen's mind. No recognition. "Ready?" the Jedi Master asked softly, and his companion nodded. Calmly, Luke went about answering the call, and identified his vessel and himself, "This is Luke Skywalker aboard the Morning Glory. We intend to pay a visit to Csilla, if that is permitted, and meet with his Esteemed Highness Ja'han'mandana."
There was a lengthy silence, and then a different voice, this one male, answered. "Master Skywalker," the Chiss said, "it is an honour. But why did you not announce your visit earlier?"
"It was a minute decision;" Luke confessed. "And it is important that I see him."
"You will have to contend with me first, I fear," the stranger replied then, sounding almost amused. "I am General Kalo'wyn," he introduced himself at last. "And I will be honoured to receive you aboard the Mahsenda."
Luke felt his mind flush with exhilaration. The Mahsenda! This was Al'than'erudo's old ship, before he had left his people to serve the Council of Naboo. And General Kalo'wyn was also an old acquaintance, a courageous Chiss commander who had once committed the remains of his decimated claw-craft contingent to try and rescue his monarch from Yuuzhan Vong clutches. "General," the Jedi answered, relieved, "It is an honour."
A little later, with the Morning Glory safely secured in one of the Mahsenda's holds, Luke and Bray La finally met their host. The formerly trim Chiss soldier had thickened somewhat around the middle, but it suited him, Luke found. The earnest expression on the general's face was broken by a light smile upon seeing the familiar shape of the Jedi Master disembark, and he walked over briskly to greet Luke and his companion. Introducing the Falleen, Luke observed the general closely, and found cautious curiosity in the Chiss' glowing red eyes. And then, all business-like, Kalo'wyn brought them to the familiar tactics room of his ship and asked bluntly, "And what is it that needs the Emperor's attention?"
"Information," Luke confessed, settling into one of the not so comfortable chairs spread around the large display wall that dominated the middle of the room. "And the whereabouts of one Imperial general named Warrahm Domain Carr. She's supposedly on duty out toward your perimeter."
Kalo'wyn cocked his head to the side curiously, as if trying to discern a different meaning behind the Jedi Master's request. Belatedly Luke remembered first meeting Al'than'erudo on this very ship, and the stunning revelation that he was Force-sensitive. But he could sense no such thing in Kalo'wyn. So what was eating him? Finally the Chiss answered, "The Emperor, as you can guess, is a busy man. I do not see how your request would merit a personal audience." Luke was taken aback. After all he and his family had done to save Ja'han'mandana and his people, he would have expected to be received with more hospitality. Kalo'wyn seemed to notice his consternation, for he hurried to assure him, "This is in no way related to your personal history with the Chiss," he said. "But we need to be cautious. The Emperor himself has ordered security to be increased. I cannot even begin at guessing at his motives."
"I can," Luke breathed in a whisper. He remembered the foiled attacks on Franzis Sarreti's life, and what Bray La had told him about the disappearance of the Sith princess Luzaya Dan. He recalled the last pieces of news they had garnered before leaving Nirauan, of the accusations against Empress Yana Dar concerning the genocide of the Yevetha population of N'zoth. It was clear that the hostility between the Empire and the New Republic was growing once more, and the Chiss were more firmly associated with the Empress Yana Dar than President Fey'lya on Coruscant. Ja'han'mandana knew he had to be very cautious not to be caught in the midst of a rising struggle. Leaning forward and resting his elbows lightly on his knees, Luke fixed Kalo'wyn in a calm gaze. "And what about General Warrahm, Domain Carr?" he asked. "Is there anything you can tell us about her?"
"A Yuuzhan Vong general, one of a growing number of officers from that part of the Imperial populace," the general reported. "Marayl Carr's daughter," he added helpfully, and Luke nodded with a smile.
"Yes. I am aware of that." He cast a sideways glance at Bray La. "I am also aware of Domain Carr's extensive dealings with the Corporate Sector. You allow this? So close to your borders? Surely they are trying to get past your customs patrols. Domain Carr is too proud to rely on supplies from the Sith Empire. They are using black-market trade with the Chiss to support themselves."
Kalo'wyn gave him a tight smile. "Master Skywalker, I am no customs officer - "
"Ah, but my friend here is. Bray La, what do you say?"
The Falleen, his earnest features giving way to a fleeting expression of pure amazement, hurried to reply. But he seemed just a little bit flustered by the Chiss' penetrating stare. "Well," he began haltingly, "we used to do this kind of thing, Alamys and me, while he was garnering monies for his troops. He used to funnel the goods through customs - through me - at a much cheaper rate, and sold them at market prices. He made quite some profit of it."
"And you?" Luke prompted, still smiling. "What was in it for you?"
Bray La flushed a deeper shade of green. "Credits," he confessed at last.
The Chiss general gave him a disapproving glare. "Not very dutiful, your customs officer," he growled.
"He's retired," Luke replied smoothly. "But I bet that Domain Carr is doing something similar." He held up his hand to keep Kalo'wyn from blurting out a reply. "But I also assume that His Esteemed Highness Ja'han'mandana is aware of these dealings. In fact, I believe he is playing a very clever game indeed."
"Which would be?" Kalo'wyn's glowing eyes were very irritating.
Luke's smile turned more serious. "I've done a few missions into the Corporate Sector," he told the two of them, "and I believe I know that they have the potential to wrack real havoc on the trade of both the Chiss and the Confederate Zone. The Sith Empire, thanks to Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology, is self-sufficient and only deals with the Chiss and the Confederate Zone for luxury goods its human citizens demand. And there's Domain Carr, sitting right on your door-step too. So Ja'han'mandana had to come up with a plan to disable the threat of the Corporate Sector smuggling cheaper goods into your territory, to keep the Confederate Zone appeased, and at the same time he wanted to make sure that Domain Carr could not grow too powerful."
"How did he do it?" Kalo'wyn asked, his tone baffled.
Luke nodded toward Bray La, who, during the long hours spent in transit from Nirauan to this point, had come up with this clever concept. The Falleen straightened his shoulders proudly, and the Jedi smiled at that. He could guess what the former customs officer was missing now that he had left the exciting realm of the Confederate Zone. He had been missing these games since Alamys' death, he had confided in the Jedi Master. Now, his eyes sparkling, he cocked his head to the side and said, "The trade treaties between the Confederate Zone and the Chiss are kept a secret, especially the conditions under which they operate. So it was easy for you to arrange for one of Domain Carr's agents to obtain a false treaty, assuming rightly that to fund themselves they would turn to the Confederate Zone to trade for their goods and sell those at a profit to the Chiss. But the treaty was manipulated so that in fact those smuggled goods came more cheaply into the Chiss Empire than the Confederate Zone could afford. Now Lemit Zickorey had to make concessions to your traders, and at the same time Domain Carr paid the Corporate Sector smugglers more than what the merchandise was worth. Everyone's out to make a profit, but only the Chiss are getting any."
Luke laughed at Kalo'wyn's stunned expression. "Shrewd, I have to grant your Emperor that. No wonder he believes someone is out to get him."
Instantly, the Chiss' features darkened. "You are a bit too clever for your own good, Master Skywalker. And your friend here. But I know what you are playing at. And yes. I will be taking you to Csilla. I believe that His Esteemed Highness will be greatly amused by your theories, ex-Customs Officer Bray La.
"I hope so," the Falleen answered with grace.
Grinning, Luke Skywalker turned from Bray La to face Kalo'wyn again, and for a moment he thought the entire ship was moving to the left as a shadow crossed his vision and mind. Gasping in shock, the Jedi Master felt something cold reach for his heart, and a blanket of sorrow settle over the Force. It took him a moment to recover, to fight his way back to the light of reality. And when he gazed at the other two occupants of the chamber he knew that they were aware that something grave had occurred.
"What is it?" Bray La asked, sounding concerned.
Luke was hard-pressed to describe his feelings. "The balance is shifting," he managed at last, and felt cold sweat accumulate on his forehead. "Something's happening."
"Something good?" the Falleen questioned, frowning.
"Let's hope so."
Slipping his left hand around the back of her head he propped her up so she could swallow more comfortably. "Come on," Franzis whispered as he gently pushed the spoonful of stew to Yana's lips. Her eyes, unfocused, were turned toward the ceiling above and he was not at all sure whether they were seeing anything at all. "You've got to eat," he urged his wife and ran his thumb over her cheekbone slowly, lovingly.
No matter that she did not recognize even him, he loved her, and he still had hope that they would both survive this somehow. With utmost delicacy Franzis parted her lips and slid the spoon into her mouth. This time the presence of food registered with her brain and she accepted it. When she swallowed the stew her husband breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. That's very good. Now another." Patiently, he proceeded feeding Yana, but his thoughts were not entirely with his wife.
He had no idea why Jiliha n'Averone was keeping him or Yana alive. She should know what she was risking, especially with Naas Deron out there. And Luzaya was alive. But he was all alone with his grief and worry, and the weight of it was really getting to him. Of course he also knew that his daughter's being alive and the Cor'dan's efforts could eventually save Yana's life, and his own. If Luzaya returned now, she would find thousands of supporters to stand by her side. And Jiliha and her New Republic cronies would stand no chance against a public protest such as the princess' homecoming would spark. But so far Luzaya showed no inclination to return, and Franzis did not blame her for her caution.
Still, if she did not act fast Jiliha would have her mother tried for treason and executed, and would have free reign to make her usurpation of the throne legitimate. Lost in thought, Franzis gazed at the bleak wall opposite from where he sat, pondering his own options. There was not much he could do, actually. He had considered killing Jiliha himself, when she came to visit again. Though he had no weapons - the guards always checked every spoon before they would leave with the food tray, and the bed was screwed to the floor - Franzis was not helpless. Over the years he had kept up the skills he had earned during his training as Imperial agent and assassin, and he was well-versed in several deadly versions of unarmed combat. Unfortunately Jiliha knew that too. She knew far too much about him for comfort. And he knew far too little of the current situation outside this cell to come up with a real plan of action.
How were the more conservative Yuuzhan Vong reacting to Jiliha? Domain Carr would certainly leap on the chance of gaining more power again now that Yana was out of the picture. But Jiliha would not negotiate with them, Franzis suspected. She was not the type to share power once she had it all. And again the Royal Consort had to smile at the shrewdness of Naas Deron's decision of sending Mahel Sivaraya with Luzaya on her trip to Naboo. Mahel was Marayl Carr's son, his youngest child, who had been barely four years old when the war ended in the bloody battles of Almashin and Kynda'bey. In a sense Mahel was also figurehead of a new generation of Yuuzhan Vong, as brave and courageous as his ancestors, but infused with the Cor'dan's teachings. Franzis made a face. The Cor'dan was far from compassionate, he knew. Naas Deron had been a dark warrior, a Sith Lord, for almost all his life, and he had lost touch to his more humane side over the years. Especially since he had lost his lover at the battle for Almashin.
Franzis shuddered to think that his daughter had willingly chosen to serve such a man. But she had learned from that relationship, he knew, and so he could accept her choice after all. Luzaya Dan, her name standing for Life in Darkness, held the hearts and hopes of all those who had trusted Empress Yana Dar's rule over the past twenty years. As long as the princess was alive there was still hope, and with Mahel Sivaraya by her side, she might succeed to prevent the civil war Franzis Sarreti saw inevitably looming on the horizon. Domain Carr would not hold still while another human empress rose to power. And only Mahel could mediate here, but he was an outcast, rejected by his own domain. Still, Yana had confided in her husband that the Cor'dan trusted the young warrior fully. He had seen Mahel's future on his naming day, and Deron's entire gamble seemed to hinge on just that vision.
Franzis shook his head wearily. Too much to think about with nothing he could do about it. It was a futile endeavour, and still, it felt good to keep his mind busy. Perhaps he could prevent himself from being surprised again that way…
On the peaceful world of Naboo former queen Padmé Naberrie was preparing to have dinner with friends and family, and she was truly looking forward to this quiet get-together, so soothing in the midst of chaos. Anakin had left along with Mon Mothma and Bred Antham to present the Council's findings on Coruscant, but Tomas had been joined by his wife Raisa from Bilbringi, and the couple was always great company. She knew she was blessed with dear friends, and was grateful that they were here with her while her husband was far away. There was too much to worry about, and she longed for a little peace, if only for an evening. Dawdling in her dressing room she took great pains to make herself look presentable, sighing over wrinkles caught in the outer corners of her warm brown eyes, silver strands in her dark hair and the gentle sagging of ageing skin. She was still beautiful, but she had always been a perfectionist too. Anakin loved her, she knew, and he found nothing in a few wrinkles, and he told her that her skin was incredibly soft and warm to the touch, flattering her. He loved her, she thought fondly, as much as she loved him. Which was why she was going to all this trouble, after all. Because she wanted to look her best. Always.
At last she had finished dressing and stepped out into the hallway. Wandering down the darkened length of the corridor toward the gardens, she was smiling to herself. The lodge was quiet and filled with shadows, but she had long learned to accept the comfort they lent. Still, she shuddered when she passed the portrait that guarded the back door, remembering just who had taught her to accept her own darkness. She slipped past hurriedly, and breathed deeply once she stood outside, the warm summer air filling her lungs with the scent of night-blossoming flowers that dotted the garden and the veranda. Stars reflected from the sky glittered on the lake's surface spreading before her, and the quiet sound of voices was carried lightly into the night, guiding her steps to where Anja, Tomas and Raisa were awaiting her. Stepping into the circle of smiling faces, she settled down onto the chair Tomas indicated he had reserved for her by his side, opposite from where Raisa sat, both arms wrapped around her husband's shoulders.
Anja, holding a sleepy Amerie on her lap, was smiling at the couple fondly, and Padmé found herself doing the same. There was wine in a glass carafe on a slender table set in the middle of their circle, and she gracefully helped herself to a glass of the warm, fragrant liquid. Sipping the drink slowly, savouring the earthy taste, Padmé felt that this evening was truly perfect. They talked of trivial matters that night, swapping stories and sharing memories. But then, very suddenly, Padmé heard her grand-daughter stir in Anja's embrace. Looking over, she saw the little girl's golden eyes open like twin moons, wide and piercing. Without a word, Amerie slipped from Anja's lap and started toward the lodge. Anja shrugged once, then rose to follow the girl.
"Let's all go inside," Padmé said then, quietly, her gaze fixed on the retreating figures of her friend and her son's daughter. She remembered Anakin telling her of the nightmares Amerie had confessed to him, of a bone-queen who was after her brother, and a darkness the small child could not grasp. The warm summer night suddenly seemed very chilly. Wrapping the shawl she had brought around her torso, Padmé led the way for Tomas and Raisa toward the house. The glittering lake had turned into a tempting trap of oblivion somehow, and she was anxious to get away from its lure. So very strange … "Amerie?" she called softly into the dark hallway. There was no sound at all. "Anja?"
"Where are they?" Tomas asked, stepping into the corridor, alert and frowning, ready to protect the females left in his care.
"I do not know," Padmé breathed.
There was a distant shout, then, a child's protesting wailing. Padmé froze, all colour draining from her face. She dashed toward where she thought the sounds had come from, and found Amerie crying angry tears, and Anja equally anxious.
"What happened?" Raisa demanded, then dropped to her knees next to her adopted grand-daughter and closed her arms about her. But Amerie fought free and scooted into a corner, her golden eyes glowing fiercely in the semi-darkness.
Anja turned toward the three newcomers and gave a helpless shrug. "She said to leave her alone, but I wanted to know what was going on. I have no idea why she's so upset."
"Amerie, darling," Padmé said softly as she knelt in front of the girl, tucking her dress under her knees, "what is it?"
Amerie, legs hugged to her chest, her eyes unfocused, was trembling. "The boy," she said at last, voice shaking. "He is here. He called me."
Frowning, Padmé looked over her shoulder and froze. Right in the middle of the room, obviously unseen by the others, stood a boy of perhaps eight years of age. He was slender and earnest, and pale green eyes were set into a bony face. There was nothing child-like about him, in truth. And Padmé knew him. She knew him even then. Closing her eyes briefly, she turned back toward her granddaughter, shuddering. "Amerie," she asked softly, "do you know what he wants?"
The little girl nodded, then put her chin on her knees, her golden eyes almost hidden behind her dark curls. "He wants Khammy," she said.
"Khammy?"
"Grandma, do you know the boy?" she asked in a whisper.
"Is he gone now?" Padmé asked right back.
Amerie sighed, "Yes."
"All right," Padmé said then, reached out and wrapped her granddaughter in her arms. She lifted the girl up and settled her in the crook of her right elbow. "Amerie, do you think Khammy is in danger?
"Is the little boy bad?"
That was a question Padmé was not quite prepared to answer a girl of six. How to compress the deeds of three thousand years into a single word? "That is not very easy to tell, my little morning star." With a shudder she turned to face the other adults. "Don't worry," she told them, and regretted very much that the evening's spell had been broken so brutally. For a moment she was very thoughtful, reflecting on the boy's appearance. What did it mean? Was this a message of sorts? Her heart skipped a beat when she realised something. "The Seeker," she mumbled under her breath, then hurried toward the office where Anakin and Talon kept the original equipment, Amerie still held to her chest.
As expected the program was ticking away undisturbed, non-stop, as it always did. But one of the screens was showing something else than a data-stream. A holo-net broadcast. It was the crude recording of a battle on a world Padmé did not recognise at first, because her eyes were locked on the two familiar shapes featured on the screen: Jaina and Jacen. She almost dropped Amerie in shock. A bolt of lightning stabbed from the stormy skies as they watched in rapt silence, killing the Yuuzhan Vong who had seemingly been attacking the twins instantly. And Padmé knew exactly what that looked like. The world was Korriban, strong-hold of the Sith, and one or both of the twins had obviously used the Dark Side to get rid of their assailant. At least that was how it would look to the common being out there, watching. She set her grand-daughter down, almost not waiting for her to find her footing.
Then the image changed, and the familiar face of Ambassador Niki Beryd appeared on screen. "Her Highness Yana Dar is very grateful to Jedi Knights Jaina and Jacen Solo for their intervention, but since her daughter has not yet been recovered, she has ordered sanctions against the Yuuzhan Vong populace in retribution for Yuuzhan Vong involvement in her daughter's kidnapping," the diplomat explained calmly, obviously answering some question that had come before the recording.
"So you would say that Empress Yana Dar is siding with the Jedi?" the interviewer, unseen, asked then.
Beryd's mouth curled into a strange smile. "I said she was grateful for their disabling Mahel Sivaraya, apparently the princess' own bodyguard."
"Then he was behind her kidnapping?"
"Apparently so."
"But where is the princess now?"
Ambassador Beryd made a mournful face. "We do not know. But our prayers are with the royal family."
"You mentioned sanctions. What sanctions would that be?"
"Tighter controls, a nightly curfew and numerous arrests so far," the woman answered calmly. "I do not know how far she is prepared to go."
"Stop recording," Padmé ordered the Seeker then, surprised at how composed she was. "Replay." She frowned at the image, then ordered, "Freeze here." Slowly, she turned from the screen to face the rest of her little company. "If that is Mahel Sivaraya I am my own grandmother," she announced dryly. "What are the chances of his acquiring age-old honour scars in so short a time?" she added, gesturing at the mutilated visage behind her.
Tomas growled softly, his gaze fixed on the image. "They're trying to whip up the public against Yana, and against the Council," he commented quietly. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," Padmé agreed. "We need to tell Al'than'erudo at once." Preparing to rush from the chamber to contact the Head of the Council she almost ran over Amerie, who seemed paralysed with fear, her golden eyes staring blankly into infinity. "Sunshine," her grand-mother asked, concerned. "What is it now?"
The answer was as short as it was desperate. "Khammy." Only that single word, but there was such loss in her tone, that Padmé felt her own heart clench with grief. Helplessly, she looked up at her friends, and found them as stunned as she felt.
"Force be merciful," she whispered. "Let him be all right."
"Mom, I'm cold," Khameir Sarin-Skywalker complained, as he stumbled through the ankle-high mud that made for the only track that led through the dense woods of Ordesha's northern continent. Arms wrapped around his torso to lend warmth, he wore a sullen expression on his face. But his mother, striding across the sodden earth with a grace that brought envy to his heart, did not seem to hear his protests. Or else she ignored him. In fact, Khameir himself thought he was being foolish and childish, but he was bored and really tired too. They had been hiking the wilderness for days now, since it was almost impossible to bring a ship close to the mountain range his mother was aiming for. And she had insisted on stalking their prey on equal terms.
Doctor Plawal and his team had left the town of Seca Ville two days ahead of the two of them, on another excursion into the mountains, as Nuron had found out. She had begun preparations for their own departure almost instantly, and Khameir had felt left out of the picture completely. Of course, his mother was not used to taking her son on missions with her, but he had expected that she would at least explain what she was doing and why. No such thing happened. Nuron Sarin-Skywalker was focused only on the hunt. And she apparently meant to leave her son to watch and wonder while she acted. Khameir was peeved mightily at her behaviour, but he had been brought up to be respectful toward his elders, and it was hard to shed those bonds. But soon now he would, he swore to himself. Soon.
He almost walked into his mother when she stopped, and was very surprised when she turned to face him. "Khameir, I want you to be quiet now," she told him sternly. "No more complaints. You wanted to come and now you deal with it. I can't spare time to explain what's before your eyes. Just watch. And learn."
She'd never been so hostile in teaching him before, Khameir found, bewildered. What was different? The answer came instantly, and was actually very simple. And sobering. His decision to come along had marked his first step into adult life. She would not teach him like she would a child, not any longer. For a moment he felt actually proud. But then the drizzle that constantly poured cold rain-water down the neck of his shirt doused his enthusiasm again. "Okay," he sighed, hunching his shoulders some more.
They hiked for four hours longer that day, and at last they had reached their destination. A cave. Scrambling up the steep decline in the twilight of falling night, Khameir and Nuron made enough noise to wake the dead, the boy found, disapproving. But his mother seemed undisturbed by his silent rage and simply turned on her torch-light once they had reached the cave-mouth, and let the bright beam cut through the inky blackness before them. "We're going to rest in there, where it's dry," she announced, then dimmed the torch-light somewhat. "Watch out," she admonished her son as she stepped into the cave.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, and let his ears perk up to catch even the faintest of sounds that swirled throughout the cave's depths. He could sense that there were people close by, at the foot of the cliff, a few miles to the east. Plawal's camp? It seemed reasonable to assume that the scientist and his crew had no desire to camp so close to a cavern that was a focal point for the Force and ancient Sith custom. Prudent, that, and stupid, Khameir mused, not without proud scorn. They were no Jedi, no Force-adepts like him or his mother. Mother knew that there was nothing to fear inside this cave, that it responded only to the hearts of those who came to visit.
Sliding down over wet stone into the belly of the natural cave, Khameir concentrated on his surroundings even harder. There seemed to be a faint echo of something, not power, but something else. Peace? Despair? It was so hard to tell! Mother's torch was pitiful against the vast darkness that filled the cavern, but Khameir was not afraid. He had his senses to rely on, after all. Curious, he slipped ahead of Nuron, to be the first to discover what secrets this place held. Soon, he encountered the far wall, and stopped, shuddering. The feeling of despair was strongest here, but it was drowned out by sheer elation, a feeling so strong it was almost a physical thing. Frozen in place, Khameir fought to draw a breath. Then, his mother's voice.
"Khameir."
She sounded calm and composed, but suddenly he could sense her anxiety, and slowly turned to see what was wrong. For a moment he was blinded by the bright beam of light cutting across his vision, but then he squinted it away, and saw. A woman, a stranger, facing his mother. Tall and slender, the human female wore her rather primitive clothing like a queen. Bone necklaces adorned her slender shoulders and bracelets clattered as she moved toward them. Khameir felt dizzy all of a sudden, knowing without any doubt that this was the bone-queen Amerie had warned him of. Fierce protectiveness engulfed his being then, and he stepped forward to shield his mother from the spirit's intentions, whatever they might be. But Nuron, noting his attempt to intervene with an approving nod, lay a hand on his shoulder to hold him back, and addressed the woman directly. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice still calm. And Khameir could tell that she was calmer inside too now.
Relaxing a bit, he waited for the stranger's answer along with his mother. The woman, her green eyes large and dark, did not acknowledge the Zabrak female confronting her and instead focused her attention on the adolescent boy standing beside her. "Khameir Sarin-Skywalker," she said, her voice surprisingly warm and deep. "You have come."
"My sister sent me," he answered, and wondered where that thought had come from.
"Ah, yes," the woman said with a smile. "The mediator. She is very gifted."
Khameir accepted that compliment with a wary nod, but made no reply. Beside him, Mother jerked around to look at him. "She is the woman Amerie had nightmares of?" Her son nodded. Golden eyes narrowing, Nuron Sarin-Skywalker moved in front of Khameir and demanded, "Tell me what you want of my children."
For the first time the stranger acknowledged her, her gaze unfathomable. "I did not call you," she countered then, a note of anger in her tone now. "I called him."
"Why?" Khameir asked, trembling now, both with fear and exhilaration. He'd wanted an adventure, hadn't he? Now he got it.
The woman's face softened. "For him. To let him understand, and to enable him to grieve properly. He never knew the truth. You can show it to him."
Frowning, Khameir cocked his head to the side, when he saw a small face peek at him from behind the nameless woman. A boy, he thought, very thin, with earnest eyes and a presence that radiated something Khameir had rarely seen or felt. In fact, he had experienced something like this only once before. When his sister had been born. The first time he had laid eyes on the baby, he had felt all warm inside, filled with protectiveness and pride and love. This was how this boy felt like. Smiling, Khameir went down on his haunches, to compress his tall frame into something smaller, less threatening.
"Hello," he said softly, addressing the boy. "Tell me who you are?" The child edged around the woman's legs cautiously, and Khameir saw that his eyes were a pale green, and his hair as black as the woman's. The likeness between them then named them mother and son. And Khameir knew. "Liyuma," he breathed, feeling suddenly cold inside, and afraid. His head snapped up to look at the woman, who had to be Alda Magor, and asked, "What do you want me to show him? What could I show him?" He almost panicked at the sheer responsibility to show a man who had lived three thousand years something he did not know. Was that at all possible?
"You can show him things the way he should have seen them, not the way he did. And you can show me," she added softly.
Bewildered and frightened, Khameir sought his mother's gaze. But she only stood there, tall and forbidding, a stranger too, all of a sudden. Desperate, Khameir turned his eyes on the boy again. "What? What do you need to see?"
"The past," Alda Magor explained, as her son kept his silence.
Khameir's mind short-circuited then, banishing all reason, allowing his emotions to rule him completely. And he reached out, one trembling hand extended toward the quiet boy, and the child returned his gesture to touch him, his skin cool and real and soft. There was a moment when the world seemed to slide, and Khameir was caught in darkness. Only gradually did he became aware of tiny golden strands of light, barely visible. But as he looked on they grew, connecting into a net, like sun-beams falling through water. There were voices in that light, no, one voice, so beautiful that Khameir at first did not know whether it was male or female. There was only one man he knew of who had had such a magical voice. Khameir felt trapped, somehow, tensing involuntarily, expecting an assault at any moment. But then the voice changed, became less threatening, less beautiful, and then the light grew so bright that he could not see anything at all.
Jacen and Jaina would never have thought that time-travelling would be so strenuous. They had found out soon enough that they somehow had managed to land someplace centuries ago, part of a mission of Jedi to some strange planet. They did not dare ask too many questions, lest they be found out for what they were: intruders. Among these Jedi their age marked them as Padawan learners, and it was hard enough to always appear busy, to avoid questions about their respective masters. But they had found allies too, among the real Padawan among the crew. Most of them did not question, they merely accepted, aware of the fact that they were not being told everything of their mission themselves. So why should they wonder about two strange Padawan? But there were others too, who wondered, and watched suspiciously. One of them was Klatoun Arden, a young man of twenty, on the verge of moving on into knighthood, and in love with the mystery Jaina and her brother presented. He did not exactly follow them around, and he never dared tell them off, for fear of offending their masters with false accusations. But he was alert, and he asked questions.
Which was, considering, not too bad, Jaina thought. After all, the game was played by two, and she had managed to salvage some pointers as to the era they found themselves in, although the question of how and why still lacked an answer. Secretly she was hoping for Liyuma to return and enlighten them somehow, though so far he had been pretty close-mouthed as to his intentions. Which was another riddle to solve. But for now their problems were more immediate. The twins were sitting together on a fallen log that crossed a small stream, off the camp-site where two Republic ships had settled permanently. Republic ships. The Old Republic. Jaina shook her head.
"If I understand correctly we are three thousand years back in the past," she explained to Jacen, who was staring glumly into the water beneath their dangling feet. "Do you know what that means? We're almost into the second Sith War, and this place - " She spread her arms in exasperation. "This is Os'jen'thana!"
Jacen looked over at her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. That planet. That Sith Lord. The one who had brought them here. For what purpose, they did not know. It was impossible.
"This is impossible," Jacen voiced her opinion aloud. "Time-travel is practically impossible."
"Not if the Force binds everything, past, present and future. It could be done." Her eyes misted over in thought. "Klatoun says it could be an illusion, created from memories."
"Liyuma's?" Jacen asked, and demanded, "And since when do you confide in Mister I'm-so-gorgeous?"
Jaina blushed at that. It was true. Klatoun was certainly not bad-looking, and he seemed to be fascinated by her, which was flattering all in itself. "He's not that way," she defended the Padawan then, surprised at herself. "He hasn't told us off yet, has he?"
"He still might," Jacen replied gruffly, kicking his legs. "And we can't keep this farce up that much longer. Someone will start asking questions someday soon. What about Klatoun's master? He's conducting this mission, isn't he? What if he asks your friend who it is he's hanging around with all the time?"
At that his sister kept silent. Yes, what would happen then? They'd have to justify their presence, tell the truth, if that was possible. But would they believe them? "It isn't my fault," she murmured at last, feeling just a little bit angry at Jacen for his inquisitive tone. "They're looking for some Sith - "
"And what do you think will happen when they find out there are two people who don't belong with the group? Wouldn't that brand us as spies? Sith spies?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Jaina exclaimed, rolling her eyes. But he had a point, she had to admit to herself. Unfortunately. "Liyuma's clan," she said then, to change the subject. "They think they are Dark Jedi."
"You know what that means, don't you?" Jacen asked, voice trembling. "What will happen."
Jaina stared off into the distance, not answering for a time. She knew. Yes indeed. The Jen-clan's destruction, the death of Roj Kell's people. What he would do years later, to the men and women who would settle on Os'jen'thana in the wake of this genocide. "Do you think he means us to change something here?"
"We can't," Jacen reminded her. "This has already happened."
She nodded solemnly, and hung her head, gazing at the busy water in front of her. "But there has to be a reason for us being here." She looked over at her twin. "Right?"
Before he could reply, there was a shout, then more voices were raised in excitement, and the camp behind them came alive with fear and determination. The siblings turned back simultaneously, and wordlessly, without having to share a word, rose to go back and find out what was happening. It was that calm response that Jaina would remember later, the utter peace with which they turned toward disaster, as if compelled by their own history. In a way, she would later find, it had been exactly that. Their history.
Two weeks had passed since he had found Alda at the well one morning, pale as a ghost, her lovely face gaunt and old, her pale green eyes haunted, as she had tried to wash nightmares away from her body and memory. A futile endeavour. He had seen the terror in her eyes for days afterwards, until it had turned into resignation gradually. Lyve Waroon knew what this meant. Trouble. He had been a Jedi Knight for over fifteen years, and his sensitivity to his surroundings had not been muted at all by his fall to darkness thirty years ago. It would have been naive to believe that his presence on Os'jen'thana would remain undetected for all times. Ever since he had first come to this world two decades ago, the leader of an expedition sent out to determine the small world's value as a new base for the Sith Order, Lyve had known that this first encounter with civilisation would not remain the last for the Jen-People.
Over the years more off-worlders had come to hunt the equines in the plains and the predators of the mountain forests, and the Jen-People had been forced to withdraw into the less accessible parts of their realm. Yet civilisation was seeping unstoppably into Os'jen'thana. Some of the hunting companies were establishing permanent settlements and resorts in the plains and at the beautiful forest lakes, hoping to lure more customers. Traders supplied the hunters with everything they needed and even sought to interest the Jen-People in their goods. Confrontations had therefore become unavoidable. That was one of the reasons why Alda had sent their son away on his Jer'fra a year ago, entrusting him into the care of a trader they had known for long years.
The boy, no, the young man, had grown increasingly restless and increasingly reckless, too, as was customary for someone special like he was. He had been involved in a few fights accidentally, but his temper, his magic and his fighting skills had earned the Jen-People the settlers' animosities and now threatened to doom the clan. Soon now the reports and rumours that the traders and hunters brought back from Os'jen'thana would find their way to the wrong ear, and the Jedi might conclude correctly that Os'jen'thana had become a haven for the hunted Sith.
The Jen-People were a Sith clan, one of the last surviving ones, perhaps the only one remaining. They had nothing in common with the Dark Jedi who called themselves Sith today, men and women like Lyve Waroon, who would become the initial target for any investigation on the Jedi Order's part. The Sith had been a great culture once, commanding a large empire, but internal strife had reduced them to what they were now. Only the Cor'dan remained. Once religious leader and most powerful being of the empire, the Cor'dan was now no more than a shaman. At least that was what the so-called civilised people believed. Lyve, being married to a former Cor'dan, knew better.
He remembered Alda's days of power well enough. But where she would once have been able to avert the clash of her people with civilisation she was now powerless against its advance. Sending her son away was a gesture of defeat, of a new beginning in the making, and Lyve felt that the Sith would either perish for good or be gloriously reborn one day. Knowing his son, that head-strong warrior who sought knowledge with a passion that bordered on obsession, Lyve considered both possibilities. The boy was capable of either running the wagon into the ground or into heaven. As an off-worlder himself, he had often marvelled at how different the Jen-People were, how innocent and knowledgeable. Again, his son was the prime example for both. But his son was not here.
A sudden boom shook him out of his musings and he paused, making himself meld with his surroundings. He was standing on a small, overgrown ledge that hugged the side of the mountain and led down into the valley from where the booming noise had come from. The noise returned, and only then did he realise what it meant. Moving through the forest undergrowth with the practised economy of a hunter, the Sith Lord thought nothing of confronting these intruders alone. First, he would merely scout out their numbers and destination, then he would return to report to the Elders and his wife. His path led him to one of the outer settlements of the largest hunting franchise operating on Os'jen'thana. Crude huts had been erected, with more sheds to accommodate the hunters, workers and their trophies. Animal skins and carcasses littered the small square that marked the middle of the settlement, and on the far side of the buildings a large area had been cleared to allow ships to start and land. It was there that the booming noises were coming from.
Three ships, one of it in the process of landing, had come to Os'jen'thana. They were carrier ships, but Lyve did not recognise the fabricate. Suspicious, he stalked even closer, but recoiled when he saw the all too familiar figures of two men dressed in Jedi robes, who were making their way to the village square. There, a number of hunters and a representative of the hunting franchise were awaiting them. Sharpening his hearing, Lyve strained to hear what they were saying.
"Yes, Master Jedi, there are savages like you describe them living in the mountains," the representative reported just then.
"No savages," the Jedi, an elderly human, explained. "We heard reports about a warrior who sought to challenge the traders and hunters? A young man?"
"They've witches and wizards, these people," the other man continued, ignoring the question. "They're pretty scary, I tell you! This young man you speak of scoffs at our customs and insults us whenever he has the opportunity. They have a representative, an older man, who seems civilised enough. But he is not beneath threatening us too, if he deems it necessary."
"Could we perhaps speak to this man?" the younger Jedi asked.
Lyve had heard enough. Deciding to take his chances, he casually strolled across the clearing and toward the square. Immediately the hunters noticed his approach and some hefted their weapons, watching him anxiously. The franchise representative was gesturing wildly, obviously explaining to the Jedi that this was the man they wanted.
"Greetings," Waroon said as he joined the men in the square. "I heard of these new arrivals and came to see who it was."
"Greetings, chief," the representative grumbled, "these are Master Jedi Noci La'ruus and his Padawan Klatoun Arden."
Lyve did not reply, but he paled considerably, when he heard the older man named his childhood friend. He had not even recognised him! But Noci, his blonde hair almost completely gone, obviously had not forgotten about him. With a grim nod, the Jedi Master straightened his shoulders and said, "I know this man. Lyve, it has been a very long time."
"Indeed," the Sith Lord replied weakly, suddenly anxious. The Jedi Padawan seemingly noticed the change of mood, and frowned first at his mentor, then at Waroon. "And what brings you here?"
"Rumours," Noci told him firmly, "and justified ones too, it seems. You left us a long time ago, but we never forgot about you or your friends. So this is where you have been hiding all these years?"
"I am the only one left," Lyve hurried to assure his former friend. "The others are all dead."
"Is that so. This man just told me that there was an entire clan of savage magicians out there. And you are telling me there are no Sith on this planet?"
"They are not what you think, Noci, and I wish you to leave them in peace."
"I was sent here to investigate these rumours," Noci retorted, a nasty smile on his lips, "and that I will. You will not stand in my way. I will have you arrested for what you are. Klatoun, call reinforcements. Tell them to hurry."
"Who is this man?" the Padawan asked, fumbling for his comlink.
"A Sith Lord," La'ruus explained with some satisfaction. "I hope you will come peacefully, Lyve. I would not enjoy having to hurt you."
The man named Lyve Waroon felt an icy shudder run through his very soul, as he fought to keep his own identity, to suppress the vivid memories of so long ago. He was not a Sith Lord. He was not Lyve Waroon, father to Liyuma, husband to Alda Magor. He was Khameir Sarin-Skywalker, and he had to keep his wits about him. Definitely. But what to do? The being that was a mere shadow of who Lyve had once been was strongly suggesting for a violent course of action while Khameir, young and inexperienced, favoured a more cautious approach. He knew what was at stake. They both knew. Whatever he did now would affect the fate of the Jen-People. And, knowing what he did, Khameir really saw only one single path to take.
TBC
A teaser from the next chaper:
Khameir took another deep breath, nodding at Liyuma. "What about your son?" he asked. "He came back to slaughter the settlers in retribution for your clan's destruction. Was that wise?"
"He was hurting," Alda countered wearily. "And he knew there was no excuse for that deed. He has never known excuses."
"Is that why he has come back?" Jaina asked then. "To atone for his crimes?"
All eyes were on the little boy at Alda Magor's side, but the child did not respond, keeping silent even then. The sorceress followed their gaze, then gave a short laugh when she understood. "My son is long gone!" she exclaimed, seemingly amused by their assumption. "This," she gestured at the wraith by her side, "is a farewell gift. Triggered by a Jedi's presence on N'zoth." Her pale eyes focused on Khameir again. "To guide a new generation, when the time was right. Or didn't you wonder why he would interfere only now, if this was truly his spirit? He bound me too, to respond to intruders here in this cave."
Khameir blushed, but did not reply. It was Jacen who summed up what they had heard so far. "Then his intention was to make contact again once he could be certain that an unbiased generation had grown up," he mused aloud. "Jaina trusted him, and I did too, despite what we knew about him. Isn't that the ultimate gesture of forgiveness?" he asked, sounding awed.
A cool smile appeared on Deron's lips then, and gently he reasserted control over his own body, a sign for his having come to his destination. It was a Yuuzhan Vong dwelling, brimming with life, and the Cor'dan wondered briefly how he could ever describe to any of his acolytes what he was feeling right now. He couldn't. And that was a fact. His skin felt raw and overly sensitive, his eyes were blinded even by the darkness as he watched the currents of life that permeated the entire structure. It was a beautiful yet terrifying feeling, and he would regret having to give it up one day soon. But that was still in the future. The present was now. He recognised the dwelling at last, and smiled in understanding of what was required of him. Quietly stalking across the expanse of what passed as the living room he slipped into the quiet back of the building, where its owner slept fitfully, unaware of his presence.
He stood for a while, gazing down at her sleeping features, before he dived beneath that surface and into her subconscious mind. Vengeance, fury, triumph and fear crashed into his own self, making him stagger back for a moment. It took some strength to overcome the assault of her emotions, but once he had managed his expression turned very grim. She had known, just as he had suspected. Gently, he lowered himself down to sit on the edge of her sleeping bunk, then extended a hand to brush across her cheeks. "Wake up," he whispered softly. "Wake up."
She stirred, mumbled something in her own tongue, then her eyes fluttered open and her body went rigid as she recognised him. Her body jerked upright instinctively, but Deron's palm moved down over her chest to hold her back. "No fear," he murmured soothingly.
"What do you want?" Alyn Cha demanded, fear swirling about her like a swarm of piranha beetles.
Naas Deron smiled. "The truth," he replied. "Confirmation for what I know."
"I thought you knew everything," she snapped, anger lancing through the cloud of fear like lightning.
"Ah," he admitted, smiling. "But knowledge does not necessarily equal understanding. Domain Carr is not involved in this conspiracy, as you wanted to make Yana Dar believe. Does Jiliha know? Or care?" he continued bluntly, his almost black eyes resting unwaveringly on the priestess' face.
She gazed at him, her mind racing to sort through the implications of his quiet confession. But she could not possibly know how much he truly understood. Finally she answered, "Jiliha does not care. But she knows."
"And what do you stand to gain from that domain's demise?"
"You tell me," she hissed.
"You served Marayl Domain Carr faithfully, did you not? And your father betrayed him when he chose to accept Yana Dar as Empress. Which was why he had to die."
"I hate her," Alyn Cha pressed out. "She has destroyed my people, their pride, their heritage."
Naas Deron gave a solemn nod. "It had to die, Alyn Cha," he explained softly. "Sometimes change is needed in order to make survival possible."
"We could have won," she sobbed, her emotions flowing freely now, sucked into the vortex of the Cor'dan's presence. "We could have mastered this galaxy."
"Untrue," Deron countered then, his tone hardening. "Not as long as there was a guardian to protect our people against your invasion. And his successors will not let the future be turned into that past again. We have to look ahead, not back, Alyn Cha. It is that simple."
"I cannot accept this human empress," she retorted shaking her head vehemently.
"Then you cannot accept Jiliha either, can you?" he reasoned then, and saw her resolve falter. "And your father was killed for nothing. I know what game you are playing, priestess, you and your human allies. You delude yourself with dreams of purity. There is none, not while you are divided." His eyes narrowed somewhat. "What to do about you? Kill you? No," he answered himself. "That will not be necessary, I believe. You want your people's culture to survive? Then do not trust Jiliha. She will sacrifice your people for her ambitions."
"No!" the priestess exclaimed, anger flashing in her mind once more. "She has made promises, and I will hold her to those."
Naas Deron smiled. "It will be amusing to watch you try. But you now have a choice, Alyn Cha. Come to me, when you have made up your mind."
"You seem very confident that I will chose your side," she mused aloud.
He shrugged. "I know. And I understand," he told her then. "I am Cor'dan."
It did not take the occupants of the Morning Glory long to find a Chiss task force, and Luke almost felt relieved when they were hailed by one of the beautiful, camouflaged Stealth Cruisers. Edging his own vessel closer, he was watching Bray La's reaction guardedly, but found only a hint of fear and more than a hint of curiosity in the Falleen's mind. No recognition. "Ready?" the Jedi Master asked softly, and his companion nodded. Calmly, Luke went about answering the call, and identified his vessel and himself, "This is Luke Skywalker aboard the Morning Glory. We intend to pay a visit to Csilla, if that is permitted, and meet with his Esteemed Highness Ja'han'mandana."
There was a lengthy silence, and then a different voice, this one male, answered. "Master Skywalker," the Chiss said, "it is an honour. But why did you not announce your visit earlier?"
"It was a minute decision;" Luke confessed. "And it is important that I see him."
"You will have to contend with me first, I fear," the stranger replied then, sounding almost amused. "I am General Kalo'wyn," he introduced himself at last. "And I will be honoured to receive you aboard the Mahsenda."
Luke felt his mind flush with exhilaration. The Mahsenda! This was Al'than'erudo's old ship, before he had left his people to serve the Council of Naboo. And General Kalo'wyn was also an old acquaintance, a courageous Chiss commander who had once committed the remains of his decimated claw-craft contingent to try and rescue his monarch from Yuuzhan Vong clutches. "General," the Jedi answered, relieved, "It is an honour."
A little later, with the Morning Glory safely secured in one of the Mahsenda's holds, Luke and Bray La finally met their host. The formerly trim Chiss soldier had thickened somewhat around the middle, but it suited him, Luke found. The earnest expression on the general's face was broken by a light smile upon seeing the familiar shape of the Jedi Master disembark, and he walked over briskly to greet Luke and his companion. Introducing the Falleen, Luke observed the general closely, and found cautious curiosity in the Chiss' glowing red eyes. And then, all business-like, Kalo'wyn brought them to the familiar tactics room of his ship and asked bluntly, "And what is it that needs the Emperor's attention?"
"Information," Luke confessed, settling into one of the not so comfortable chairs spread around the large display wall that dominated the middle of the room. "And the whereabouts of one Imperial general named Warrahm Domain Carr. She's supposedly on duty out toward your perimeter."
Kalo'wyn cocked his head to the side curiously, as if trying to discern a different meaning behind the Jedi Master's request. Belatedly Luke remembered first meeting Al'than'erudo on this very ship, and the stunning revelation that he was Force-sensitive. But he could sense no such thing in Kalo'wyn. So what was eating him? Finally the Chiss answered, "The Emperor, as you can guess, is a busy man. I do not see how your request would merit a personal audience." Luke was taken aback. After all he and his family had done to save Ja'han'mandana and his people, he would have expected to be received with more hospitality. Kalo'wyn seemed to notice his consternation, for he hurried to assure him, "This is in no way related to your personal history with the Chiss," he said. "But we need to be cautious. The Emperor himself has ordered security to be increased. I cannot even begin at guessing at his motives."
"I can," Luke breathed in a whisper. He remembered the foiled attacks on Franzis Sarreti's life, and what Bray La had told him about the disappearance of the Sith princess Luzaya Dan. He recalled the last pieces of news they had garnered before leaving Nirauan, of the accusations against Empress Yana Dar concerning the genocide of the Yevetha population of N'zoth. It was clear that the hostility between the Empire and the New Republic was growing once more, and the Chiss were more firmly associated with the Empress Yana Dar than President Fey'lya on Coruscant. Ja'han'mandana knew he had to be very cautious not to be caught in the midst of a rising struggle. Leaning forward and resting his elbows lightly on his knees, Luke fixed Kalo'wyn in a calm gaze. "And what about General Warrahm, Domain Carr?" he asked. "Is there anything you can tell us about her?"
"A Yuuzhan Vong general, one of a growing number of officers from that part of the Imperial populace," the general reported. "Marayl Carr's daughter," he added helpfully, and Luke nodded with a smile.
"Yes. I am aware of that." He cast a sideways glance at Bray La. "I am also aware of Domain Carr's extensive dealings with the Corporate Sector. You allow this? So close to your borders? Surely they are trying to get past your customs patrols. Domain Carr is too proud to rely on supplies from the Sith Empire. They are using black-market trade with the Chiss to support themselves."
Kalo'wyn gave him a tight smile. "Master Skywalker, I am no customs officer - "
"Ah, but my friend here is. Bray La, what do you say?"
The Falleen, his earnest features giving way to a fleeting expression of pure amazement, hurried to reply. But he seemed just a little bit flustered by the Chiss' penetrating stare. "Well," he began haltingly, "we used to do this kind of thing, Alamys and me, while he was garnering monies for his troops. He used to funnel the goods through customs - through me - at a much cheaper rate, and sold them at market prices. He made quite some profit of it."
"And you?" Luke prompted, still smiling. "What was in it for you?"
Bray La flushed a deeper shade of green. "Credits," he confessed at last.
The Chiss general gave him a disapproving glare. "Not very dutiful, your customs officer," he growled.
"He's retired," Luke replied smoothly. "But I bet that Domain Carr is doing something similar." He held up his hand to keep Kalo'wyn from blurting out a reply. "But I also assume that His Esteemed Highness Ja'han'mandana is aware of these dealings. In fact, I believe he is playing a very clever game indeed."
"Which would be?" Kalo'wyn's glowing eyes were very irritating.
Luke's smile turned more serious. "I've done a few missions into the Corporate Sector," he told the two of them, "and I believe I know that they have the potential to wrack real havoc on the trade of both the Chiss and the Confederate Zone. The Sith Empire, thanks to Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology, is self-sufficient and only deals with the Chiss and the Confederate Zone for luxury goods its human citizens demand. And there's Domain Carr, sitting right on your door-step too. So Ja'han'mandana had to come up with a plan to disable the threat of the Corporate Sector smuggling cheaper goods into your territory, to keep the Confederate Zone appeased, and at the same time he wanted to make sure that Domain Carr could not grow too powerful."
"How did he do it?" Kalo'wyn asked, his tone baffled.
Luke nodded toward Bray La, who, during the long hours spent in transit from Nirauan to this point, had come up with this clever concept. The Falleen straightened his shoulders proudly, and the Jedi smiled at that. He could guess what the former customs officer was missing now that he had left the exciting realm of the Confederate Zone. He had been missing these games since Alamys' death, he had confided in the Jedi Master. Now, his eyes sparkling, he cocked his head to the side and said, "The trade treaties between the Confederate Zone and the Chiss are kept a secret, especially the conditions under which they operate. So it was easy for you to arrange for one of Domain Carr's agents to obtain a false treaty, assuming rightly that to fund themselves they would turn to the Confederate Zone to trade for their goods and sell those at a profit to the Chiss. But the treaty was manipulated so that in fact those smuggled goods came more cheaply into the Chiss Empire than the Confederate Zone could afford. Now Lemit Zickorey had to make concessions to your traders, and at the same time Domain Carr paid the Corporate Sector smugglers more than what the merchandise was worth. Everyone's out to make a profit, but only the Chiss are getting any."
Luke laughed at Kalo'wyn's stunned expression. "Shrewd, I have to grant your Emperor that. No wonder he believes someone is out to get him."
Instantly, the Chiss' features darkened. "You are a bit too clever for your own good, Master Skywalker. And your friend here. But I know what you are playing at. And yes. I will be taking you to Csilla. I believe that His Esteemed Highness will be greatly amused by your theories, ex-Customs Officer Bray La.
"I hope so," the Falleen answered with grace.
Grinning, Luke Skywalker turned from Bray La to face Kalo'wyn again, and for a moment he thought the entire ship was moving to the left as a shadow crossed his vision and mind. Gasping in shock, the Jedi Master felt something cold reach for his heart, and a blanket of sorrow settle over the Force. It took him a moment to recover, to fight his way back to the light of reality. And when he gazed at the other two occupants of the chamber he knew that they were aware that something grave had occurred.
"What is it?" Bray La asked, sounding concerned.
Luke was hard-pressed to describe his feelings. "The balance is shifting," he managed at last, and felt cold sweat accumulate on his forehead. "Something's happening."
"Something good?" the Falleen questioned, frowning.
"Let's hope so."
Slipping his left hand around the back of her head he propped her up so she could swallow more comfortably. "Come on," Franzis whispered as he gently pushed the spoonful of stew to Yana's lips. Her eyes, unfocused, were turned toward the ceiling above and he was not at all sure whether they were seeing anything at all. "You've got to eat," he urged his wife and ran his thumb over her cheekbone slowly, lovingly.
No matter that she did not recognize even him, he loved her, and he still had hope that they would both survive this somehow. With utmost delicacy Franzis parted her lips and slid the spoon into her mouth. This time the presence of food registered with her brain and she accepted it. When she swallowed the stew her husband breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. That's very good. Now another." Patiently, he proceeded feeding Yana, but his thoughts were not entirely with his wife.
He had no idea why Jiliha n'Averone was keeping him or Yana alive. She should know what she was risking, especially with Naas Deron out there. And Luzaya was alive. But he was all alone with his grief and worry, and the weight of it was really getting to him. Of course he also knew that his daughter's being alive and the Cor'dan's efforts could eventually save Yana's life, and his own. If Luzaya returned now, she would find thousands of supporters to stand by her side. And Jiliha and her New Republic cronies would stand no chance against a public protest such as the princess' homecoming would spark. But so far Luzaya showed no inclination to return, and Franzis did not blame her for her caution.
Still, if she did not act fast Jiliha would have her mother tried for treason and executed, and would have free reign to make her usurpation of the throne legitimate. Lost in thought, Franzis gazed at the bleak wall opposite from where he sat, pondering his own options. There was not much he could do, actually. He had considered killing Jiliha himself, when she came to visit again. Though he had no weapons - the guards always checked every spoon before they would leave with the food tray, and the bed was screwed to the floor - Franzis was not helpless. Over the years he had kept up the skills he had earned during his training as Imperial agent and assassin, and he was well-versed in several deadly versions of unarmed combat. Unfortunately Jiliha knew that too. She knew far too much about him for comfort. And he knew far too little of the current situation outside this cell to come up with a real plan of action.
How were the more conservative Yuuzhan Vong reacting to Jiliha? Domain Carr would certainly leap on the chance of gaining more power again now that Yana was out of the picture. But Jiliha would not negotiate with them, Franzis suspected. She was not the type to share power once she had it all. And again the Royal Consort had to smile at the shrewdness of Naas Deron's decision of sending Mahel Sivaraya with Luzaya on her trip to Naboo. Mahel was Marayl Carr's son, his youngest child, who had been barely four years old when the war ended in the bloody battles of Almashin and Kynda'bey. In a sense Mahel was also figurehead of a new generation of Yuuzhan Vong, as brave and courageous as his ancestors, but infused with the Cor'dan's teachings. Franzis made a face. The Cor'dan was far from compassionate, he knew. Naas Deron had been a dark warrior, a Sith Lord, for almost all his life, and he had lost touch to his more humane side over the years. Especially since he had lost his lover at the battle for Almashin.
Franzis shuddered to think that his daughter had willingly chosen to serve such a man. But she had learned from that relationship, he knew, and so he could accept her choice after all. Luzaya Dan, her name standing for Life in Darkness, held the hearts and hopes of all those who had trusted Empress Yana Dar's rule over the past twenty years. As long as the princess was alive there was still hope, and with Mahel Sivaraya by her side, she might succeed to prevent the civil war Franzis Sarreti saw inevitably looming on the horizon. Domain Carr would not hold still while another human empress rose to power. And only Mahel could mediate here, but he was an outcast, rejected by his own domain. Still, Yana had confided in her husband that the Cor'dan trusted the young warrior fully. He had seen Mahel's future on his naming day, and Deron's entire gamble seemed to hinge on just that vision.
Franzis shook his head wearily. Too much to think about with nothing he could do about it. It was a futile endeavour, and still, it felt good to keep his mind busy. Perhaps he could prevent himself from being surprised again that way…
On the peaceful world of Naboo former queen Padmé Naberrie was preparing to have dinner with friends and family, and she was truly looking forward to this quiet get-together, so soothing in the midst of chaos. Anakin had left along with Mon Mothma and Bred Antham to present the Council's findings on Coruscant, but Tomas had been joined by his wife Raisa from Bilbringi, and the couple was always great company. She knew she was blessed with dear friends, and was grateful that they were here with her while her husband was far away. There was too much to worry about, and she longed for a little peace, if only for an evening. Dawdling in her dressing room she took great pains to make herself look presentable, sighing over wrinkles caught in the outer corners of her warm brown eyes, silver strands in her dark hair and the gentle sagging of ageing skin. She was still beautiful, but she had always been a perfectionist too. Anakin loved her, she knew, and he found nothing in a few wrinkles, and he told her that her skin was incredibly soft and warm to the touch, flattering her. He loved her, she thought fondly, as much as she loved him. Which was why she was going to all this trouble, after all. Because she wanted to look her best. Always.
At last she had finished dressing and stepped out into the hallway. Wandering down the darkened length of the corridor toward the gardens, she was smiling to herself. The lodge was quiet and filled with shadows, but she had long learned to accept the comfort they lent. Still, she shuddered when she passed the portrait that guarded the back door, remembering just who had taught her to accept her own darkness. She slipped past hurriedly, and breathed deeply once she stood outside, the warm summer air filling her lungs with the scent of night-blossoming flowers that dotted the garden and the veranda. Stars reflected from the sky glittered on the lake's surface spreading before her, and the quiet sound of voices was carried lightly into the night, guiding her steps to where Anja, Tomas and Raisa were awaiting her. Stepping into the circle of smiling faces, she settled down onto the chair Tomas indicated he had reserved for her by his side, opposite from where Raisa sat, both arms wrapped around her husband's shoulders.
Anja, holding a sleepy Amerie on her lap, was smiling at the couple fondly, and Padmé found herself doing the same. There was wine in a glass carafe on a slender table set in the middle of their circle, and she gracefully helped herself to a glass of the warm, fragrant liquid. Sipping the drink slowly, savouring the earthy taste, Padmé felt that this evening was truly perfect. They talked of trivial matters that night, swapping stories and sharing memories. But then, very suddenly, Padmé heard her grand-daughter stir in Anja's embrace. Looking over, she saw the little girl's golden eyes open like twin moons, wide and piercing. Without a word, Amerie slipped from Anja's lap and started toward the lodge. Anja shrugged once, then rose to follow the girl.
"Let's all go inside," Padmé said then, quietly, her gaze fixed on the retreating figures of her friend and her son's daughter. She remembered Anakin telling her of the nightmares Amerie had confessed to him, of a bone-queen who was after her brother, and a darkness the small child could not grasp. The warm summer night suddenly seemed very chilly. Wrapping the shawl she had brought around her torso, Padmé led the way for Tomas and Raisa toward the house. The glittering lake had turned into a tempting trap of oblivion somehow, and she was anxious to get away from its lure. So very strange … "Amerie?" she called softly into the dark hallway. There was no sound at all. "Anja?"
"Where are they?" Tomas asked, stepping into the corridor, alert and frowning, ready to protect the females left in his care.
"I do not know," Padmé breathed.
There was a distant shout, then, a child's protesting wailing. Padmé froze, all colour draining from her face. She dashed toward where she thought the sounds had come from, and found Amerie crying angry tears, and Anja equally anxious.
"What happened?" Raisa demanded, then dropped to her knees next to her adopted grand-daughter and closed her arms about her. But Amerie fought free and scooted into a corner, her golden eyes glowing fiercely in the semi-darkness.
Anja turned toward the three newcomers and gave a helpless shrug. "She said to leave her alone, but I wanted to know what was going on. I have no idea why she's so upset."
"Amerie, darling," Padmé said softly as she knelt in front of the girl, tucking her dress under her knees, "what is it?"
Amerie, legs hugged to her chest, her eyes unfocused, was trembling. "The boy," she said at last, voice shaking. "He is here. He called me."
Frowning, Padmé looked over her shoulder and froze. Right in the middle of the room, obviously unseen by the others, stood a boy of perhaps eight years of age. He was slender and earnest, and pale green eyes were set into a bony face. There was nothing child-like about him, in truth. And Padmé knew him. She knew him even then. Closing her eyes briefly, she turned back toward her granddaughter, shuddering. "Amerie," she asked softly, "do you know what he wants?"
The little girl nodded, then put her chin on her knees, her golden eyes almost hidden behind her dark curls. "He wants Khammy," she said.
"Khammy?"
"Grandma, do you know the boy?" she asked in a whisper.
"Is he gone now?" Padmé asked right back.
Amerie sighed, "Yes."
"All right," Padmé said then, reached out and wrapped her granddaughter in her arms. She lifted the girl up and settled her in the crook of her right elbow. "Amerie, do you think Khammy is in danger?
"Is the little boy bad?"
That was a question Padmé was not quite prepared to answer a girl of six. How to compress the deeds of three thousand years into a single word? "That is not very easy to tell, my little morning star." With a shudder she turned to face the other adults. "Don't worry," she told them, and regretted very much that the evening's spell had been broken so brutally. For a moment she was very thoughtful, reflecting on the boy's appearance. What did it mean? Was this a message of sorts? Her heart skipped a beat when she realised something. "The Seeker," she mumbled under her breath, then hurried toward the office where Anakin and Talon kept the original equipment, Amerie still held to her chest.
As expected the program was ticking away undisturbed, non-stop, as it always did. But one of the screens was showing something else than a data-stream. A holo-net broadcast. It was the crude recording of a battle on a world Padmé did not recognise at first, because her eyes were locked on the two familiar shapes featured on the screen: Jaina and Jacen. She almost dropped Amerie in shock. A bolt of lightning stabbed from the stormy skies as they watched in rapt silence, killing the Yuuzhan Vong who had seemingly been attacking the twins instantly. And Padmé knew exactly what that looked like. The world was Korriban, strong-hold of the Sith, and one or both of the twins had obviously used the Dark Side to get rid of their assailant. At least that was how it would look to the common being out there, watching. She set her grand-daughter down, almost not waiting for her to find her footing.
Then the image changed, and the familiar face of Ambassador Niki Beryd appeared on screen. "Her Highness Yana Dar is very grateful to Jedi Knights Jaina and Jacen Solo for their intervention, but since her daughter has not yet been recovered, she has ordered sanctions against the Yuuzhan Vong populace in retribution for Yuuzhan Vong involvement in her daughter's kidnapping," the diplomat explained calmly, obviously answering some question that had come before the recording.
"So you would say that Empress Yana Dar is siding with the Jedi?" the interviewer, unseen, asked then.
Beryd's mouth curled into a strange smile. "I said she was grateful for their disabling Mahel Sivaraya, apparently the princess' own bodyguard."
"Then he was behind her kidnapping?"
"Apparently so."
"But where is the princess now?"
Ambassador Beryd made a mournful face. "We do not know. But our prayers are with the royal family."
"You mentioned sanctions. What sanctions would that be?"
"Tighter controls, a nightly curfew and numerous arrests so far," the woman answered calmly. "I do not know how far she is prepared to go."
"Stop recording," Padmé ordered the Seeker then, surprised at how composed she was. "Replay." She frowned at the image, then ordered, "Freeze here." Slowly, she turned from the screen to face the rest of her little company. "If that is Mahel Sivaraya I am my own grandmother," she announced dryly. "What are the chances of his acquiring age-old honour scars in so short a time?" she added, gesturing at the mutilated visage behind her.
Tomas growled softly, his gaze fixed on the image. "They're trying to whip up the public against Yana, and against the Council," he commented quietly. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," Padmé agreed. "We need to tell Al'than'erudo at once." Preparing to rush from the chamber to contact the Head of the Council she almost ran over Amerie, who seemed paralysed with fear, her golden eyes staring blankly into infinity. "Sunshine," her grand-mother asked, concerned. "What is it now?"
The answer was as short as it was desperate. "Khammy." Only that single word, but there was such loss in her tone, that Padmé felt her own heart clench with grief. Helplessly, she looked up at her friends, and found them as stunned as she felt.
"Force be merciful," she whispered. "Let him be all right."
"Mom, I'm cold," Khameir Sarin-Skywalker complained, as he stumbled through the ankle-high mud that made for the only track that led through the dense woods of Ordesha's northern continent. Arms wrapped around his torso to lend warmth, he wore a sullen expression on his face. But his mother, striding across the sodden earth with a grace that brought envy to his heart, did not seem to hear his protests. Or else she ignored him. In fact, Khameir himself thought he was being foolish and childish, but he was bored and really tired too. They had been hiking the wilderness for days now, since it was almost impossible to bring a ship close to the mountain range his mother was aiming for. And she had insisted on stalking their prey on equal terms.
Doctor Plawal and his team had left the town of Seca Ville two days ahead of the two of them, on another excursion into the mountains, as Nuron had found out. She had begun preparations for their own departure almost instantly, and Khameir had felt left out of the picture completely. Of course, his mother was not used to taking her son on missions with her, but he had expected that she would at least explain what she was doing and why. No such thing happened. Nuron Sarin-Skywalker was focused only on the hunt. And she apparently meant to leave her son to watch and wonder while she acted. Khameir was peeved mightily at her behaviour, but he had been brought up to be respectful toward his elders, and it was hard to shed those bonds. But soon now he would, he swore to himself. Soon.
He almost walked into his mother when she stopped, and was very surprised when she turned to face him. "Khameir, I want you to be quiet now," she told him sternly. "No more complaints. You wanted to come and now you deal with it. I can't spare time to explain what's before your eyes. Just watch. And learn."
She'd never been so hostile in teaching him before, Khameir found, bewildered. What was different? The answer came instantly, and was actually very simple. And sobering. His decision to come along had marked his first step into adult life. She would not teach him like she would a child, not any longer. For a moment he felt actually proud. But then the drizzle that constantly poured cold rain-water down the neck of his shirt doused his enthusiasm again. "Okay," he sighed, hunching his shoulders some more.
They hiked for four hours longer that day, and at last they had reached their destination. A cave. Scrambling up the steep decline in the twilight of falling night, Khameir and Nuron made enough noise to wake the dead, the boy found, disapproving. But his mother seemed undisturbed by his silent rage and simply turned on her torch-light once they had reached the cave-mouth, and let the bright beam cut through the inky blackness before them. "We're going to rest in there, where it's dry," she announced, then dimmed the torch-light somewhat. "Watch out," she admonished her son as she stepped into the cave.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, and let his ears perk up to catch even the faintest of sounds that swirled throughout the cave's depths. He could sense that there were people close by, at the foot of the cliff, a few miles to the east. Plawal's camp? It seemed reasonable to assume that the scientist and his crew had no desire to camp so close to a cavern that was a focal point for the Force and ancient Sith custom. Prudent, that, and stupid, Khameir mused, not without proud scorn. They were no Jedi, no Force-adepts like him or his mother. Mother knew that there was nothing to fear inside this cave, that it responded only to the hearts of those who came to visit.
Sliding down over wet stone into the belly of the natural cave, Khameir concentrated on his surroundings even harder. There seemed to be a faint echo of something, not power, but something else. Peace? Despair? It was so hard to tell! Mother's torch was pitiful against the vast darkness that filled the cavern, but Khameir was not afraid. He had his senses to rely on, after all. Curious, he slipped ahead of Nuron, to be the first to discover what secrets this place held. Soon, he encountered the far wall, and stopped, shuddering. The feeling of despair was strongest here, but it was drowned out by sheer elation, a feeling so strong it was almost a physical thing. Frozen in place, Khameir fought to draw a breath. Then, his mother's voice.
"Khameir."
She sounded calm and composed, but suddenly he could sense her anxiety, and slowly turned to see what was wrong. For a moment he was blinded by the bright beam of light cutting across his vision, but then he squinted it away, and saw. A woman, a stranger, facing his mother. Tall and slender, the human female wore her rather primitive clothing like a queen. Bone necklaces adorned her slender shoulders and bracelets clattered as she moved toward them. Khameir felt dizzy all of a sudden, knowing without any doubt that this was the bone-queen Amerie had warned him of. Fierce protectiveness engulfed his being then, and he stepped forward to shield his mother from the spirit's intentions, whatever they might be. But Nuron, noting his attempt to intervene with an approving nod, lay a hand on his shoulder to hold him back, and addressed the woman directly. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice still calm. And Khameir could tell that she was calmer inside too now.
Relaxing a bit, he waited for the stranger's answer along with his mother. The woman, her green eyes large and dark, did not acknowledge the Zabrak female confronting her and instead focused her attention on the adolescent boy standing beside her. "Khameir Sarin-Skywalker," she said, her voice surprisingly warm and deep. "You have come."
"My sister sent me," he answered, and wondered where that thought had come from.
"Ah, yes," the woman said with a smile. "The mediator. She is very gifted."
Khameir accepted that compliment with a wary nod, but made no reply. Beside him, Mother jerked around to look at him. "She is the woman Amerie had nightmares of?" Her son nodded. Golden eyes narrowing, Nuron Sarin-Skywalker moved in front of Khameir and demanded, "Tell me what you want of my children."
For the first time the stranger acknowledged her, her gaze unfathomable. "I did not call you," she countered then, a note of anger in her tone now. "I called him."
"Why?" Khameir asked, trembling now, both with fear and exhilaration. He'd wanted an adventure, hadn't he? Now he got it.
The woman's face softened. "For him. To let him understand, and to enable him to grieve properly. He never knew the truth. You can show it to him."
Frowning, Khameir cocked his head to the side, when he saw a small face peek at him from behind the nameless woman. A boy, he thought, very thin, with earnest eyes and a presence that radiated something Khameir had rarely seen or felt. In fact, he had experienced something like this only once before. When his sister had been born. The first time he had laid eyes on the baby, he had felt all warm inside, filled with protectiveness and pride and love. This was how this boy felt like. Smiling, Khameir went down on his haunches, to compress his tall frame into something smaller, less threatening.
"Hello," he said softly, addressing the boy. "Tell me who you are?" The child edged around the woman's legs cautiously, and Khameir saw that his eyes were a pale green, and his hair as black as the woman's. The likeness between them then named them mother and son. And Khameir knew. "Liyuma," he breathed, feeling suddenly cold inside, and afraid. His head snapped up to look at the woman, who had to be Alda Magor, and asked, "What do you want me to show him? What could I show him?" He almost panicked at the sheer responsibility to show a man who had lived three thousand years something he did not know. Was that at all possible?
"You can show him things the way he should have seen them, not the way he did. And you can show me," she added softly.
Bewildered and frightened, Khameir sought his mother's gaze. But she only stood there, tall and forbidding, a stranger too, all of a sudden. Desperate, Khameir turned his eyes on the boy again. "What? What do you need to see?"
"The past," Alda Magor explained, as her son kept his silence.
Khameir's mind short-circuited then, banishing all reason, allowing his emotions to rule him completely. And he reached out, one trembling hand extended toward the quiet boy, and the child returned his gesture to touch him, his skin cool and real and soft. There was a moment when the world seemed to slide, and Khameir was caught in darkness. Only gradually did he became aware of tiny golden strands of light, barely visible. But as he looked on they grew, connecting into a net, like sun-beams falling through water. There were voices in that light, no, one voice, so beautiful that Khameir at first did not know whether it was male or female. There was only one man he knew of who had had such a magical voice. Khameir felt trapped, somehow, tensing involuntarily, expecting an assault at any moment. But then the voice changed, became less threatening, less beautiful, and then the light grew so bright that he could not see anything at all.
Jacen and Jaina would never have thought that time-travelling would be so strenuous. They had found out soon enough that they somehow had managed to land someplace centuries ago, part of a mission of Jedi to some strange planet. They did not dare ask too many questions, lest they be found out for what they were: intruders. Among these Jedi their age marked them as Padawan learners, and it was hard enough to always appear busy, to avoid questions about their respective masters. But they had found allies too, among the real Padawan among the crew. Most of them did not question, they merely accepted, aware of the fact that they were not being told everything of their mission themselves. So why should they wonder about two strange Padawan? But there were others too, who wondered, and watched suspiciously. One of them was Klatoun Arden, a young man of twenty, on the verge of moving on into knighthood, and in love with the mystery Jaina and her brother presented. He did not exactly follow them around, and he never dared tell them off, for fear of offending their masters with false accusations. But he was alert, and he asked questions.
Which was, considering, not too bad, Jaina thought. After all, the game was played by two, and she had managed to salvage some pointers as to the era they found themselves in, although the question of how and why still lacked an answer. Secretly she was hoping for Liyuma to return and enlighten them somehow, though so far he had been pretty close-mouthed as to his intentions. Which was another riddle to solve. But for now their problems were more immediate. The twins were sitting together on a fallen log that crossed a small stream, off the camp-site where two Republic ships had settled permanently. Republic ships. The Old Republic. Jaina shook her head.
"If I understand correctly we are three thousand years back in the past," she explained to Jacen, who was staring glumly into the water beneath their dangling feet. "Do you know what that means? We're almost into the second Sith War, and this place - " She spread her arms in exasperation. "This is Os'jen'thana!"
Jacen looked over at her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. That planet. That Sith Lord. The one who had brought them here. For what purpose, they did not know. It was impossible.
"This is impossible," Jacen voiced her opinion aloud. "Time-travel is practically impossible."
"Not if the Force binds everything, past, present and future. It could be done." Her eyes misted over in thought. "Klatoun says it could be an illusion, created from memories."
"Liyuma's?" Jacen asked, and demanded, "And since when do you confide in Mister I'm-so-gorgeous?"
Jaina blushed at that. It was true. Klatoun was certainly not bad-looking, and he seemed to be fascinated by her, which was flattering all in itself. "He's not that way," she defended the Padawan then, surprised at herself. "He hasn't told us off yet, has he?"
"He still might," Jacen replied gruffly, kicking his legs. "And we can't keep this farce up that much longer. Someone will start asking questions someday soon. What about Klatoun's master? He's conducting this mission, isn't he? What if he asks your friend who it is he's hanging around with all the time?"
At that his sister kept silent. Yes, what would happen then? They'd have to justify their presence, tell the truth, if that was possible. But would they believe them? "It isn't my fault," she murmured at last, feeling just a little bit angry at Jacen for his inquisitive tone. "They're looking for some Sith - "
"And what do you think will happen when they find out there are two people who don't belong with the group? Wouldn't that brand us as spies? Sith spies?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Jaina exclaimed, rolling her eyes. But he had a point, she had to admit to herself. Unfortunately. "Liyuma's clan," she said then, to change the subject. "They think they are Dark Jedi."
"You know what that means, don't you?" Jacen asked, voice trembling. "What will happen."
Jaina stared off into the distance, not answering for a time. She knew. Yes indeed. The Jen-clan's destruction, the death of Roj Kell's people. What he would do years later, to the men and women who would settle on Os'jen'thana in the wake of this genocide. "Do you think he means us to change something here?"
"We can't," Jacen reminded her. "This has already happened."
She nodded solemnly, and hung her head, gazing at the busy water in front of her. "But there has to be a reason for us being here." She looked over at her twin. "Right?"
Before he could reply, there was a shout, then more voices were raised in excitement, and the camp behind them came alive with fear and determination. The siblings turned back simultaneously, and wordlessly, without having to share a word, rose to go back and find out what was happening. It was that calm response that Jaina would remember later, the utter peace with which they turned toward disaster, as if compelled by their own history. In a way, she would later find, it had been exactly that. Their history.
Two weeks had passed since he had found Alda at the well one morning, pale as a ghost, her lovely face gaunt and old, her pale green eyes haunted, as she had tried to wash nightmares away from her body and memory. A futile endeavour. He had seen the terror in her eyes for days afterwards, until it had turned into resignation gradually. Lyve Waroon knew what this meant. Trouble. He had been a Jedi Knight for over fifteen years, and his sensitivity to his surroundings had not been muted at all by his fall to darkness thirty years ago. It would have been naive to believe that his presence on Os'jen'thana would remain undetected for all times. Ever since he had first come to this world two decades ago, the leader of an expedition sent out to determine the small world's value as a new base for the Sith Order, Lyve had known that this first encounter with civilisation would not remain the last for the Jen-People.
Over the years more off-worlders had come to hunt the equines in the plains and the predators of the mountain forests, and the Jen-People had been forced to withdraw into the less accessible parts of their realm. Yet civilisation was seeping unstoppably into Os'jen'thana. Some of the hunting companies were establishing permanent settlements and resorts in the plains and at the beautiful forest lakes, hoping to lure more customers. Traders supplied the hunters with everything they needed and even sought to interest the Jen-People in their goods. Confrontations had therefore become unavoidable. That was one of the reasons why Alda had sent their son away on his Jer'fra a year ago, entrusting him into the care of a trader they had known for long years.
The boy, no, the young man, had grown increasingly restless and increasingly reckless, too, as was customary for someone special like he was. He had been involved in a few fights accidentally, but his temper, his magic and his fighting skills had earned the Jen-People the settlers' animosities and now threatened to doom the clan. Soon now the reports and rumours that the traders and hunters brought back from Os'jen'thana would find their way to the wrong ear, and the Jedi might conclude correctly that Os'jen'thana had become a haven for the hunted Sith.
The Jen-People were a Sith clan, one of the last surviving ones, perhaps the only one remaining. They had nothing in common with the Dark Jedi who called themselves Sith today, men and women like Lyve Waroon, who would become the initial target for any investigation on the Jedi Order's part. The Sith had been a great culture once, commanding a large empire, but internal strife had reduced them to what they were now. Only the Cor'dan remained. Once religious leader and most powerful being of the empire, the Cor'dan was now no more than a shaman. At least that was what the so-called civilised people believed. Lyve, being married to a former Cor'dan, knew better.
He remembered Alda's days of power well enough. But where she would once have been able to avert the clash of her people with civilisation she was now powerless against its advance. Sending her son away was a gesture of defeat, of a new beginning in the making, and Lyve felt that the Sith would either perish for good or be gloriously reborn one day. Knowing his son, that head-strong warrior who sought knowledge with a passion that bordered on obsession, Lyve considered both possibilities. The boy was capable of either running the wagon into the ground or into heaven. As an off-worlder himself, he had often marvelled at how different the Jen-People were, how innocent and knowledgeable. Again, his son was the prime example for both. But his son was not here.
A sudden boom shook him out of his musings and he paused, making himself meld with his surroundings. He was standing on a small, overgrown ledge that hugged the side of the mountain and led down into the valley from where the booming noise had come from. The noise returned, and only then did he realise what it meant. Moving through the forest undergrowth with the practised economy of a hunter, the Sith Lord thought nothing of confronting these intruders alone. First, he would merely scout out their numbers and destination, then he would return to report to the Elders and his wife. His path led him to one of the outer settlements of the largest hunting franchise operating on Os'jen'thana. Crude huts had been erected, with more sheds to accommodate the hunters, workers and their trophies. Animal skins and carcasses littered the small square that marked the middle of the settlement, and on the far side of the buildings a large area had been cleared to allow ships to start and land. It was there that the booming noises were coming from.
Three ships, one of it in the process of landing, had come to Os'jen'thana. They were carrier ships, but Lyve did not recognise the fabricate. Suspicious, he stalked even closer, but recoiled when he saw the all too familiar figures of two men dressed in Jedi robes, who were making their way to the village square. There, a number of hunters and a representative of the hunting franchise were awaiting them. Sharpening his hearing, Lyve strained to hear what they were saying.
"Yes, Master Jedi, there are savages like you describe them living in the mountains," the representative reported just then.
"No savages," the Jedi, an elderly human, explained. "We heard reports about a warrior who sought to challenge the traders and hunters? A young man?"
"They've witches and wizards, these people," the other man continued, ignoring the question. "They're pretty scary, I tell you! This young man you speak of scoffs at our customs and insults us whenever he has the opportunity. They have a representative, an older man, who seems civilised enough. But he is not beneath threatening us too, if he deems it necessary."
"Could we perhaps speak to this man?" the younger Jedi asked.
Lyve had heard enough. Deciding to take his chances, he casually strolled across the clearing and toward the square. Immediately the hunters noticed his approach and some hefted their weapons, watching him anxiously. The franchise representative was gesturing wildly, obviously explaining to the Jedi that this was the man they wanted.
"Greetings," Waroon said as he joined the men in the square. "I heard of these new arrivals and came to see who it was."
"Greetings, chief," the representative grumbled, "these are Master Jedi Noci La'ruus and his Padawan Klatoun Arden."
Lyve did not reply, but he paled considerably, when he heard the older man named his childhood friend. He had not even recognised him! But Noci, his blonde hair almost completely gone, obviously had not forgotten about him. With a grim nod, the Jedi Master straightened his shoulders and said, "I know this man. Lyve, it has been a very long time."
"Indeed," the Sith Lord replied weakly, suddenly anxious. The Jedi Padawan seemingly noticed the change of mood, and frowned first at his mentor, then at Waroon. "And what brings you here?"
"Rumours," Noci told him firmly, "and justified ones too, it seems. You left us a long time ago, but we never forgot about you or your friends. So this is where you have been hiding all these years?"
"I am the only one left," Lyve hurried to assure his former friend. "The others are all dead."
"Is that so. This man just told me that there was an entire clan of savage magicians out there. And you are telling me there are no Sith on this planet?"
"They are not what you think, Noci, and I wish you to leave them in peace."
"I was sent here to investigate these rumours," Noci retorted, a nasty smile on his lips, "and that I will. You will not stand in my way. I will have you arrested for what you are. Klatoun, call reinforcements. Tell them to hurry."
"Who is this man?" the Padawan asked, fumbling for his comlink.
"A Sith Lord," La'ruus explained with some satisfaction. "I hope you will come peacefully, Lyve. I would not enjoy having to hurt you."
The man named Lyve Waroon felt an icy shudder run through his very soul, as he fought to keep his own identity, to suppress the vivid memories of so long ago. He was not a Sith Lord. He was not Lyve Waroon, father to Liyuma, husband to Alda Magor. He was Khameir Sarin-Skywalker, and he had to keep his wits about him. Definitely. But what to do? The being that was a mere shadow of who Lyve had once been was strongly suggesting for a violent course of action while Khameir, young and inexperienced, favoured a more cautious approach. He knew what was at stake. They both knew. Whatever he did now would affect the fate of the Jen-People. And, knowing what he did, Khameir really saw only one single path to take.
TBC
A teaser from the next chaper:
Khameir took another deep breath, nodding at Liyuma. "What about your son?" he asked. "He came back to slaughter the settlers in retribution for your clan's destruction. Was that wise?"
"He was hurting," Alda countered wearily. "And he knew there was no excuse for that deed. He has never known excuses."
"Is that why he has come back?" Jaina asked then. "To atone for his crimes?"
All eyes were on the little boy at Alda Magor's side, but the child did not respond, keeping silent even then. The sorceress followed their gaze, then gave a short laugh when she understood. "My son is long gone!" she exclaimed, seemingly amused by their assumption. "This," she gestured at the wraith by her side, "is a farewell gift. Triggered by a Jedi's presence on N'zoth." Her pale eyes focused on Khameir again. "To guide a new generation, when the time was right. Or didn't you wonder why he would interfere only now, if this was truly his spirit? He bound me too, to respond to intruders here in this cave."
Khameir blushed, but did not reply. It was Jacen who summed up what they had heard so far. "Then his intention was to make contact again once he could be certain that an unbiased generation had grown up," he mused aloud. "Jaina trusted him, and I did too, despite what we knew about him. Isn't that the ultimate gesture of forgiveness?" he asked, sounding awed.