5

The planet hung below them; a granite, grey-green sphere. One of its two current moons was just visible on the horizon as they floated three-hundred miles above the surface. Too high to make out any detail. Too high to see the region they had come from, really. Too high. And not high enough.

The communications satellite had been retrieved and stowed. The addition of two heavy-horses had come as a surprise to the hired Captain, but he had accepted them with good grace on promise of an escalator to his contracted fee. A couple of additional human passengers, by contrast, was less of an issue, even though the ship was a small one.

Cara drew her gaze briefly from the planet below to check the time again. Navigating through the Deep Core, with its densely packed star formations and systems, black-holes and constantly shifting hyperspace lanes, was difficult at best, and it had taken almost three hours to plot a route they could travel effectively. The final set of coordinates was now being simulated, before they could jump to light speed and leave this accursed world behind. She looked back. The moon was gone, and they were in the latest dusk period as they orbited. Smoke was rising from one region –she knew it was the one they had left. It was spreading.

Brigid had been fascinated by the ship and even more by the view out of the ports. She was asleep now in a spare bunk, her russet hair a soft cascade across the pillow, her breathing calm. She had stirred briefly, smiled at Cara's affectionate wave when she had looked in, and drifted back off almost immediately. Accepting things would not, she decided, ever be a problem for her friend. She was a rarity. The rules that forbade taking those from less-technologically advanced societies were sensible, and entirely practical. The change was too great, too profound. There was too much that was new, too much to learn. The simplest electrical appliance could seem like magic. There were sometimes exceptions, and Brigid, fortunately was one. As for Salkeld –he had said nothing, but remained by one of the observation windows, staring down at the place that had been his home. He had accepted it, maybe even had known, deep down, that destiny would take him away. Like Brigid, his Basic was perfect: fluent, idiomatic and completely relaxed. Unlike the girl though, he also clearly knew a reasonable amount about the wider galaxy already. How he had managed that feat she had not yet asked; at a guess, his mother may have brought holocron records with her. Still, it would not be easy for him to adjust.

A soft chime over the intercom system warned them that they were preparing for the jump to light speed. She took a last look at the planet. Then she turned her back and walked away. A second later she felt the slight surge, could sense the view of the stars elongating as the ship jumped to light speed, entering the small hyperspace lane for the run back to the Inner Core. She paused by the small room that had been her master's on the way out. She could still feel the older woman's warmth. She had been a good master, conscientious, generous to a fault and genuinely wise. Loving too, to her surrogate daughter who shared many of her ideals though was rather more forthright in her manner. Cara had long ago accepted that she could be blunt, but hoped she was never unfeeling. Transcending such things was all very well, and perhaps a few like Master Yoda could manage it, but it was not a goal she aspired to. On the whole, she thought she did reasonably. She was admired by many, and outside the Order, when singing for a charity event or simply for the joy of forging a connection with an audience, she knew she had a common touch, loving the after-performance period when she could meet those attending.

She was tired, but it would be some time before her mind settled. Back in her own room, she glanced down at the dress, now largely stained with peat and blood. It was too far gone to save, but she would try to get another made. It suited her. After sponging herself down and washing more blood out of her hair, she pulled on simple black leggings and a green tunic that fell to mid-thigh, briefly dabbed some lavender oil on her wrists and temples, then slipped back out and walked the dozen paces to the small lounge area, quietly singing a piece from her home-world. It was a song that meant a lot to her, both personally and in a more abstract sense. Her birth planet, which she had visited once, had its troubles. Not on the scale of the planet her friends had come from, but there were some similarities. They were over now –and hopefully for good. But it was important to remember. A sad song, and therefore also a true one.

He was sitting in a viewing alcove, staring into nothingness. His nose was bleeding, or had been –he was automatically mopping the final drips with a piece of linen, stained rusty by the drying blood. There was no gesture, not even a flicker of an eyelid, but she knew he was listening. She deliberately lost herself in the words as she made two mugs of cocoa, and as her voice trailed softly away in the final notes, crossed to sit alongside him.

How he would handle what had happened was a question she had been asking herself since their departure. How does a person cope with genocide –let alone in such a disturbing way? With the loss of everything they had known? With survivor's guilt? The bleeding had stopped, and he took the cocoa she offered. After a brief sip he leaned back against the rear of the bench with a slightly rueful expression. 'It makes me angry. In a way. Ironic, given the lyrics.'

'There's anger, and there's anger. I'd worry if you didn't grieve. It's natural.'

'I don't think that's what your song is saying. I seem to remember something about your Order frowning on it too.'

'No. But I've never claimed to be perfect either. And it will pass, because it has to. You know the ones who plotted against your people were a symptom. They weren't the cause.'

His gaze fixed on hers, as if looking for something –what, she didn't yet know. Whatever it was, he seemed satisfied. Even smiled slightly, although there was a hint of self-deprecation in the gesture. 'How did you get to be so wise my lady?'

'I'm not. It's just the truth. You think I didn't know? There were at least two in the Council. It's easy to be wise after the event, but I didn't like them. Whatever they wanted though, they won't get it. If they're not already dead, they will be soon enough. You know that –better than I do. Perhaps you could have killed them yourself, but you would have died just to kill men who were already on borrowed time. Your responsibility is to your living friends. Not to the dead.'

He thought about it for a moment, then accepted her point. 'Thank you.'

'For what?'

'Reminding me of the obligations of being human.'

'You don't need me for that.' She lightly touched her finger to his. 'I'm sorry for what happened. If I could have stopped it, I would. So would you. Or Brigid. Or any other decent person. I wish I could have done more –that the Order could have done. As it was –I brought away everything I could that was worth saving.' She looked away briefly, gathering her own thoughts. 'I don't think many will have known what was coming. They won't have suffered.'

'The villagers?'

She thought back to the silhouettes she had seen; to the uncoordinated, almost shambling but relentless movement. Let her fingers tighten around his. 'I don't know. I hope not. Whatever they were, whoever they had been before –that were gone before you arrived. And it was happening elsewhere too. I don't think that happened at the castle though. I don't know if it helps –but she must have been dead by midnight. It had to have been quick.'

It was strange –in a way, this was the first time she had really been able to see him. The previous afternoon he had been shadowed, his features partly concealed by the hood of his cloak and some form of camouflage makeup –not much, but enough. And of course, until they had boarded the transport, it had been dark.

He was pale. That was what she first saw. Similar to herself in fact, although there were fine lines about the corners of his eyes, the smudges beneath now exhaustion rather than greasepaint. There was a small bruise just behind his right cheekbone; a little dried blood of course. The chocolate-brown hair was thick, with a natural wave and moderately long, cropped above his shoulders. He was obviously fit; extremely so, although even the fittest eventually tired. Properly cleaned up and rested, he might even be thought attractive, in his own way. He wouldn't be the first choice of a model agency, but that was fine with her. Before she went to bed she would try to find some clothes for him –his trousers, shirt, doublet were stained, even more than her dress had been.

'She was a cousin. Second, or something like. Through my father of course. I grew up with her. Played with her. Had lessons with her. Our tutor whipped us both if one of us didn't pay enough attention in class, or made game of him. Or if we missed a session. He didn't discriminate. That tends to make you care for someone, if you didn't already.'

'Your tutor whipped you? Both of you? Even if only one of you had done something wrong?' The idea of whipping children was bad enough, but to flog both of them when only one had stepped out of line seemed barbaric.

'Of course he did. Bloody. In my case anyway –he had to be a bit more careful with her of course. I don't think it did much good, other than making him feel better. He loved us both. We certainly loved him.' The tired flicker of humour was a positive sign. He must have been an interesting boy –serious mostly, obviously intelligent, probably questioning, but still with some sense of fun that occasionally broke free, as it should in all children. She shook her head while she did her best to process his words. It was wrong to impose views on societies at different stages of development, although flogging children was difficult to accept. Especially when the child, now a young man, seemed to bear no malice at all –even seemed amused by it. For the briefest moment she saw him wince as he lifted the mug, the fine lines about his eyes tightening. Then it was gone.

'Missed a session? Where were you?'

'Oh, the blacksmith's. He said I should learn something useful. And she was friendly with his daughters. They liked to play battledore together. She was good at it, she'd win more times than not, even playing both of them.'

A part of him, she knew, would always be there, amongst the moors and beneath the skies of the place that had been his home. He would be haunted by it for the rest of his life. But he also knew perfectly well that his world had been corrupt. The people there had been good, mostly, like people throughout the galaxy. Ordinary. It was the planet that was bad, riddled by dark energy. An evil place, terrifyingly old, though its majesty, at least in its current form, disguised its real nature. The further she got from it, the happier she would be. 'Were there any others?'

'Children in our classes? No. Just us. My father's lands weren't the largest, but he controlled a useful part of the coast; a good natural harbour so it was important in its way. Taxes could be collected, ships built and repaired. We had lime deposits that were valuable too.'

'You were expected to marry?' She dropped the question as casually as possible. It was only one possibility, but she hoped his answer would give her a better insight.

'I don't know. Our parents probably discussed it, but if there had been any arrangements it would have died with my mother and father. Nobody tried to split us up though –most major families shared tutors, and somebody had to teach us. That ended when we were thirteen. She inherited the crown, and of course I needed to learn how to fight. I'd already had a decent grounding in the basics –everyone does. But it gets more serious at that age doesn't it? She made sure I was trained by someone who could beat some sense into me, and she gave me the inland estate too –it's customary for a ruler to grant small favours when they come to the throne. It wasn't really much use. A wood; some moorland. A couple of rough pastures that the people in the village were free to use. No real income to speak of. We both liked it.'

She sat quietly for several minutes, thinking about what he had said. And for his part, he seemed content enough in her company, not feeling the need to keep speaking. Presumably exhaustion helped. It made sense, and was certainly in line with what her master had told her. Arranged marriages and relationships built upon political and military necessity. If all had gone as planned, his job would have been to intimidate or eliminate any threat to her position. And of course to give her an heir. In the same vein, he needed support to consolidate his family's position and defend his estates from rivals. Romantic love wouldn't have even merited a second's consideration for their parents –practicality was all. She smiled slightly to herself. As it happened, they had loved each other, albeit they had needed to pretend otherwise after the death of his parents. He had been more successful than her on that front. They had both also been powerful force-sensitives. Not overt –but it counted for a lot. The people knew about it, knew that some could wield it, and that their world was steeped in it. And his mother had been a Jedi.

All told, it was a mess. But she was glad he and Brigid were here anyway. At least that was one positive that she could take away and set against the sadness of losing her master, and at seeing a world help destroy its own inhabitants in an orgy of blood. 'You need to sleep. How long have you been up?'

'I don't know. Eighty hours? Ninety? Something like that.' He gave her a slightly ironical look. 'I suppose I'll have to face the nightmares some time.' Then his eyes changed again –it was like watching a breeze ruffle the heather on the moorlands of the place they had so recently been. 'I'm sorry. You lost your –mother, I suppose you could call her? That's as hard to deal with in its way. Harder.'

'It's a little like that. I think it is for all of us. Did your own mother ever talk of it?'

'Sometimes. She had a lot to teach me, but she ran out of time. I know she cared for her master though. And for some of the other masters who helped her. I imagine it's the same for you?' Seeing her nod, he sighed quietly. 'I wish I'd known her better. That was her lightsaber I threw to you. I haven't made one –I couldn't get the parts, even if I knew how to.' He took a final swallow of the cocoa and set the mug on the floor. Again she saw the fine lines at the corners of his eyes contract; perhaps the merest flicker of a wince. He didn't appear to be wounded though, and was moving freely, so she let it pass. Bruising would probably cause it, and he had been busy. Her master's body was safe in the hold, respectfully wrapped in her cloak and some linen sheets. His explanation had been short, though not unfriendly. She had been half-minded to order the pilots to take them to where her master had died until he had lifted the older woman's mortal remains gently from the bracken. She didn't want to know what he and his horses must have been through to return to that damned valley. If the raiders and what had been the villagers were anything to judge by, he had seen hell. Despite which he had understood her intentions, and done his best to help.

'Give me a minute. My lord.' She hoped her use of his title, perhaps the last time he would ever hear it, would convey both her thanks and respect. It did. She avoided looking at him for a moment, as she stood and moved to a low chest built into the wall, but she knew the compliment had gone home. Raising the lid, she pulled out some blankets. They were old, frayed, but clean and warm. The chest also contained a medpac. Digging through it she found a bottle of codeine tablets; they weren't ideal sedatives, but they would help, and if he was nursing some kind of injury they should reduce the pain until the Healers could see them both. That would almost certainly be their first port of call on arriving back at the Temple, even before any formal report. Shaking two of the tablets out, she carried them over to him, waited until, under the fire of her eyes, he swallowed them, then draped the blankets carefully over him.

He managed a tired smile. 'You're very persuasive my lady.'

'I try.' She let the short burst of authority in her eyes dissolve. 'If you need me, I'm only a few feet away.' She let her fingers ghost over his shoulder, then let him be.

It was strange, she thought, how quickly life could change. What would happen in the next few days? She wasn't sure. She hoped her new friends would find or make a place for themselves. They deserved it. But then, so did everyone. Good, bad, or just ordinary. He was still awake, even though an hour had elapsed since he had taken the tablets. She could feel it. The codeine had helped a little but his mind was still working. Not especially active –just there. Drained. And he was in pain. It was diffuse, and he had either hidden it or simply suppressed it while they had talked, but now he was alone again, it was back. At least there wasn't any sign of major trauma; hopefully some rest, even if he didn't sleep, would help. As for her own future, it would be different. Whatever changes would occur though would partly be in her hands. That was enough to be going on with.