Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) (21 page)

“Compared to you?” Lanoree asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Tre had done nothing
in her eyes to deserve that.

“Compared to him, I’m a space angel. He’s a scumhead. And whether he helps or not,
please don’t judge me by his company.”

“I won’t,” Lanoree said. “But why do you think I need your help?”

“Why else did you bring me along?” Tre’s confident smile returned, and Lanoree was
surprised by how pleased she was to see it.

Pride is a dangerous indulgence
.

—Temple Master Lha-Mi, Stav Kesh, 10,670 TYA

They spend fourteen more days in Stav Kesh, and sometimes Dal is taken away and taught
on his own. This worries Lanoree. She wants to remain close to keep an eye on him,
and when they are apart she can’t seem to reach him. She tries, but he is blocking
her out. Only the weak-minded are always open to a Je’daii’s sensings, and Dal is
far from weak-minded. He has had years to learn how to exclude his sister’s gentle
probings.

Master Kin’ade continues to teach Lanoree and the others, but on those occasions when
Dal is taken, it is the Temple Master Tave who takes him. In the evenings when Dal
chooses to return to their room, Lanoree asks him where he goes and what he does.

“Weapon training,” Dal says. “They see my talents as a warrior and Tave is giving
me one-on-one attention.” But she sees that even Dal does not believe that. When the
group is being instructed on Force
use of weapons, they are keeping him apart. Maybe they’re afraid that he will let
loose with a blaster and hurt someone again.

Even worse, perhaps they believe he did that on purpose.

On their final day there, Masters Kin’ade and Tave welcome them into the Grand Hall.
This is a structure built deep in the mountain, and it has become something of a legendary
place among Journeyers over the centuries. It is said that Temple Master Vor’Dana
fought and killed thirteen Sand Assassins in the hall more than two hundred years
before, and sometimes when the wind is right lonely grains of sand still whistle and
hush against the ancient stone.

Now, the hall is cool and still, illuminated by an array of burning brands and expectantly
silent. The Journeyers stand along one wall as instructed, and Tave and Kin’ade are
together, whispering and waiting for something.

What is this?
Lanoree wonders. She glances sidelong at the Cathar twins, and they look back and
smile. There is a special bond between the two of them that is deeper than the Force,
and they trouble her. She looks in the other direction at Dal. He is relaxed and calm,
glancing around the hall at the tapestries and the array of old weaponry hanging on
hooks and resting in display cases around its perimeter. He catches her eye and grins.

“Master Kin’ade—” she says, but the Zabrak holds up one hand, fingers splayed.

Someone is coming. Lanoree can sense it, and she feels an approach in the flow of
the Force. Moments later a shadow appears in a doorway across the hall. Temple Master
Lha-Mi enters, walking confidently toward the students. The two Masters bow slightly,
and then Lha-Mi pauses and examines the Journeyers. He spends some time looking them
up and down, and when he reaches Lanoree, she can feel the strength of his regard.
Sometimes love is not enough
, Lha-Mi told her, but today there is no special message. He moves on to Dal, and
then after a glance at Masters Tave and Kinade, says one word.

“Fight.”

The two Masters maintain ultimate control. When a Force punch is thrown with a little
too much vigor, Master Tave reaches out and absorbs some of the impact. When a series
of overenthusiastic Force shoves thuds along the floor toward the Wookiee, Master
Kin’ade
snatches them from the air and dispels them with little more than a grunt.

Lanoree avoids fighting with her brother for as long as she can. But soon she finds
herself standing side by side with Dal, and, as they swap glances, she sees how much
he’s enjoying this.

“No sides here,” Dal says. He leaps toward Lanoree in a clumsy, yet strong Alchaka
move, and what happens next plays on her mind for a long time afterward. She lets
him strike her down.

She tumbles, sliding across the stone floor and bruising her back, hips, elbows. She
uses the Force to prevent herself slamming into a wall. Then she stands, and Dal is
already charging at her again.

She ducks beneath Dal’s kick, slides past him as he spins and lashes out with his
fist, trips him, stomps on his ankle, then drops astride him with one fist raised,
ready to hammer down on his face.

“I need no Force to bring you down, brother,” she says, smiling. She is trying to
lighten the mood, appealing to their close bond. But his eyes are filled with anger.

He punches Lanoree in the temple and she falls to the side, shocked more than pained.
A kick to her ribs, another punch to her stomach. She rolls away from him but he is
always there, and then she thinks,
Why shouldn’t I use the Force? Am I holding back simply because of his sensibilities?

She punches out, hard, and a great thud! reverberates around the hall. Dal is powered
back away from her, arms and legs splayed as he flies through the air. Someone catches
him and drops him, hard, before he smashes against the wall. Lanoree does not see
who but assumes it is Tave or Kin’ade.

She stands, holding her head and willing the heavy throbbing pain from her insides.
But sometimes even the Force cannot dull such agonies, and in her studies she has
come to trust pain. It is there for a reason, and to mask it can lead to more damage
and worse pain later.

“You lower your defenses,” Kin’ade says, and at first Lanoree thinks she’s speaking
to Dal. But she is actually addressing her. “You should be able to anticipate such
clumsy attacks, and counter them. Your brother’s Alchaka moves are rudimentary at
best, and he does not use the Force to wield them.”

“I know,” she says softly, facing Master Kin’ade but glancing sidelong
at Dal. He is standing across the hall from them, and he looks dejected, defeated.

“Cease,” Lha-Mi says, and the fighting ends. The Cathar twins embrace, bloody and
smiling. The Wookiee and Twi’lek draw close together and slap each other’s shoulders.

Lanoree looks to Dal, but he has already turned his back on her.

Kin’ade walks ahead of Lanoree, saying nothing. Lanoree has been told to follow her,
and she suspects that she is being taken to Lha-Mi one last time before they depart
in the morning. Tomorrow, she and Dal commence their long, dangerous journey to Anil
Kesh.

The Temple of Science lies more than a thousand kilometers to the east on Talss. They
will have to cross the Moon Islands to reach Talss, and once there they’ll be faced
with a long hike across a wild land. Lava arcs burst from ancient volcanic tunnels;
mountain slopes are smothered with ash trees; and strange, sometimes deadly creatures
stalk the valleys and ravines. Wilder still is Anil Kesh itself, straddling the mysterious
and deadly Chasm high in the mountains. No Je’daii has ever descended to its bottom
and survived, and many of those who have tried were driven insane. Daegen Lok, the
Prisoner of Bogan, is one such man—his fascination with the Chasm led to his downfall.
All young Padawans are told his story.

Lanoree was looking forward to time on her own with Dal. Yet now, she is fearful as
well. Of Dal, what he is becoming, and what he might do. She is desperate to not let
her parents down. And though she still tries to believe that her brother can be saved
and brought to the Force, deep down she knows the truth.

His days on Tython are numbered.

“Wait here,” Master Kin’ade says. She rests a hand on Lanoree’s shoulder. “This is
the last time we’ll see each other, for now at least. I hope your onward journey is
safe, Journeyer. May the Force go with you.”

“Thank you for all your training,” Lanoree says.

Master Kin’ade looks as though she wants to say more, and Lanoree is surprised when
she senses doubt exuding from the Master. But then the room beyond where they wait
is no longer empty, and Kin’ade merely smiles.

“Enter,” a voice says, and Lanoree recognizes Lha-Mi once more.

The small, hexagonal room is lined with images of people Lanoree does not know. There
are a mix of people, all species and colors, and at points around the walls there
are also empty spaces. Lha-Mi stands in a doorway on the far side of the room.

“Everyone I have let down,” the Temple Master says. “All those people—Je’daii and
not—whom I have failed throughout my long life. I keep the room open for anyone to
view, because it’s important to know we are not all perfect. Pride is a dangerous
indulgence. I’m a Temple Master now, but even that doesn’t exclude me from failure.
In many regards, my failures are greater, because as a Temple Master there is so much
more expectation put upon me, and responsibility brings more risk.” Lanoree says nothing.
She is being spoken to, and Lha-Mi invites no response.

“It’s down to me, of course, whose images I place here,” the old man continues. “Some
would argue that there are those here who let themselves down, rather than being let
down by me. And there are others who might name some images that are missing.” He
walks slowly around the room. “There are spaces. Gaps yet to fill. I hope to still
see areas of bare wall here when I am older and closer to death, but …” He shrugs
and touches cold, bare stone.

“You don’t want to see Dal’s image here,” Lha-Mi says. “You’re learning well, and
your experience shines through. But it’s
your
face I have no wish to see on the walls of this room, Lanoree. So heed this warning.
Ignore it, suffer the consequences, and I will have let you down. Your brother grows
more unstable and dangerous every day. Be wary of him.”

“I will, Master Lha-Mi.”

The old man sighs. “There was a time when people like Dalien …” He trails off.

“What?” Lanoree asks.

“Harsher times,” Lha-Mi says. “No matter. Go safe, Lanoree Brock, and may the Force
go with you.”

Lanoree watches the Temple Master turn and leave the room of his shame, and when he
has gone she spends some time looking around at the faces staring back at her. She
wonders what became of them. Dead, banished, fled out into the system?

She hopes to never find out.

And she swears that neither her face nor her brother’s will fill one of those empty
spaces.

Down in Greenwood Station, Tre Sana became someone else.

Lanoree sensed it when they emerged onto the first bustling street of shops, taverns,
and other places of pleasure. Not in any Force way, because whatever Dam-Powl had
done to the Twi’lek had rendered him almost immune to Lanoree’s probings. But in the
way he carried himself. His manner, his bearing, his interaction with the world shifted
subtly. The Tre Sana she had met on Kalimahr and with whom she had spent days cooped
up in her Peacemaker turned into the man Dam-Powl had warned her about.

He became dangerous.

They walked along the street side by side, and Lanoree kept the hood of her robe raised.
A few people glanced at them but only casually. Most were too involved in their own
lives to be concerned with anyone else. Sellers displayed their wares on metal market
wagons—food, drink, and an array of drug slips that promised a temporary escape from
the reality of this wretched place. People stood outside drinking establishments,
trying to lure passersby inside with promises of the best drink. And all the while,
farther toward the center of the dome, the chimneys throbbed and pumped, the machines
thumped away, the ground shook, and great trains trundled in or out with raw materials
or finished products. The people were the oil that kept the dome working, and Lanoree
sensed that safety and sanity here rested on a thin skein of smoke.

While they walked, she kept her senses open for any sign of Dal. But she wasn’t even
sure she would recognize him anymore.

“There,” Tre said. He pointed along the street.

“What?”

“Listing point.” He walked forward, shoved a tall man aside, and pressed several buttons
on a box mounted on a short, stumpy pole.

“I was using that!” the man said. He might once have been human, but some terrible
growth had eaten at his face, and gleaming artificial eyes were set in the remains
of eye sockets.

“How about using this?” Tre said. He shifted his jacket aside and displayed the small
blaster on his belt.
I didn’t even know he had that!
Lanoree thought.

“You’re carrying!” the man said. “No one’s allowed to carry in Green—”

Tre shoved him hard. Arms pinwheeling, the man stumbled back into a group of women
wearing dull red worksuits, and one of them tripped him. They laughed.

Tre turned his back on the fallen man and started working at the listing point. Its
small screen showed a map of Greenwood Station, and as Tre tapped at the keys, the
map zoomed in to a sector, then a small network of streets. A green glow pulsed. Tre
swiped the screen clear and nodded at Lanoree.