Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) (39 page)

Dal’s scream lessened. He stood, shaking his head, rubbing at his face, and running
fingers through his hair. His breathing remained labored, each inhalation shuddering.

Defeated, she expected him to run. And she would have let him. He’d have lost himself
down there and died, or maybe he’d have gone farther than Osamael Or and disappeared
into the Old City forever.

But he did not run. And when he looked up she saw a completely different expression
on his face.

Rage.

“Stay out of my head!” he roared, and he came at her.

Lanoree raised the blaster, but Dal, somehow, was quicker. His hand flashed out, she
saw something flitting through the air between them, and then a cool pain erupted
in her hand. She dropped the blaster and staggered back, looking at the slim metal
blade stuck through her palm and slicing the heel of her hand in two.

Then Dal was on her, and every second of attention he had paid at Stav Kesh came to
the fore.

Startled, Lanoree failed to deflect the first punches and kicks. Dal’s skills had
always been in combat, and she reeled from the blows he rained down on her. She held
her wounded hand to her side but he aimed for it, one kick catching the blade and
slicing deeper, a punch pressing her hand back against her hip and snagging the blade’s
end on her clothing. Lanoree cried out in pain. Dal grinned.

He came at her again, but this time she had recovered enough to be ready.

As Dal fought with every martial talent and all the strength he had, so Lanoree drew
on her training. Her years as a Ranger. Her closeness with the Force. Everything Dal
hated, and she used it all against him.

A punch caught Lanoree across the shoulder and she shoved with her uninjured hand,
Force-punching him across the cavern. He struck a column and slid down, struggling
to stand again. Lanoree snatched up the blaster and did not hesitate to pull the trigger.

Nothing happened. The dropped blaster must have been damaged.

Dal crouched, picked up a rock, and threw it.

Lanoree deflected it with the Force and it shattered into dust.

Dal drew two short knives from his belt and attacked once again. Lanoree dropped the
useless blaster and drew her sword, parrying his knife thrusts. She held the blade
one-handed, but even then she knew she had the better of him. She almost felt sorry.

Then he threw a knife at her face, and as she Force-shoved it to one side, he leaped
at the device.

Lanoree had no time to think, and if she had she would have done the same. She swung
the sword in a high arc, up over her head, down toward where Dal would meet the device.

She closed her eyes at the last moment and felt the sickeningly familiar sensation
of sword parting flesh.

Something moved and hit the ground, and Lanoree had to look.

Dal’s right arm lay severed beside the device, fingers still splayed. The blade was
buried deep in the side of his head. He slumped down, moving slightly, eyelids flickering.
He looked at Lanoree, his body seeming to relax, and for the first time since childhood
she truly saw the Dal that had once been. But he no longer knew himself.

Dal’s eyes flooded red, blood ran from his ears and nose, and then he was still.

The sudden inaction and stillness came as a shock, and Lanoree let out one heavy,
startled sob of relief and sorrow. She probed out gently, expecting to feel rage and
hate, his familiar anger at her touching him with the Force, and his determination
to complete what he had begun.

But there was no more Dal. Her brother was gone, and all that was left was this sad,
broken body.

She turned her back on Dal while she made sure the device was stable. She thought
so. She also thought that the strange power she’d sensed down here nine years before
existed now as something like a held breath, matching the shattering potential of
the device. The darkness at its heart was horrible. But she was not the one to deal
with it.

She had left the sword with Dal. It was not her real sword. And she had no wish to
wipe her brother’s blood from its blade.

Soon, she would carry the device back to the surface and into the Peacemaker, and
if Tre still lived she would do what she could for him. Poor, brave Tre. She would
transport them both to Anil Kesh, the Temple of Science. More talented Je’daii than
she would examine and make safe the device, and better healers would give Tre their
full attention. She would demand that of them. She would insist.

After that, she would meet the Je’daii Masters who had set her on this mission. She
would tell them everything that had happened, and request permission to recover Dal’s
body so that she could take him home. She had decided that she would tell her parents
everything.

After all that, there was one more journey to take, and some final questions to ask.

Temple Master Lha-Mi would grant everything she asked, because she might have prevented
a cataclysm.

What she would
not
tell the Je’daii Masters,
ever
, was just how long she sat there next to her brother’s cooling body, staring at his
device’s activation panel.

Wondering.

Only wondering.

I can never tell anyone what I saw in the depths of the Old City. There are no words.
But I hope one day I can show them
.

—Dalien Brock, diaries, 10,661 TYA

In the end, she decided her parents could wait. That was a reunion she dreaded, and
not only because she had killed her own brother. She dreaded it most because she had
failed to save him a second time.

Storms still raged across Tython as she coaxed her damaged Peacemaker down onto one
of Anil Kesh’s landing pads. The ship needed repairs, and her droid required some
special attention from those expert in such technologies. Most of all, Tre was balancing
between life and death. She had done her best for him, but her brief ministrations
might have been worthless. He needed the attention of someone experienced in Force
healing. She had spoken to him every moment of their brief flight to Anil Kesh, and
though he was in a deep coma, she hoped it had done some good. It certainly made her
feel better, no longer talking to herself.

But Lanoree’s dark matters were not yet over. And even though her
mission was all but completed, she sensed something greater occurring on Tython.

Master Dam-Powl met her on the landing pad, hood raised against the rain.

“Lanoree,” Dam-Powl said with genuine affection. Lanoree went to kneel, but Dam-Powl
pulled her into an embrace. She submitted to it and rested her head on the shorter
Master’s shoulder. “Your balance is unsettled,” Dam-Powl whispered.

“Yes, Master. I killed my brother.”

Dam-Powl sighed heavily. “These are dark times. Please, come with me so that we can
talk. We’ll eat, and drink. I’ll welcome the company. I’m acting Temple Master here
in Master Quan-Jang’s absence.”

“Where is he?”

“Away. Now come.” Dam-Powl held out her hand. “Tell me everything. And then I have
plenty to tell you.”

“I thought it was over,” Lanoree said, looking up at the skies to the east. Lightning
danced there, and powerful winds swept stinging rain across Anil Kesh’s exposed surfaces.
Beneath the temple, the Chasm roared. Darkness seemed to rise from there, though it
was almost midday. Even after everything Lanoree had seen and done, it made her shiver.

“Your mission
is
over,” Dam-Powl said. Together they watched three Je’daii Rangers who were carefully
carrying the device from the Peacemaker, place it on a stable trolley and wheel it
toward an open door. It was destined for one of Anil Kesh’s laboratories. Lanoree
only hoped that the Je’daii could learn from it. “But a greater story is beginning.”

Master Dam-Powl told Lanoree of the alien ship that had entered the system, exploded
above Tython, and then crashed somewhere near the Rift. Perhaps in the Abyss of Ruh
itself. Its arrival had caused the dreadful Force Storms that still rippled across
the planet, and the Je’daii were unsettled.

“Master Quan-Jang is one of many seeking news of the crashed ship,” Dam-Powl said.
“I fear it means changing times for Tython.”

“Fear?” Lanoree asked.

“There was a disturbance in the Force before the ship crashed. A
wave of darkness. A terrible voice of pain, and then silence as death fell.”

“I sensed that also,” Lanoree said. “On my way from Sunspot.”

“Many Je’daii did,” Dam-Powl said. “Those on the ship were Force sensitives.”

“From out of system?”

“We believe so.” Dam-Powl nodded gently but said no more. She could sense Lanoree’s
need to talk. “So now, your story,” she said.

They sat in Master Dam-Powl’s laboratory, and Lanoree told her everything.

“Bad things,” Dam-Powl said when the story was almost over. “Such bad things. I hope
Tre Sana can be saved.”

“He’s a strange man,” Lanoree said. She was surprised to find herself smiling. “So
hard when I met him. Harsh. Selfish. He had troublesome views, and he even told me
some of the things he’d done. Not the worst things, I’m sure. But he was very open
about his past. Some would have called him wicked, or even evil. But he helped me
several times, and I saw the better man inside.”

“I sensed that also,” Dam-Powl said. “That’s why I chose him to be my ears and eyes.”

“You really promised him what he said?”

“I did,” she said softly. “If he survives, I’ll keep my word.”

“He came for me on Sunspot, saved me. And I think he was willing to sacrifice himself
to save my life again down in the Old City. He knew what was at stake. If he hadn’t
put himself in the way of that laser blast, I might have died.”

“Your alchemical skills are … quite remarkable.”

“Only what you taught me, Master.”

“No. What you did cannot be taught, Lanoree. You’re a natural. Just be careful when
you continue your experiments.”

“I’m not sure I
will
continue,” Lanoree said.

“Oh, you will.” Dam-Powl smiled, but it quickly faded. “But what you did … the dark
tempts you. It teases with the power it could give. And killing your brother has pushed
you that way, also. You feel conflicted. You feel … confused.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Brush aside the confusion,” Dam-Powl said. “That is the first step to confronting
any imbalance. Know that you are troubled, or be comfortable that you are not. Be
honest with yourself. And … I am here, Lanoree. We are all here to help. Every single
Master, because …” She shrugged. “It could be you saved us all.”

“I feel that my balance has swayed, Master. But I have not fallen. And I will not.”

Dam-Powl raised an eyebrow, took a drink, delicately wiped her mouth. “So, the threat
is quashed, and another rises in its place. You’ll be wanting to rest before your
journey back to Bodhi and your parents.”

“No,” Lanoree said. “I’m not going home just yet. And rest will wait. I still have
questions.”

“Oh,” Master Dam-Powl said, but she knew very well that Lanoree had more to ask.

“The hypergate. I felt it.”

“You felt something in the Old City, as anyone particularly talented in the Force
will. Just as the Chasm causes disturbance, and the Abyss of Ruh, and other places
on Tython. Your brother was right in one regard, at least. This is not our planet.”

“But I felt such power. Like something waiting.”

“The wine’s finished. I need to fetch another bottle.” Dam-Powl stood and went to
turn away. Lanoree grasped her robe and pulled her back around so that they were face-to-face.
It was an audacious move, handling a Master like this. But Lanoree felt justified.

“Master.
Is
there a hypergate down there?”

Dam-Powl looked down at Lanoree’s hand on her sleeve, waiting until it was released.

“Whether there is or isn’t—whether anyone knows for sure, or not—doesn’t change what
you did, Lanoree. If that Gree device had been turned on … well, we might not be here
now. Friends. With wine. The whole system might not be here anymore.”

“Might,” Lanoree said.

“Civilization is built on the word.” Dam-Powl smiled. “You serve the Je’daii well,
Lanoree. You remember when you and your brother first came to Anil Kesh? I saw the
potential in you then. And when you returned to complete your training after you thought
he had died, and
we spent long days together here, in this laboratory …” She gestured around at dark
corners and flickering candles. “That’s when I knew for sure you would one day be
a great Je’daii. I was not afraid to tell you so. And today, I’m not afraid to claim
an element of pride, because I was right. You
are
a great Je’daii. And on your journey, you
might
need to learn when to confront things, and when to turn away. When to obey your Masters,
and when not.” She shrugged. “Hmm. That word
might
again. It means ‘perhaps,’ and it also means ‘strength.’ Maybe it’s doubt that gives
true strength, eh, Lanoree? Balance is easy. Shifting from balance and finding it
again means you have to be stronger than most. And I have every confidence in you.”