Aronoke’s hands were sweating slightly on the hilt of his lightsaber. He stopped to wipe them on his robe. He tugged at the helmet of his suit, which felt awkward and uncomfortable bunched down about his neck. Too bulky. He felt unpleasantly conspicuous without the hood of his robe to conceal his face, but told himself that this was no time to be worrying about that.
The hold of the pirate ship was filled with all sorts of equipment its narakite owners doubtlessly found useful in plying their vicious trade. Grappling guns and welding torches. Laser cutters, vibrosaws and robotic jaws to cut their way into the ships of uncompliant victims. They were slavers, as most of the nomadic space-faring narakite clans were, and blocks of carbonite were clamped to the walls of the hold, each containing an unfortunate captive. Aronoke had thought of Hespenara immediately when he saw those, and wondered anew what it felt like to be frozen like that.
You wouldn’t feel anything for very long, he thought.
“Follow my lead,” said Master Caaldor, directing Aronoke’s attention back to the matter at hand as the blast door into the main part of the ship slid back.
“Yes, Master,” Aronoke hardly had time to say before Master Caaldor was moving, running into the passageway beyond. Aronoke followed behind him, not too close. They had not fought side by side before, and he had no desire to get in Master Caaldor’s way. To accidentally hit him.
Blaster bolts suddenly blazed from an open doorway ahead. Most were deflected harmlessly by Master Caaldor’s swinging lightsaber, but one caught him in the side and he staggered, dropping to one knee.
For a heartbeat Aronoke hesitated. This was an inauspicious start to his career. He could see a possible future playing out in his mind’s eye. Master Caaldor killed. Himself quickly overwhelmed and taken prisoner by these pirates. Frozen in carbonite like Hespenara.
No time for thinking like that.
Then he was sailing past Master Caaldor, parrying more blaster bolts with his own blade. Covering his master and giving him time to recover. He swung at the pirate in the doorway and cleaved through the blaster the narakite held. There was an abrupt smell of ozone, hot metal, and something else. Cooking flesh. The pirate cried out, part of a hand falling away with the blaster. The rest of him fell back through the doorway out of sight.
Aronoke took cover behind the doorframe, feeling momentarily sick because of the pirate’s hand. He swallowed hard and looked back at Master Caaldor.
“I’ll be fine,” called Master Caaldor, picking himself up and waving Aronoke forward. “Take point.”
Aronoke peered cautiously around the edge of the hatchway without exposing himself. He wondered nervously how many pirates were waiting in ambush there, besides the one he had injured. Suddenly he realised that he had his senses clamped down tightly under control, just like he had during his early initiate trials. He was running blind out of habit. Behaving like a skimmer instead of a Jedi.
“Gundark piss,” he muttered, allowing his Force-senses free. He could immediately sense the little knots of life in the Force-net around him. Three pirates then, including the injured one. Those were not moving, so they were watching, waiting for him to make a move. Four further back, actively doing something. He risked a glance around the door frame, drawing a few blaster bolts. The further clump were hauling a mobile turret into position, were still setting it up. That was the place he should strike.
As Master Caaldor limped towards his position, Aronoke swung around the doorframe, lightsaber ready, and flung himself along the corridor straight at the turret. Blaster bolts pinged off his lightsaber blade easily. He hardly had to think about parrying. His force senses kept him safe, allowing him to react seemingly faster than was chissly possible. Automatically.
All those practice routines had paid off.
One blaster bolt escaped his guard and scraped over his shoulder melting a patch of his suit. Perhaps, he thought belatedly, he should have left that in the hold. It would hardly be airtight now. He would have to find another to get back to the ship. Then his blade arced down through the turret. Sparks shot out everywhere, cascading over him and the pirates, spattering against his suit. The sparks quickly excalated into a small explosion, but Aronoke was ready. The pirates were flung backwards, smashed into walls. Aronoke staggered but kept his balance, the heat washing harmlessly over him. Unpleasantly hot, but not burning. Behind him he could hear a cry from one of the other pirates and then Master Caaldor was there beside him.
“Good work,” said Master Caaldor.
Aronoke felt a wash of pleasure at the compliment and told himself to stay focussed. He looked ahead and saw an intersection. Beyond was a heavy blastdoor that probably led to the bridge. Aronoke could sense little knots of life waiting there on guard.
“Two more down that passage. Four behind the door,” he whispered to Master Caaldor. He knew his master’s senses were not as sharp as his own. He was beginning to understand that he was unusually sensitive to minor fluctuations in the Force, more so than most Jedi. Especially the fluctuations in living things.
“Let’s go straight through,” said Master Caaldor, and without further preamble he leapt ahead down the passageway. He wasn’t limping at all now and moved very quickly for an old man. Aronoke knew that Jedi didn’t age like other people, but it was still difficult to not have natural preconceptions.
Something rolled out of the passage to the side as he passed it. A grenade, Aronoke saw, hissing green bilious smoke. He clamped his mouth shut and held his breath, covering Master Caaldor as he drove his lightsaber into the control panel of the blast door, drawing a cascade of sparks.
The door remained stubbornly sealed, but very little could hold up to a lightsaber for long. Aronoke knew that Jedi could hold their breath for a very long time, although he had never tested the limits of this personally. Green gas was disspating through the corridor, the probing fingers of smoke spreading evenly to fill the air around him. He concentrated on controlling his body’s need for air with the Force, but was beginning to feel dizzy.
“Do you think they’re down yet?” came one pirate’s voice from back around the corner.
“Are you crazy?” said the other. “Can’t you hear that?”
That was Master Caaldor’s lightsaber cutting through the door. Making slow progress. Aronoke was glad when the door crashed open, the middle cut out of it. He lost no time in following Master Caaldor through the opening into the space beyond where he could breathe normally again. Between them they made quick work of the four pirates beyond. One lost part of an arm and then the others were falling back, throwing down their guns. Surrendering. Aronoke sliced their dropped weapons in half and quickly swung his lightsaber through a rack of blasters and vibroblades that hung on the wall. You didn’t leave your enemies armed, or even potentially armed if you could help it . Even as he cut through the guns, his skimmer self noted their destruction with mild dismay. How wasteful it all was!
“Quick thinking,” noted Master Caaldor approvingly. “Stay here and guard these prisoners, Padawan, while I take the bridge.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. He stood watching the prisoners, glaring at them with his best skimmer scowl, while Master Caaldor moved onto the bridge. There were sounds of his lightsaber swinging through the air, a little blaster fire, a squeal and then nothing. He had met little opposition.
“Bring them in here,” he called a minute later and Aronoke waved the pirate prisoners onto the bridge to join the others that Master Caaldor had captured. He herded them into a little group with his lightsaber openly drawn.
“Good. Keep an eye on them while I contact the Perspicacity. Perhaps we can make some kind of deal.”
The Perspicacity was the refugee ship that the pirates had attacked. Where many of them were still located, looting and terrorising the refugees.
Aronoke nodded, keeping his Force-senses open to watch for the two pirates who had ambushed them with the gas grenade from the hallway. They had fallen back, but he did not trust them to stay away for very long.
“Captain Krondark,” said Master Caaldor, speaking into the short-range holocommunicator on the bridge. “As you can see we have defeated your men and taken your ship.”
“I already know you’ve taken our ship, Jedi scum[1],” said Captain Krondark. “My men have been keeping in contact with your exploits. Just don’t think you’re keeping it.” He was a big, intimidating narakite with plenty of cyberwear, who reminded Aronoke of Careful Kras.
“I believe we can come to some sort of amicable arrangement,” said Master Caaldor. “Say, your ship and crew in exchange for the refugee ship and the refugees.”
“Listen here, Jedi,” said Captain Krondark, leaning closer. “You might think you’ve got us strung up over a rancor-pit, but you haven’t. Not even close. You’re a Jedi, see. We know your kind. You’re soft, like Bantha fat. Get off our ship or we’ll start slaughtering some of these refugees. There’s thousands here – no one will miss a few hundred or so. Like these ones I have just here.”
He gestured, and one of his underlings swung into view, holding up a frightened young kubaz. The pirate’s vibroknife was biting into the hostage’s throat. Aronoke could see a trail of blood seeping down the young alien’s neck.
“You forget, Captain,” said Master Caaldor calmly, “we also have hostages. There’s only so many crew members you can afford to lose before you won’t have enough to man your ship. And I already know the refugee ship is heavily damaged. You won’t be leaving on that any time soon.”
“Pfah,” said Captain Krondark. “You won’t hurt my people. Not if they have surrendered already. What about your famous Jedi code?”
“The Jedi code is overrated,” said Master Caaldor evenly. “Jedi protect the galaxy from threats. From people like you, Captain. You’re on the wrong side to think you or your men will be protected by that. Aronoke, bring one of those prisoners here, where the Captain can see.”
Aronoke picked one of the prisoners, grabbed her by the back of her tunic, and pushed her forwards to the holocommunicator, his lightsaber still drawn in his other hand.
“We’re not going to slaughter them all again, are we Master?” he said in a not-so-low voice as he reached Master Caaldor’s side, playing to his Master’s bluff. “The Council was upset last time.”
It was not really the Jedi way to mislead people in this way, Aronoke knew, although it was very much the skimmer way. But these were pirates and there were thousands of refugee lives at stake. He didn’t believe Master Caaldor would actually slaughter or hurt the hostage, although he might scare her.
These pirates could do with a good scaring.
“If the Captain forces my hand I am given little choice,” said Master Caaldor, with malicious glee. “Even the Council will see that, if it even finds out, which seems unlikely. Now, Captain, we can still come to some sort of arrangement, reluctant as I am to deal with your kind of piratical filth.” He stepped closer to Aronoke’s prisoner, angling his body to block Captain Krondark’s view of her momentarily.
“You are frightened,” said Master Caaldor softly, gesturing with his hand briefly in front of the prisoner’s face, and the prisoner obliging gasped in terror.
“I’m frightened,” she said.
“I think you know what your Captain does not,” continued Master Caaldor smoothly, walking around the frightened pirate. “Jedi are the blade that cuts away the rotting flesh, removes the infection, so that the entire galaxy may be healed.” He gestured to Aronoke, indicating he should go ahead.
Aronoke brought the humming blade of his lightsaber closer to the prisoner’s face, allowing it to hover close to the woman’s cybernetic implants. He could feel her trembling in his grip and felt sorry for her. He remembered clearly what it had felt like to have a lightsaber poised so close to his throat.
“I suggest you think quickly, Captain,” Master Caaldor was continuing. “My padawan was a slave himself once. His patience with your kind remains dubious at best. An unfortunate if useful shortcoming.”
The Captain hesitated and muttered something about conferring with his officers. He was playing for time, Aronoke thought, and wondered why. He let his senses drift out beyond the bridge, where he could sense a small group of pirates coming down the hallway outside, with another supporting group further back. He pushed the woman prisoner back towards the others, hard enough to make her stumble, and stepped out of sight of the holocommunicator. Catching Master Caaldor’s eye, he angled his head towards the hallway where the pirates were approaching.
Master Caaldor pointed at Aronoke and then at the hallway. An obvious signal that Aronoke should deal with the threat. Aronoke nodded.
The problem with blasters, Aronoke reasoned, was that it was difficult to shoot at someone in the middle of a group of your friends. Such as someone with a lightsaber. Close quarters was the safest place for him to be.
He ducked through the hatchway and rolled along the hallway into the midst of the approaching pirates, avoiding a few startled shots that blazed over his head. Coming to his feet, he swung his lightsaber at the meanest looking of the three, a tall narakite with a strange cybereye. The narakite shouted and dodged, and Aronoke only caught him a glancing blow along one arm.
“Get him!” yelled the one he had hit, but it was as Aronoke had hoped. The ones further back couldn’t get a clear shot at him without shooting their friends. He kept moving, twisting, narrowly missed a thin narakite wearing a big red-and-gold badge, and parried a woman trying to hit him with the butt of her blaster rifle.
“Get out of the way, so we can shoot him,” yelled one of the pirates from further back and the ones near Aronoke tried to obey. Aronoke parried another blaster shot, lost part of one of his boots to a blast from a skinny narakite as the latter retreated, shooting at Aronoke’s feet as he passed, and spun around to strike again at the one with the cybereye, who looked like the leader. He had intended to take out the man’s weapon or possibly his arm, but had misjudged his position. He felt the lightsaber travel all the way through the pirate’s body and smelt the deluge of guts as they tumbled to the ground. There was a hiss of steam and smoke from burning blood. Aronoke saw the man’s astounded expression as the rest of him collapsed a moment later.
“Bantha crap,” said the nearest pirate hysterically. “I’m not fighting no Jedi.” He threw his blaster down, cringing against the wall of the ship.
Aronoke swallowed hard against his own nausea. He had never actually killed anyone before, although he had threatened to often enough during his career as a skimmer. Had seen enough people die. He knew this man had been his enemy and wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him, but that didn’t make it much better.
Now was not the time to have a fit of hysterics. Master Caaldor was counting on him.
He used his Force control to school his body’s reaction to the shock.
“Throw down your weapons!” he commanded. The thin young Narakite threw down his rifle. So did the woman who had struck at him. Two of the others in the back group threw down their guns as well and put up their hands to show they were surrendering.
The youngest two at the back were looking shocked. Aronoke looked at them and recognised the nearest one with a pang of disquiet.
It was the narakite from his vision.
“Come on!” yelled the other and together they dashed away down the corridor. Aronoke tried to slam them against the side of the corridor with his Force powers, but he was too slow and unpracticed and they disappeared around a corner. He considered for a moment and decided not to give chase. He had to take control of these other prisoners. Doubtlessly the two young pirates would join the others or hide somewhere. They could be dealt with later.
He herded the other four onto the bridge.
“Ah,” said Master Caaldor, speaking on the holocommunicator again. “Here is my Padawan having dealt with some more of your men. Bring one of those new prisoners up here, Aronoke.”
Aronoke grabbed the woman who had swung at him with the butt of her rifle, and pulled her in range of the holocommunicator.
“Captain,” gasped the woman, still shocked from seeing Aronoke cut down the man with the cybereye. “It’s no good. He cut Lieutenant Thurian in half! His guts fell all over the floor.”
Aronoke tried to look mean, although he felt almost as shocked as the woman was.
“Cut him in half?” said the Captain, eyeing Aronoke uncertainly. Something he saw seemed to decide him. “All right, Jedi. You win,” he growled. “You’ve got your deal.”
“Good,” said Master Caaldor cheerfully. “Aronoke, see to restraining these prisoners while the Captain and I discuss the details of the exchange.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. He took the skinny narakite with the large badge to locate some restraints. The man seemed to recover some of his composure while they walked through the ship.
“It’s not fair,” he complained to Aronoke. “You Jedi are so powerful, how is anyone supposed to stand up against you?”
Aronoke shrugged. He was barely coming to terms with it himself. Not long ago he had been just like this man, a normal person, or so he had thought. Master Altus had seemed like a god. Now Aronoke was training to become like Master Altus, in possession of abilities that he still didn’t fully understand. It seemed impossible. Today seemed extra impossible. Aronoke had not thought he would be doing things like this so soon.
“Here’s the restraints,” said the man bitterly, opening a locker. “All best quality durasteel, blaster and vibroblade proof.”
Aronoke nodded, and gestured that the narakite should pick them up. He escorted him back to the bridge where he made certain the prisoners were securely fastened out of reach of each other.
“Very good,” said Master Caaldor, when they were all chained up. He looked more closely at Aronoke’s face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke a little wearily. “I’m okay.”
He was not sure that he really felt okay, but he knew there was still work to do. People to rescue. Now was not the time to go to pieces.
“I suppose we should find ourselves some new suits,” said Master Caaldor reluctantly, looking at the hole in the side of his own suit and the missing boot of Aronoke’s.
“Yes, Master. There were two more pirates that got away,” Aronoke told him. “I think they escaped across to the other ship.”
“Ah well,” said Master Caaldor. “That should make little difference.”
“One of them was the narakite I saw in my vision, Master,” said Aronoke. “The one I told you about, that I had during my trials.”
“Oh, now that is interesting,” said Master Caaldor. “What do you think you should do about it?”
It was exactly what Master Altus would say, and Aronoke felt a pang of sorrow, reminded that the mirialan Jedi was still missing.
“I’m not sure, Master,” he said at last. “It would be good to be able to talk with her, at least.”
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” said Master Caaldor mildly. “We shall have to see what we can arrange.”
“Yes, Master.”
Aronoke had not heard exactly what arrangements or threats Master Caaldor had made, but they were unhassled as they crossed over to the refugee ship. Two suited pirates crossed back to the pirate ship at the same time. None of the ship’s guns made any attempt to shoot at them, although Aronoke felt nervous at the thought. If there was a good time for treachery, surely this was it, while they were dressed in suits passing between the two vessels. Master Caaldor evidently had the same thought, for they lost no time making the crossing. It helped that the pirate ship was very close to the refugee vessel, presumably to facilitate loading the pirates’ newly gained loot. The guns could not easily swivel to aim at them there, and would be likely to damage the pirate ship if they did.
Once inside the refugee ship, Master Caaldor removed his helmet and Aronoke followed suit. He was hit at once by the odour of a thousand unhappy sweating bodies confined within a vessel whose life-support and filtration systems were suffering serious liabilities.
They had not progressed far inside before they met a large group of the Narrakite pirates on their way back to their own vessel.
“Jedi,” said a large narakite that Aronoke recognised as Captain Krondark. He said the word like it was an offensive term. The pirates carried bundles and bags, doubtlessly containing the loot they had pilfered from the refugee ship. “You have a lot of nerve interfering with our business. You’ll pay for your interference one day. You might have got the the drop on us now, but there’ll be another time. You and your freaky alien sidekick.”
“You have to realize that this is only business, Captain Krondark,” said Master Caaldor, unperturbed. “I would think that someone like you would understand that. Now, we have a deal, and I mean to see that you keep your side of the bargain. It seems to me that as soon as you are back on your own ship you are in a good position to take revenge upon either us or these refugees. I’m willing to overlook those trifles you are carrying with you, but in exchange I want three hostages as insurance against your good behaviour until the refugee ship is ready to leave.”
Captain Krondark made a growling noise.
“I’m not going to let you harm any more of my people, Jedi,” he snarled, but Aronoke could see he was already peering at his companions as if he were deciding whom he would leave behind.
“They will not be harmed,” said Master Caaldor. “They will be left on the asteroid’s surface when we leave, with all their weapons and possessions. Padawan, choose three of the captain’s men and see that they are looked after.”
Aronoke had already seen the narakite from his vision amongst the captain’s men. She stood at the back of the group, angry and smouldering, glaring at him as though he were a demon. Aronoke picked another of the pirates first – an old hand with a wrinkled face – then the narakite who looked like Ashquash, and finally another young one, a scowling young man.
“These will do,” he said.
The pirate captain grumbled and Aronoke thought that these were not three pirates he would have chosen himself, but he seemed too intimidated by the Jedi to not comply.
Aronoke removed the three pirates’ weapons as their colleagues moved away towards the airlock. Even as they stood there, he could sense the great unhappy bulk of refugees massing around them. The vessel was large, but even so, it was crammed with thousands of passengers, many of whom were sick or injured. Aronoke could see kubaz faces appearing in doorways along the hall. Could hear the buzz of their conversation echoing through the metallic passageways.
The kubaz language was meaningless to him, but occasionally a recognisable word was repeated: “…Jedi…”
Aronoke gestured that the prisoners should follow Master Caaldor and trailed along behind to make sure they behaved. They had not moved far when the kubaz began to appear.
“Ah, Jedi, yes? You save us.” The kubaz version of basic was buzzing and distorted but understandable.
“Yes,” said Master Caaldor. “I am Master Caaldor of the Jedi Order, and this is my padawan, Aronoke. I need to find someone in charge of this ship. Are you part of the crew?”
“The crew, yes,” said the kubaz. “The bridge. Go to bridge, see there.”
“Yes, I thought as much,” said Master Caaldor. “I will make my way there. See to the prisoners, Aronoke.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. He turned to address the kubaz as the older Jedi swept off down the dark flickering hall.
“These are our hostages,” said Aronoke. “They need to be imprisoned somewhere to ensure our safety, and the safety of everyone on this ship. Do you understand?”
“Yes, prisoners,” said the kubaz.
“Are there some cells where they can be safely locked up? Where they can’t get out, and no one can hurt them?”
“Follow,” said the kubaz, gesturing blatantly to illustrate. “I show.”
They moved through the dark bulk of the ship. More kubaz gathered inquisitively, still too cautious to approach Aronoke and his prisoners closely. Around them the buzz of “…Jedi…Jedi…” rose as Aronoke’s little group passed.
“You needn’t have bothered with hostages,” said one of the pirates, the eldest one. “The captain’ll keep his word. If he makes an agreement with you, he’ll keep it.”
“Unless there’s ithorians involved,” said the youngest.
“There’s no need to mention ithorians,” said the eldest irritably.
“If your captain is so honourable,” said Aronoke, “than you need have no fear of him abandoning you here.”
“The captain wouldn’t abandon us,” said the youngest one stoutly, although the other two exchanged worried glances as if Aronoke had voiced an unspoken fear.
“If you Jedi weren’t so unfeng powerful you’d have never got the better of us that way,” grumbled the old pirate. “You and your lightsabers and your mind powers, smacking people into walls.”
“He chopped Thurian in half,” said the pirate from Aronoke’s vision. “I saw it. Clean in half.”
“Like a demon,” said the old pirate, shaking his head. “With blue skin and glowing demon eyes. What are you anyway?”
Aronoke did not answer, but gestured that they should continue after the kubaz. He had a job to do. Soon they arrived outside a series of stout cells and the prisoners were locked inside. Aronoke took the passkey to the cell doors and put it inside a pocket for safekeeping. Then he headed off in the direction of the bridge in pursuit of Master Caaldor.
His path was not unobstructed now. As word of the pirates’ evacuation spread, the refugees and ship’s crew began to emerge in fource. A woman rushed up to Aronoke and clutched at his robes with one hand. In the other arm she cradled a small kubaz child, which lolled there, limp and pale.
“Her baby is sick, very sick,” said the kubaz crew-member accompanying Aronoke. “She begs help.”
Aronoke looked at the baby and could sense that its life signs were weak. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I’m not a healer. There must be a medical officer on this ship somewhere. There is a med bay?”
“Yes,” said the crew-member.
“Then let’s go there,” said Aronoke.
They escorted the woman to the medical bay, which was already overwhelmed with casualties. The chief medical officer was very busy, but directed one of his assistants to take charge of the baby, and took a moment to speak with Aronoke,
“Ah, Master Jedi,” she said. “Thank you for seeing those scum off our ship.”
“You’re welcome,” said Aronoke. “Do you have everything you need here?”
“The situation is desperate. Supplies are short, and all our skilled staff are already overworked.”
“Our ship is small and we don’t carry many supplies,” said Aronoke. “But I will see what can be done. It might take a while, but I expect supplies can be brought in.”
“Thank you,” said the medical officer. “And now if you’ll excuse me…”
“Of course,” said Aronoke.
The next few hours were hectic and tiring. Aronoke found Master Caaldor on the bridge, speaking to those of the ship’s officers who had survived the encounter with the pirates and had managed to return to duty. Their numbers were despairingly low, but more arrived as the ship began to return to some semblance of normalcy. Aronoke was kept busy patrolling the ship and helping to restore order. He helped cut the ship’s second-in-command out of the storage locker he had been locked in. He settled disagreements between the refugees and ship’s crew. Everywhere he went, he could hear the interested buzz of kubaz voices, their words uninterpretable, save for the constant rejoinder of “…Jedi…..Jedi….” repeated here and there.
“You had best go back to our ship, Padawan,” said Master Caaldor after some hours had passed. “Get some rest. I’ll take a shift here, and you can spell me later. It’s probably best if you take our hostages back with you.”
Aronoke nodded. “Yes, Master,” he said. The mood on the refugee ship was grateful but tempestuous. Certain elements amongst the refugees could not be trusted to stand by the Jedi’s agreement with the pirate captain and would doubtlessly kill the prisoners if they found them.
When Aronoke returned to the brig where the prisoners had been locked up, he noticed another prisoner sealed in a tank full of liquid further down the hallway. It was a kubaz, whose snout only just reached above the level of the water in the tank. The tank was locked, so without further ado, Aronoke cut through the hatch, jumping aside as water gushed out.
The prisoner lurched gratefully out and dropped to sit on the floor.
“Thank you… thank you, Jedi,” the kubaz wheezed.
“What were you doing locked in there?” asked Aronoke dubiously. “Did the pirates lock you up?” He didn’t remember seeing the kubaz there when he had locked the prisoners up, although perhaps he had not noticed him.
“No… not the pirates,” said the kubaz wretchedly.
“Oh. Your fellow passengers then?”
“Yes. But, I swear,” said the Kubaz, crawling forward to catch at the leg of Aronoke’s suit, “it was all a misunderstanding. I didn’t do anything wrong – I was trying to help!”
“Trying to help, how?” asked Aronoke, sceptically. “Let me guess – you cut a deal of some sort with the pirates and the others have taken exception to it?”
“Yes,” said the Kubaz sadly. “But that was not my intention. I was trying to help everyone!”
“Hm,” said Aronoke. “Well, it seems that your colleagues do not see things that way.”
“Please don’t leave me here!” gasped the Kubaz, clutching at Aronoke’s boot. “They’ll kill me. Please, take me with you, or lock me back up!”
Aronoke shook the kubaz free. “Stop that!” he ordered. “Get up. I suppose you can come with us. As a prisoner, mind you, until we work out what’s going on.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!”
The kubaz obviously wouldn’t be safe left on the ship by himself. He would probably be killed. Aronoke turned his attention to freeing the pirates and kept a close eye on them as he gestured them out towards the main corridor. He herded them and the kubaz ahead of him, so he could keep a close eye on them.
“So what are you going to do with us now?” asked the old pirate as they made their way through the refugee ship. The young male one was sullen and gloomy, while the other one still looked angry and shocked. Very like Ashquash, Aronoke thought, remembering his clan mate from when he had first seen her in the Jedi temple. “I suppose it was all a trick really. You won’t really let us go.”
“This ship needs to be repaired,” said Aronoke. “Until it’s able to continue on its way, we’re stranded here, and so are you. We’re obviously not going to give you up until we’re ready to leave.”
“The captain wouldn’t go back on his word,” said the youngest one fierily. “Not if he made a deal. Not unless there were ithorians involved.”
“I told you before, Rakskrak, there’s no need to mention ithorians,” said the old pirate testily.
“Where are you taking us?” asked the one who looked like Ashquash.
“Over to our ship for safekeeping,” said Aronoke. “Master Caaldor thinks it won’t be safe for you to stay here, in case the refugees get their hands on you.”
“Ah.”
“I suggest you stay close and keep quiet,” said Aronoke. “The refugees aren’t too happy with what’s happened. Things could get nasty if we’re swarmed.”
“You’re going to get us killed!” said Ashquash’s lookalike hotly.
“I don’t fancy going anywhere without my blaster,” said Rakskrak. “Where’s our weapons? When are we going to get them back?”
“At the end,” said Aronoke. “You’ll be left on the surface for your captain to pick you up, and you’ll be given your weapons then.”
They were all silent for a time. Perhaps, like Aronoke, they had noticed the dull, irritable murmur of the nearby kubaz who had noticed their party passing. Perhaps they were busy wondering if their captain would really bother come back for them, and what would happen to them if he did not.
Aronoke did not see who started it, but he was aware for some time that the kubaz were following them in considerable numbers. That the refugees were growing ever more resentful.
“Make way,” he said. “These people are prisoners of the Jedi Order and under my protection. Move aside, please.”
But most of the kubaz did not understand basic. They only understood their own language. Perhaps they simply chose not to listen. The mood of the crowd was growing ugly, and then someone threw something. An empty canister of some sort that narrowly missed the youngest pirate and bounced off the wall near Aronoke’s head.
“Get back!” ordered Aronoke, trying to be stern and intimidating. “These are my prisoners. You will let us pass!”
But the kubaz were too angry to listen. They charged forward, attacking the pirates with makeshift weapons and their bare hands. Aronoke was grateful that they did not carry blasters and vibroblades. The pirates were grouped close around him now, pushed back by the crush of kubaz bodies. One of the pirates cried out in pain.
Aronoke drew his lightsaber, raising it high above his head before he activated it. He swung it into the low ceiling above himself so a cascade of hot sparks rained down on the crowd.
“Get back!” he ordered again. “These are my prisoners. You will return to your quarters and let us pass!”
The result was instantaneous. At the sight of the yellow blade of light, the kubaz scattered and fled, disappearing into the depths of the ship. Aronoke kept his lightsaber ready for a time, but there was no need. The mob had dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. He turned his attention to the eldest pirate who was cradling one arm.
“Are you all right?” asked Aronoke.
“I think it’s broken,” said the one who looked like Ashquash. “He needs a medpac.”
“Probably best to treat it back on our ship,” said Aronoke. “Best to get you out of here as quickly as possible. Help him along.”
The pirates seemed shaken and did not protest. They were eager to hurry through the corridors to the ship’s cargo hatch, where they found suits to make the crossing over to Master Caaldor’s ship. Aronoke ushered them intside where he had them remove their suits.
“Master Aronoke!” said a droid, appearing beside Aronoke as he herded in the prisoners. “Master Caaldor called ahead and said I should prepare some cells in which to incarcerate some prisoners. I thought you should know that they are ready.”
“Thanks, PR,” said Aronoke. PR-77 was Master Caaldor’s ship’s droid, responsible for keeping the ship tidy and well maintained. He was also a comptent mechanic and pilot, was fond of holochess, and kept a collection of holorecordings of different types of starships. Aronoke had not been certain how to treat PR at first, but was beginning to appreciate his capabilities and grow accustomed to his presence. As Master Caaldor said, PR already performed many of the minor menial tasks that might otherwise be considered appropriate duties for a Padawan, so his presence on the ship freed Aronoke to concentrate more heavily on his training.
Not that there had been a great deal of active training yet. Master Caaldor seemed to be of the opinion that Padawans learnt best by doing rather than studying. Still, there were a lot of things Aronoke hoped they would study more formally when there was an opportunity. He did not know most of the Force tricks he had seen Hespenara and Master Altus perform. He was not very practiced at hurling pebbles through the air, let alone people. He did not know how to trick people’s minds. Still, it was early days yet, and he schooled himself to patience.
Aronoke escorted the pirates to the two cells PR had prepared, which had served more recently as storerooms. Despite the fact that Jedi did not collect personal possessions, Master Caaldor’s ship seemed to have accumulated a large quantity of equipment and oddities over the years and was quite full of things. Aronoke’s room had needed to be cleared of some of them when he first arrived. These rooms were obviously designed to be cells, despite their more recent function.
After a little thought, Aronoke put the pirate who looked like Ashquash in a cell with the kubaz. She would be easier to speak to that way, when he wanted to question her later. He put Rakskrak in the other cell by himself, while he tended to the older narakite’s injuries.
“I’m sorry about your arm,” said Aronoke, as he fastened an immobilising splint around the broken limb. “I’m no expert at this sort of thing, but the scanner shows the bones are properly aligned. Hopefully it feels better. It should heal well.”
“I probably shouldn’t say this,” grumbled the pirate, “since it was your fault we were there at all, but I’m glad you were there to send off those refugees, or we’d all be dead by now.”
Aronoke nodded. “I’ll check this arm again later,” he said. “Best to get some rest.”
He locked the pirate in the cell with Rakskrak, instructed PR to keep an eye on things, and went off to get some rest himself.
[1] Scum was not the actual word Captain Krondark used. He said something in the Narakite lingo that would have made Aronoke blush, had he understood the meaning.
<Holographic Recording #396774192, Jedi Temple Records.>
<Sender: Padawan Aronoke. Originating System: Trace Route Blocked>
<Recipient: Initiate Draken, Clan Herf, Jedi Temple Primary Training Centre, Coruscant>
The holodisplay flickers into life. This holorecording was obviously made on an antiquated system not yet upgraded to run recent message protocol standards, because the quality is considerably sub-standard. Additionally the message is perforated by bursts of static, not so that the message is incoherent, but detracting from the aesthetic quality.
The holorecording is of a rangy young man dressed in jedi robes. He has dark hair, cut knife-edge straight at his jaw. A very short padawan braid is tucked behind his right ear, and he bears a distinctive scar on his left cheek. If he were human, he would perhaps be eighteen or nineteen years of age, but he is not human. It is difficult to tell what colour he is in the holorecording, but his eyes are decidedly peculiar. Should you have met a chiss before, you would likely pick him as one immediately. He is tall and lithely muscled. Wears his height with a slight awkwardness, like he is not yet completely accustomed to it. His expression is good humoured and relaxed.
“Greetings Draken,” says the holorecording. “I trust this message finds you and the rest of Clan Herf in good health. You may show the younglings this message if you like. I have sent Ashquash a message as well, and I sincerely hope that things are better with her than when I left the temple.”
“Master Caaldor and I have been doing a lot of travelling. We seldom stay in one place for very long. I am coming to realise what a sheltered upbringing we have in the Temple. There is so much to learn and see out here, even on the most peaceful planets.”
“Turns out we didn’t go to Ilum after all. Master Caaldor had some important business to finish on other worlds first and I am not in such a hurry to forge my own. I expect we will get around to it eventually. Master Caaldor has entrusted me with another lightsaber, one which belonged to a Jedi he knew who was killed in action. It is not a new weapon – it has seen a lot of fighting. The blade is an orange shade of yellow, and I am growing quite fond of it.”
“Master Caaldor is an interesting person to travel with. He has his own ideas about how things should be done, and I trust him to keep me safe. He is not very fond of political entanglements, for which I find myself unable to blame him.”
“So far I have gotten to do quite a lot of speeder piloting. I have seen an ocean, although only from a distance and I have been out in the rain. Saw towering pillars of clouds like foam stacked in the sky. Fields of grain as far as the eye could see. I have seen quite a few other new things, especially creatures, although no dangerous ones as yet.”
“We had a run in with some space pirates, who were threatening a refugee ship. I didn’t know how I would handle myself in real combat. Thought, I suppose, that I wasn’t ready for it since I never learned level six, but it went better than I expected.”
“Please give my regards to Emeraldine, should you see her. I hope her apprenticeship is going well.”
“Don’t get in too much trouble back there.”
“May the Force be with you.”
If anything it was worse than the first time Tash had fallen into the void. Lights burned Tash’s eyes, unnameable sounds deafened him, and he felt like he was being torn apart. He and Nera tumbled through what seemed like a hurricane of blowing stones, then a fog that burned the skin, then a waterfall of something like lime ice seething with angry biting creatures. Tash clutched on to Nera with all his strength. There was darkness, and more burning, and cold, and light again. The pain seemed to go on for an age of the world
‘It will end, it will end, it will end,’ cried Tash. But he could not hear his own words.
Something heavy struck Tash and he found himself sprawled across it. It was stone. A stone floor. He had lost his grip on Nera. It was not at all silent: there were voices, making sounds that Tash could not think into words, and other sounds – the crackling of a fire, the crash of something glass falling to the floor. The air smelled almost pleasant, with smoke and aromatic oils and a vaguely animal smell he did not recognise. Tash got to his knees dizzily and looked about for Nera.
‘It is Number Five back,’ said an irritable human voice. ‘She seems to be dead.’
‘By the Lion’s arsehole!’ said another angry voice. ‘She had better not be. We don’t have any more children to spare.’
Two human beings, taller than Nera, dressed in similar black garments, had come up and were standing over a broken thing that lay about a dozen feet from Tash. A liquid much the same colour as the stones the priests wore in the tower of the Overlord was leaking from it.
‘No,’ said Tash. ‘No…’ He stumbled miserably toward the body. What had happened? He had held her so tightly. It must have been a sharp stone in the storm of sharp stones, striking her there. No, no, no. This was not how it was supposed to be.
‘What is that thing?’ said one of the human beings, looking at Tash as if he had not been visible until that moment. It was alarmed, but nothing like as alarmed as you or I would be if a creature like Tash appeared unexpectedly.
The other snapped its head up to look at Tash. ‘I have no idea. Do you think it killed Number Five?’
Some of the red liquid was on Tash’s hands. Nera’s blood. He was bleeding himself, from several little cuts. He stood up to his full height, which hurt. ‘I was trying to save her,’ he said pathetically.
‘Well, that does not appear to have been a success,’ said the human who had first noticed Tash. It came up to Tash’s bottom pair of shoulders, and had fibrous material around the front of its face as well as on top. ‘We could find you another one, if it is particularly important.’
Tash shuffled forward to Nera, paying no further attention to the larger human beings, and crouched down beside her. She was not breathing. Rather a lot of blood had spilled out onto the floor from the hole in her neck. No, this was not how it was supposed to be at all. He was supposed to be a hero. ‘No,’ he said. He struck his head with his hands, again and again.
When Tash did not reply, the human with the fibrous stuff on its face spoke more softly to the other, who looked something like a larger version of Nera. ‘Zara, probably best to get the wand, just in case.’
Then he addressed Tash more loudly, ‘What is your will, Dread Creature of Nightmare?’
Tash paid it no attention.
‘If you have any knowledge of the Elder Magics, we may well be able to come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.’
Tash struck his head with his hands again.
‘Where have you come from?’
Again Tash said nothing, crouching miserably by Nera’s side.
‘Bah!’ said the human. ‘Good, there you are, Zara. I don’t think this thing is dangerous. Or particularly powerful. But it does look like it will cause trouble. I think we should petrify it for now, and we can figure out what to with it later.’
‘I agree, Zymung.’
Tash learned then that petrification is not instantaneous, and that one ceases to be able to move or see quite a while before one stops hearing things. He had his face hidden in his hands, but he still saw a flash of white, and felt a painful throbbing noise that seemed to be only in his head.
‘When Yustus comes back with the apples, I am sure he will have some good ideas about what to do with this unexpected monster,’ said Zara.
‘Of course you do’ said Zymung. ‘You always think Yustus has good ideas. You would be happy to see Yustus as master over us all, I am sure. But he is just one voice, and nearly the youngest.’
‘The fact that he is young does not make him wrong,’ said Zara, with a sharpness that reminded Tash of his mothers.
‘You should use your understanding with him to make him understand his place, instead of encouraging him in his ambitions.’
‘I hardly think you are in a position to be giving anyone advice, Zymung.’
…
‘It is too bad about Number Five. I really thought it would work this time.’
…
‘Yustus should watch himself’
…
…
‘Apples’
And then Tash’s ears were turned completely to stone, and he knew nothing.
There were only two irritating things about the next few days. First, the gazelles were all much swifter than Josie and did not find it easy to slow themselves down, so they spent a good deal of the time darting off ahead or to the side on extra journeys. Even Murbitha, who made a point of keeping close by Josie at all times, had a disconcerting habit of walking in circles around her as they talked. They could not help it, she knew: they were just a different kind of creature. But their swiftness made her feel very slow and lumpish and irritable. The other irritating thing was that she did not have anything to carry water in, and while the gazelles had no trouble at all going without a drink for a whole day between waterholes, the time between drinks was much longer than Josie had ever been used to out of doors and she finished every day thirsty and sore in the head. She asked Murbitha about gourds, but it was the wrong time of year to find dry ones, and digging out the middle of a rock-hard pumpkin a bit smaller than her fist with a sharp stick made a very unsatisfactory canteen.
On the other hand, Josie felt herself growing stronger each day. She would not have dreamed that she could spend all day walking in the sun and awake each morning feeling able to get up and do it again. After a few unpleasantnesses her digestion had adjusted to eating almost nothing but fruit. She had a goal to work toward, and did not think about what would happen after they met up with Margis and the men, nor did she often worry about those she had left behind on her own world. The land they walked over was flat, with soft grass underfoot and hardly any fallen logs to trip over, and the gazelles were excellent company when they were not wandering off. Mirilitha told her the names of the stars, and Murbitha told her stories of the doings of Caladru’s people since they had first come to the March Plain of Sha, and Zadru and Kodoru told her what bird made what sound, and what plant was good for what ailment. They were a gossipy people, and what they loved to talk about best was what other gazelles who were not there were doing, so they all enjoyed being away from the tribe for this reason. Josie learned much more than she needed to about which of Caladru’s wives was in favour, and which ones spoilt their children the worst, and who was sneaking off to meet whom.
At night they always sang. Usually Murbitha only sang a little, and then Mirilitha and the two young gentleman gazelles sung in turn. When Josie first listened carefully to the words, she felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Are they courting her?’ she whispered to Murbitha.
‘Not in a serious way,’ the gazelle replied. ‘They will get in each other’s way too much for anything dangerous to happen. Even so, if Mirilitha does not foal we will pretend not to notice.’
‘Oh,’ said Josie, blushing more strongly.
‘Properly, our herd is too large, Josie. When Radamatha was my age it was three or four smaller herds that only met at festivals. But Caladru will not hear of it. So his hold has to be looser than it should be, to keep the young males from challenging him.’
Josie thought for a moment. ‘So… when you are of age, you all marry Caladru?’
‘Yes,’ said Murbitha. ‘I have been with the Prince already, so it would be a greater insult for Kodoru or Zadru to court me. But Mirilitha has not.’
‘But you were standing with the young ladies, when you were all together,’ said Murbitha. ‘I thought it was just the older ones with the children who were Caladru’s wives.’
‘And when I bear a child, then I will stand with them,’ said Murbitha. ‘That is how it is done. But I do not intend to for some years yet.’
‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Josie.
‘Radamatha says I should learn all that she knows before I am distracted with a foal. I cannot refuse the Prince, but if I feel stirrings within me, there is a plant with white hairs on the leaves that I can eat. Radamatha showed me where it grows, in the shady hollows on rocky ground.’
Josie felt a strange prickling at the back of her neck, like she too was a leaf covered with white hairs. ‘I don’t like to think of such things,’ she said.
‘You should, though,’ said Murbitha. ‘You are going to dwell among the Sons of Frank. Their ways are not so different from ours.’
The next day they were met by a pair of talking rock-badgers – ‘Hyraxes, if you please,’ they said when they introduced themselves. Their voices were deeper than Josie would have expected for creatures of their size.
“We heard there was a Daughter of Helen abroad in the land, and Tabsoon and I thought we should come and pay our respects,” said Shafana, the lady hyrax. She stood comfortably on her hind legs and came up to Josie’s navel. Her husband stood a few paces behind and to the side, leaning against a tree. “Yes, when I heard from Ofrak the owl, I told Shafana, here’s a chance that won’t come again soon, we should put a basket together and give the Lady a proper welcome.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Josie, taking the basket Shafana offered.
‘We reckoned you would be tired of eating grass, travelling with the Sons of Tsvi and Daughters of Tsviah, fine folk as they are,’ said Tabsoon.
‘We hope you like it,’ said Shafana.
Josie felt through the basket and found she liked enough of it to manage quite a cheerful reply. There were some small freshly killed lizards in it, and also rather a lot of grubs, and some twisted roots that seemed quite unlike food; but also some quite recognisable onions and a great many nuts and seeds that would doubtless be very tasty.
‘It is just what I wanted,’ said Josie politely. The two hyraxes beamed with pleasure.
‘The nutmegs are just there for flavouring the grubs,’ said Shafana. ‘You mustn’t try to eat them whole.’
‘Did Ofrak speak to you of the other men, my good hyraxes?’ asked Murbitha.
‘She said they were still about two days man-walk off, camped at the stone thing made by the old King,’ said Tabsoon. ‘It looked like they might be there a while. I suppose men like to hang about man things.’
‘It is good that they are staying still,’ said Murbitha. ‘It will make it easier to catch up with them.’
‘Yes,’ said Josie, uncertainly.
‘We thank you for everything, but we should really get going – it is a long way to the next waterhole,’ said Murbitha.
‘Yes, I suppose we must,’ said Josie. ‘Thank you again.’
‘We wish you a very good journey, my Lady,’ said Shafana. ‘I hope you will end up somewhere pleasant soon, and not have to travel again.’
‘Yes, my Lady,’ said Tabsoon. ‘Travelling is terrible hard work, and we never do it if we can.’ Josie thought there might have been just a tinge of disapproval in his voice, as if he thought the proverbially wandering gazelles had dragged her off on a long trip for no particularly good reason.
‘I am in good company,’ said Josie. ‘And your gifts will make my trip more comfortable. But I am afraid I still have a very long way to go.’
‘Do not be afraid, daughter of Helen,’ said Shafana, misunderstanding her. ‘Every journey has its ending, and you’re among friends in this country.’
Josie smiled. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. Everyone here has been very good to me.’
The next day was the warmest yet, with another long walk across a dusty plain to water, and Josie was thoroughly miserable when they got there. ‘Look on the bright side, Josie,’ she told herself. ‘Tomorrow you will be among human beings again.’ It did not seem very like a bright side, despite the promise of warm food, blankets, and someone who might be able to fix her shoe. Friendly talking animals were one thing; but a party of strange foreign men were a different thing entirely. Especially if what Murbitha had implied was true, and the Prince of the humans of Balan was anything like the Prince of gazelles. She was not old enough to worry about such things in Australia; but even in her own world some foreigners married their women off at an ungodly age.
‘Well, look on the other bright side,’ she told herself, trying again. ‘There is a proper deep pool here, not just a muddy puddle, so you can have a wash and clean your clothes and be something like a presentable human being when you meet the Prince tomorrow. Your hair will still be a ghastly mess, of course, but there is no help for that.’
You probably know how you can go on and on wearing the same sweaty clothes day after day if you are busy without noticing, and also how good it feels to finally get out of them and get clean again. Josie gave her clothes a good rinse in the pool, wrung them out, and hung them up to dry on a few bushes. It was a pool in a shady spot and was still very cold, so that she could not quite get used to it after being in it for a few minutes, even though she did her usual habit of plunging her whole self under the water at once to get in. Josie would not have called the bottom of the pool pebbly, exactly; it was stones, some of them rather sharp, that were covered with slimy growing things, so after she had given herself a quick scrub all over she trod water and floated on her back in turns.
‘It is a luxury to be cold, on a day like this,’ she told herself. But it was not a luxury she found she could enjoy very long. So before her clothes had gotten anything like dry, she got dressed and returned to the gazelles. As she approached she heard they were quarrelling and he hung back, not wanting to intrude. They seemed to be quarrelling about her.
‘I know what Radamatha said, Murbitha,’ Mirilitha was saying. ‘What I am saying that Radamatha is wrong.’
‘So you would have her live with us for how long? Doing what?’
‘As long as it takes. If Aslan meant her to help the men, she would have appeared among the men. But she appeared among us. It has to be a sign.’
‘Radamatha…’
‘Radamatha’s wits are as dry as her udders.’
‘Who are you to talk, Mirilitha? You are hardly weaned!’
‘Peace, peace,’ interrupted Kodoru and Zadru.
‘Oh, it’s very well for you to say ‘peace’, but I am right and she is wrong, and how can there be peace between wrong and right?’ said Mirilitha indignantly.
The musical voices of the gazelles always became much more bleating and goatlike when they quarelled. Josie sighed and turned away. Breaking off a switch from one of the little willows that grew by the side of the pool, she felt her way cautiously in the opposite direction. This was the most pleasant place they had come to since the Lion’s Pool, but there was no broad meadow next to it with fruiting trees, only a plain of dry grass that cracked beneath her feet. She would go for a walk, just a little walk, and maybe by the time she came back they would have finished arguing about her. She walked into the wind, and their voices soon faded.
There had been quarrelling about what to do with her at home, too, after the accident, Josie remembered bitterly. She did not like reliving the memory, and tried to squash it down. She walked on a bit further, swinging her switch wildly in front of her.
Then she heard the flapping: a sudden flapping of very large wings, coming from what seemed to be straight above her head.
‘Josie!’ a gazelle called from the distance. Had she really walked that far?
‘Murbitha!’ she called back, as the flapping grew louder. At that moment hands reached out of the air and grabbed her arms. ‘Help me!’ The hands dragged her up into the sky as if she were a paper doll. Other hands grabbed her ankles, and the air rushed past her in what seemed a gale, whipping her cries away. Voices of gazelles crying out for her were dim and panicked in the distance. Josie twisted and bucked to try and free herself, but the hands held her as if they were made of steel.
‘Do you want us to drop you, little girl?’ said a voice. It was not a pleasant voice. ‘You would break into a thousand pieces. Be still.’
Evil-sounding laughter sounded around her. ‘Do you remember how the doe squealed, Eber?’ The one who spoke let go of her ankle for an instant, then snatched it out of the air again.
‘And the rabbits – don’t forget the rabbits!’ said the one at her other ankle.
‘This one is very soft,’ said the ankle-dropper, kneading her calf nastily with another hand. The hands of the things were dry and hot – not hot enough to burn, but far warmer than any living thing Josie had ever touched. Her arms and legs were pulled out painfully to the corners of a square, as if she was about to be torn apart by wild horses, and the creatures were carrying her almost flat, so that he head was only just above the level of her feet.
‘It is a long time since we caught a man,’ said one of her captors.
‘This is the sort called woman,’ said another one.
‘It will not be long until the next one,’ said the first one who spoke, the one who was called Eber. ‘This is the one the master has been waiting for. I can feel it in my marrow.’
‘Very soft, and very white,’ said the ankle-dropper with the wandering hand. ‘And it flaps too much.’ Josie’s skirts were whipping about in the wind, hard enough to sting when they struck her.
‘Where are you taking me?’ asked Josie. The wind buffeting her face made it hard to talk.
‘You will see soon enough,’ said Eber. ‘Don’t worry, little girl, we will leave those whining goats far behind.’
‘I thought the one the master is waiting for would be taller,’ said the one who had pointed out that Josie was a woman.
‘I can feel it in my marrow,’ said Eber, in a voice that was very unpleasant indeed. ‘This is the one.’
‘Be brave’, Josie told herself. ‘Not long ago you thought you were going to be drowned, and that turned out okay.’ She was growing cold, despite the heat radiating from her captors. They seemed too warm to be any natural kind of creature. Their hands felt near enough human hands, but she did not like to think what the rest of them would be like.
Josie’s ears were starting to hurt with the wind, and she let it blow the coarse conversation of the creatures away unmeaning, trying to will time to pass quickly. It grew colder and colder. She ached terribly all over. She was carried through the air until she could not take it any longer, and then she screamed and cursed at the creatures carrying her. They only laughed at her, and flew on, and on, and on.
The wind finally stopped, and Josie was somewhere much warmer, and then she was dropped onto what seemed to be a carpet. She struggled up onto her hands and knees, but could neither stand nor sit because of the shooting pains in her limbs. Her ears ached horribly, and her head ached horribly, and her lips were chapped, and she was horribly thirsty. She had only ever been so miserable once before, when she had been very sick.
Josie could hear the crackling of a wood fire, and smell roast pork and a nasty sort of perfume. The creatures who had carried her were still nearby, but they had stopped their gibing and seemed to be standing quietly, like they were expected to be on their best behaviour.
‘Now, aren’t you a picture?’ said a voice. If the inhuman voices of the flying creatures had been unpleasant, this voice was even more unpleasant for being human. It was the voice of a man who used it mainly for giving orders to things that were not men, and for cursing to himself when things went awry – never for anything courteous or friendly. It was a voice that was trying to be friendly and courteous now, and the strain it put on it was painful. Josie tried to say something back, but coughed instead.
‘Put her in a chair,’ commanded the voice, and Josie was picked up again by two of the flying creatures and put in an upholstered chair.
‘You have come here from another world, yes?’ asked the man’s voice, drawing closer to her. The nasty perfume seemed to hang more thickly around the voice.
Josie was in no mood to be polite and answer questions. ‘Who are you?’ she said angrily. ‘Where is this?’
‘I am Yustus, the last man in Telmar,’ said the voice, with a pride that would have sounded rather grand if it was not at the same time so bitter and cheerless. ‘And this is – was – Telmar, the jewel of the South.’
Aronoke woke lying on something strange and not quite soft. He could see the corners of jungle trees out of the corner of his vision. He felt peculiar for a few moments, heavy and lethargic. His mind moved very slowly, grainy and dark, shot through with pulses of red. His connection with the Force felt strange and ropy, slithering like hot intestines. He looked about himself, confused. Had he been drugged, like Ashquash?
“Initiate Aronoke,” said a metallic voice, and he blinked to recognise a droid bending over him. “Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” It waved its droid hand in front of his face, a blur of metallic appendages too close and fast for Aronoke to focus on.
“I… don’t know,” he said, still feeling dazed. “What happened?”
The black-and-red fog was ebbing a little, but not as quickly as he would like.
“You fell unconscious during your examination,” said the droid. “Quite suddenly with no apparent stimulus. It has has not yet been determined why. Unfortunately your examination had to be stopped before it was complete. Your fellow initiates carried you here.”
“I…don’t remember,” said Aronoke, confused. He tried to sit up, his body feeling fine, but the droid reached out a hand to prevent him. His head still felt oddly clouded. He could see some other initiates standing in an awkward group some distance away, watching. They seemed faintly familiar.
“Please remain in a reclining position,” said the droid, reaching out an arm to steady him. “You must undergo medical testing before resuming verticality.”
“Okay,” said Aronoke. He lay back on the grass and allowed himself to be loaded onto a medcradle and floated off to a medical laboratory.
Master Nethlemor was waiting there and stood watching as they took him off the stretcher and laid him on a bench.
“Aronoke, what happened?” he asked, concerned, as the droid began running scans.
“I don’t know, Master Nethlemor,” said Aronoke. “I don’t remember.”
“What is the last thing you do remember?”
Aronoke tried to think back to that morning, before the test had started and suddenly memories gushed back into his mind all at once.
Aronoke’s third test was to be held in a substantially different location from the first two. He recognised the coordinates as being somewhere up near the top of the temple, where the speeder ranks were. As he made his way there after breakfast on the prescribed morning, he wondered if it was to be held outside the Jedi temple.
When he arrived at the coordinates listed, he saw that he wasn’t the only person waiting. Two other initiates were already there. One was a nervous looking human fellow with a thin moustache. Another was a human woman, with interesting hair tied in intricate bands at the back of her head. Aronoke was careful not to look too closely at that – he still found women’s hair very distracting. The third arrived shortly after Aronoke had found a bench to sit and wait on, and was a rodian. They all wore initiates’ robes like his own, and Aronoke found himself wondering if they were real candidates or merely Jedi posing as them to make up the numbers for the test. He wondered then if there were always fake candidates, or merely if there were not enough people sitting the test that day.
At the correct time, four droids came into the chamber. Each approached one of the waiting initiates.
“Examination Candidate Aronoke?” said the droid that came up to him. “Please stand by in preparation for boarding the shuttle.”
“Yes, certainly,” said Aronoke. He stood where the droid told him to, and waited while two of the other candidates were loaded onto a shuttle. It was different from the one he had rode in when he first arrived on Coruscant. It had a separate compartment for each initiate and Aronoke could not see outside. He took his seat expectantly, wondering why they were being taken outside the Jedi temple for this last test. Perhaps to test their ability to function outside the temple’s shielding? He was ready for the sudden exposure of his senses to the Force and grateful for the excursions outside when he had gone unshielded, or he would have been very taken aback indeed.
Presumably handling this sort of exposure was something else that was usually taught at a later stage of training. Perhaps it was something that most students weren’t affected by. Aronoke remembered Hespenara saying that she had to work hard to sense the currents in the Force.
The shuttle travelled for some time and then made two stops in short succession. On the third stop, the door to Aronoke’s compartment slid open. There was a short passage beyond, and then another doorway which opened automatically as he approached it. It slid shut behind him.
He found himself standing in something that reminded him of the environments at the biological gardens. Although he could still see the faint green lines of a dome high above him, this was a self-contained outdoor environment. It was quite hot, Aronoke noticed. Pleasantly warm by his standards. He was certain that he would find Kasthir itself very hot after spending so long in the climate controlled environment of Coruscant. Trees grew everywhere. Thick bushes and weeds clustered where the larger trees had toppled.
Just in front of him, on the ground, lay a practice sabre.
Aronoke remembered the last test. He was not going to be fooled by the same trick twice, even though this time he knew he had no eye lenses in. Slowly he let his shields recede, letting his senses expand to fill the surrounding area, until he had located the edges of the dome. He could sense the other candidates spread out across it. Could also faintly sense the city beyond and several Jedi masters in relatively close proximity. The examiners, he thought. Or perhaps the emergency response crew, in case someone fell on their head. Him, most likely. There were also other things lurking amongst the dimmer force-web of the vegetation. Subsentient creatures, some larger than others. They were mostly predators, he thought. There was a large one quite close to him. A group of smaller ones were already rapidly closing in on the candidate closest to him.
In the centre of the dome there was a gleaming nexus of Force power. An artifact of some sort perhaps? It was an obvious goal.
Jedi would not ignore colleagues in need, Aronoke knew. With some haste he scooped up the practice blade and began running through the jungle towards the nearest candidate, leaping over fallen trees and densely tangled bits of underbrush. The group of creatures had closed on their victim rapidly. The larger creature was following Aronoke from a distance, hunting him. Doubtlessly waiting for him to be distracted. He kept one part of his mind watching it, while he manoeuvred himself towards one of the outlying creatures attacking the other candidate.
It looked like some sort of insect, Aronoke thought, brown-carapaced and hardy, with lots of legs. It was quite large, coming up somewhat past his knees.
“Help!” called the other candidate, rather belatedly Aronoke thought. It was the human man with the little moustache. If he hadn’t been well on the way to help already, surely the fellow would have been overwhelmed long before he could have reached him. He was stuck, Aronoke saw, trapped up to the knees in some sticky globular substance, presumably spat by the creatures.
Aronoke slashed forcefully at the nearest bug and succeeded in hitting it and distracting its attention. The human was gamely trying to wade towards Aronoke, presumably so they could work together to drive off the creatures.
The bug-thing spat at Aronoke and a glob of sticky stuff splattered on his hand, having little effect other than to stick his practice blade to his skin. He swung at it again and missed, but caught it hard on the underside with his backstroke as it reared up to spit again.
The creature let out a squelchy squeal, and suddenly, before Aronoke could pull away, it curled itself up into a ball.
That would not have been an issue, except it curled up so quickly and tightly, that Aronoke’s hand and practice blade were caught in the middle of it.
He tried pulling free, but the sticky glob had additionally stuck his hand and his blade to the middle of the creature. He tried lifting the creature to smash it against the ground, but it was awkward and heavy. He tried kicking it, but was too close for him to make much impact.
All the while, Aronoke could still sense the larger predator approaching. It was somewhat above him, just over the level of the canopy. He assumed it was something arboreal or something that flew. Wondered how he would fight it off if he was still trapped when it attacked. Even as he struggled to free himself, a plan began to form in his mind.
Suddenly the three other bug-creatures surrounding the other initiate scuttled off and disappeared into the underbrush, where they curled up like the first one had. They could also sense the approach of the predator in the trees, Aronoke realised.
“Careful, there’s something big up there,” called Aronoke, gesturing with his head. “About to attack us.”
About to attack him, he realised, as he caught a glimpse of a dark, tattered bat-like form preparing to swoop down towards him.
“I can’t get loose!” the other initiate yelled, tugging futilely at his glob-encased legs.
“It’s okay,” said Aronoke, focusing on the bat-creature. “I’ve got it.”
He changed position, switching his grip so his left hand grapsed the other end of the practice blade. Waited… waited… and as the creature swooped at the last minute, he rolled on the ground on his back, using his weight to swing the bug-thing between himself and the swooping predator. Sharp claws raked across the bug, tearing big rents in its carapace, but it was not over yet. The predator was coming around for another attack. This time, from his position on the ground, it was harder for Aronoke to move to shield himself. He managed by the merest whisker to avoid being clawed. The bat creature flew up into the trees, out of sight. Aronoke could sense it waiting there for something.
For its poison to take effect, he realised, as the bug-creature relaxed about his arm and came part-way uncurled. Whether it was dead or merely paralysed he was uncertain, but he wasn’t going to wait around to see. He worked his arm gradually free, and then went over to help the other initiate who was in the last stages of freeing himself.
“That was a fancy move you pulled there,” the man said, approvingly. “The name’s Piralon Thrux. Thanks for helping me with those things.”
“It makes more sense to work together,” said Aronoke. “I’m Aronoke.”
“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Piralon Thrux, but Aronoke thought it was not a good time for idle conversation. His Force senses suggested to him that this Initiate’s Force abilities were far stronger than he had demonstrated during the fight, so he was almost certainly only pretending to be sitting for the test.
Aronoke took charge.
“Come on,” he said. “That bat-creature hasn’t gone. It’s waiting to eat its dinner. We had better be off before it decides it wants an extra helping.”
He turned back towards the middle of the dome, “We should try to meet up with the others,” Aronoke said. “It makes sense that they will head towards the middle too. In fact, I think they’re ahead of us.” He could sense the other initiates closing upon the central location, and set off in that direction, reminding himself that it was not a race.
They made their way through the jungle, Aronoke using his force senses to avoid the other creatures which inhabited it. He was relieved that the bat creature chose not to follow them, but stayed behind, presumably to feast on the bug-thing. It was not a long walk to the centre of the arena, as Aronoke now thought of it. The other two initiates had arrived shortly before them. They turned to watch him approach, from where they stood looking at something.
Set into the ground were four platforms. If there was anything else to see it was buried beneath the dirt. It looked like the start of some sort of puzzle, Aronoke thought.
“Greetings,” said the human woman with the braids. She did not look like she had faced any difficulties reaching the centre. Did not have a hair out of place, Aronoke thought. “I’m Leptospora. The others introduced themselves as well, and Aronoke followed suit. The rodian was called Oobalur.
“So, I wonder what we are meant to do here,” said Leptospora, gesturing at the platforms. There was little enough to go on. Aronoke could not sense anything more even with his Force senses. The proximity of whatever was producing the Force energy was making it difficult to see anything subtle nearby.
“It looks like we are meant to work together,” said Aronoke. “Four platforms, four of us. I expect we each have to step onto a platform to trigger what comes next.”
“Seems reasonable enough,” said Piralon Thrux.
“Still, there is a possibility that it is a convoluted trap,” said Aronoke. “Although I don’t really believe it is. One of us should probably step up first, in case it is. No sense risking all of us at once.”
“Right then,” said Leptospora. “I’ll volunteer for that.” She strode over to the nearest platform and stepped upon it. Nothing seemed to happen.
The other initiates spread out, each choosing a platform at random. Aronoke stepped on his, then Piralon, and finally Oobalur.
As the rodian stepped into position, the platform Aronoke stood on began to vibrate gently. The ground began to shake gently and then to move. Dirt quivered in place, as if there was going to be an earthquake. Then plates slid aside underneath, revealing a cavernous opening. Walls began rising between the candidates. Some sort of spinning cylindrical construct, the source of the Force power Aronoke had sensed, began to rise in the middle. Runes indicating the qualities of Emotion, Ignorance, Passion, Chaos, and Death were marked on its sides and seemed to cover pressure plates or switches of some kind.
He was right. It was almost certainly some sort of puzzle.
“…One moment I was standing on the platform, and the next I woke up lying on the grass,” said Aronoke to Master Nethlemor. “I wasn’t trying to do anything, wasn’t feeling particularly stressed. I felt I was doing well and was almost enjoying the test.”
“Initial scans have revealed no physical abnormality or chemical imbalance to suggest why you might have lost consciousness,” said the medical droid. “Please remain still while some final data samples are taken.”
“There were no visions this time?”
“I don’t remember anything, Master,” said Aronoke.
“An investigation will have to be made,” said Examiner Nethlemor. “To determine why you were unable to complete your test. For now, just follow the medical droid’s instructions and you will be escorted back to your clan rooms once the scans are complete.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. He felt confused and disappointed. Fainting in the middle of a test for no reason… was there something seriously wrong with him? Something left over from his injuries in the second test? Or was it another harassment?
Aronoke was left to lie in the medical bay for some time while further scans and tests were performed. Afterwards he was allowed to get up and make his way over to the shuttle to be taken back to the Temple. He tried to centre himself by meditating during the flight back. His mind felt tenuous and off-key, like after he had tried to detect Master Altus. The red haze still hung over everything, making his efforts curiously ineffective.
Master Insa-tolsa was waiting at the speeder terminal when Aronoke arrived.
“Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “I will escort you back to your clan rooms. It is better that you do not travel alone so soon after regaining consciousness.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke, subdued.
“Was there anything unusual about this incident?” asked Master Insa-tolsa, as they set off through the passages.
“I don’t know, Master. It was strange in that I was standing there one minute, not feeling particularly stressed. I didn’t feel dizzy or anything. Then I awoke lying on the grass. I have no idea what happened.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “And quite peculiar. We must await the result of your extended medical tests before coming to any conclusion.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke dully.
“If it remains inconclusive, you will have to attend a meeting to determine the outcome of your test,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “It must be decided if you failed because of some external influence. If that is the case, you will be assigned a new test instead.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. “It was going so well up until that point, too. I thought I was doing well.”
But, he reminded himself, the worst thing that could happen was that he failed. That he got to remain in the Jedi temple and repeat the tests again later. That was not so terrible.
But it might be terrible for Ashquash, he thought.
Aronoke spent the rest of the day quietly in the company of his clan mates. He went to bed early and tried to sleep, but woke up sweating. His mind was completely tangled, still full of red pulsing ropes of darkness.
This is no good, he thought. This is something unusual. He got up and went to the meditation room, but it was several hours before he really felt his mind was clear again. He was exhausted, ethereal and almost asleep on his feet by the time he had finished.
A few days later, Aronoke was required to attend the inquiry regarding his examination. It was held in a room near the council chamber he had visited when he first arrived in the Jedi temple. There were fewer masters attending this session. Master Nethlemor, the examiner was presiding.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said Master Nethlemor. “This hearing is to determine whether or not your recent examination, which was prematurely terminated and which you were unable to complete, should be deemed a failure or whether you deserve a second attempt to complete to test.”
“This is Master An-ku, who will be arguing in your defence, and Master Belor, who will be arguing that you have failed. Before we begin this process, I must ask do you yourself desire to perform a replacement examination, should this hearing be decided in your favour? If not, there is no necessity for us to continue any further at this time. You will be presented with another opportunity to sit for your examinations to become a padawan after you have continued with your training program as it stands.”
Aronoke was silent for a short moment. He was tempted by the opportunity to stay in the Jedi temple, but he did not like to fail without trying as hard as he could. And staying in the temple also meant that Ashquash and his other clanmates would continue being at risk.
“If this inquiry is decided in my favour, I agree to perform a replacement examination,” said Aronoke.
“Very well then. Before the Masters pose their arguments, both for and against you, what is your opinion regarding the test you have just failed to complete? Do you believe that you should have failed, or that you should be given a second chance?”
Aronoke hesitated. He could not decide either way, because he did not know why he had fainted.
“Please, speak,” said Master Nethlemor as the pause lengthened. “There is no correct answer.”
“I can not decide either way, Masters,” said Aronoke, giving an awkward little bow. “I remember nothing of how I came to faint. I was standing on a platform. I did not feel like I was about to faint. I felt curious about what was going to happen. I did not even feel particularly stressed. I felt I was doing well. And then I woke up lying on the grass. If I fainted because of some external influence, then I would say I deserve a second chance, but if I fainted because of some weakness in myself, well, then I do not.”
“Very well. Master Belor will now present his case.”
Master Belor was an elderly human man and he rose from his seat to speak.
“As Initiate Aronoke has so conveniently summated already,” he said, “fainting because of some internal weakness can only be classed as a failure on his behalf. The examination chamber has been carefully examined and its condition is no different than it has been during the many thousands of examinations which have already been performed in it. It is designed in a manner to make tampering with the results of examinations as completely foolproof as our technology allows. The probability of such interference is so minute that it can not be credited, without even considering what motive could possibly exist for wishing this specific candidate to fail. With no evidence of any tampering, the simpler suggestion is obviously the correct one. It is obviously a failure on Initiate Aronoke’s behalf.”
“Very well,” said Master Nethlemor. “Master An-ku?”
Master An-ku stood up.
“In the vast majority of situations there would be no question of such an event being anything other than weakness on Initiate Aronoke’s behalf. However, Initiate Aronoke has already been the subject of a number of peculiar harrassments and events which are extremely unusual in their nature. These interferences have proven unable to be prevented or traced, despite the efforts of a large number of Jedi Masters working in concert to do so. Firstly, it may be argued that Initiate Aronoke has already suffered unusual stresses due to these unwarranted attacks outside of the examination chambers, and that these events may have had a deleterious and unfair influence upon his performance during his examinations. Secondly, if we have been unable to trace the origin and path of these interferences previously, perhaps we are also missing something now. I argue that Initiate Aronoke deserves the benefit of the doubt due to the uncertainty of the situation, and should be given the opportunity to undertake a fourth test.”
Aronoke was doing his best to stand still and keep his mind calm. He was willing to let the masters decide for him. He would be satisfied, he told himself, whatever the result.
“So to make sure the situation is absolutely clear to all parties,” said Master Nethlemor, “I will outline the situation as it stands. Aronoke has already completed two prior examinations. The first, which was a test of Control, was ruled to be a pass, and the second, a test of his Sense abilities, was also ruled to be a pass. He also performed very well during the third test up until the point when he suddenly fell unconscious. He need only pass a third examination to be awarded the rank of Padawan.”
Aronoke felt a glow of pleasure. So he had passed the first two tests! He was pleased too, at Master Nethlemor’s evaluation of his progress through the third examination.
“Master Belor, do you wish to speak further?”
“I wish to speak in regard to Master An-ku’s first point,” said Master Belor calmly. “Other initiates also suffer stresses peculiar to their situation in the Jedi temple, which may, to them, seem as difficult to deal with as those experienced by Initiate Aronoke. Students are expected to pass the tests in spite of these pressures. It is part of the process. I do not believe that Initiate Aronoke deserves any special treatment in this regard.”
“Master An-ku?”
“My argument stands as presented,” said Master An-ku solemnly.
“Very well,” said Master Nethlemor, turning his attention back to Aronoke. “This concludes the portion of this inquiry requiring your presence, Initiate. Let me congratulate you on the successful completion of your first two examinations, and the successful completion of the portion of your third examination up until it was terminated due to medical concerns. You will be informed shortly as to the results of this inquiry, and should it be decided in your favour, you will receive notification regarding your substitute examination within the next week.”
“Thank you, Master Nethlemor,” said Aronoke. He bowed again and made his way out of the chamber, feeling relieved that it was over. Making his way back to the clan nest, he felt he had done better than he had thought he would. As he walked back, he noticed he was being followed by a droid – it looked like a protocol droid this time. It tailed him, not very unobtrusively, almost all the way back to his clan rooms. Aronoke didn’t want it wandering about there, close to his younger clan mates.
“What do you want?” he asked rudely, turning to confront the droid.
“Want, Initiate?” said the droid. “I do not want anything. I am merely performing my regular duties about the temple.”
“That’s a load of gundark piss,” said Aronoke, coining an expression he hadn’t used since his days as a skimmer. “You’ve been tailing me all the way back from the Council chambers. Why are you following me?”
“I assure you, I am not following you,” said the droid stuffily. Aronoke was carefully checking its identification plaque while it spoke, identifying its number. “There has obviously been some sort of peculiar coincidence that has led you to this mistaken observation. I admit the chances are-”
The droid suddenly stopped speaking and gave a peculiar little shudder. “Oh,” it said. “What a convenient situation. I believe I have a message for you, Initiate Aronoke.”
A familiar-looking holotransmission began.
“Aronoke,” said the scrambled voice. “I am disappointed that you chose not to receive the last message I sent you, but no matter. I have some important information for you. If you would like to help Master Altus, you will come to these coordinates tomorrow morning at seven hundred.”
The appropriate coordinates followed quickly, and Aronoke repeated them several times in his head to memorise them.
“Goodness!” said the droid, twitching its hands in the air feebly. “I don’t know what came over me. I have never been in this part of the temple before! I must return to my regular duties at once!” It tottered off, leaving Aronoke standing, watching thoughtfully until it disappeared from sight.
Reporting this incident in the usual way was obviously no good at all. When he had brought Razzak Mintula’s attention to an appointment like this, there had been nothing there to find. His assailant had stayed away. Reporting directly to Master Insa-tolsa had resulted in the message cylinder blowing up, again leaving no evidence. There had to be some other way to do this. In class, the younglings had been practicing writing by hand, on sheets of flimsiplast. Some were still lying about the clan common room, along with several writing styluses. Aronoke picked up a sheet and took it to his room, and with some difficulty, began to scribe a letter:
Master Insa-tolsa,
I am sending you this message because I have received another holo-transmission from a droid. The droid’s designation is TR443. It followed me back from the Council chambers after I attended the inquiry there. The holotransmission said I should go to a particular location tomorrow morning at 0700 if I wanted to help Master Altus. I am sending this message with Draken, so it might not be intercepted.
Aronoke.
Beneath he wrote the coordinates the droid had told him.
Later that evening, an hour or two after dinner, he went to Draken’s room.
“Can I talk to Draken alone for a moment, please Golmo?” he asked. “In here?”
“Uh, sure, Aronoke,” said Golmo, looking a little curious. Aronoke had never asked anything like that before.
“Draken, can you do me an important favour?” asked Aronoke, once Golmo was gone and the door was closed. Draken was already looking intrigued. Aronoke knew he would enjoy a task like this one.
“Uh, sure,” said Draken. “What is it? Is it something mysterious?”
“Yes,” said Aronoke. “It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask you like this. Can you take this message to Master Insa-tolsa for me? He needs to see it right away, and I don’t want to be seen taking it myself. The less noticeable you are, the better it will be.”
“I can do that,” said Draken. He took the flimsiplast message, looking more nervous than Aronoke had thought he would. “Does Master Insa-tolsa know I’m coming?”
“No,” said Aronoke. “He’s probably in his chambers. I’m sure you can find them.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” said Draken, “but…ah…can’t you at least tell him I’m coming? He mightn’t be pleased.”
“I can’t do that. It would defeat the purpose,” said Aronoke.
“I see. I suppose if you want it to be secret that’s true,” said Draken, starting to look more excited.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t mind,” said Aronoke. “If you get into trouble with him or anyone else, you can tell them that I stood you up to it and I will explain to them. It will be fine.”
“Sure, Aronoke. Of course I can do it.”
It was the sort of mission Draken was perfect for, Aronoke thought, as his friend hurried out of the clan rooms. A way his clan could help him deal with his problems. He was well satisfied with having thought of sending a message by this means, and fairly certain that his harrassers would not expect this. He had tried nothing of this kind before.
Draken was gone for some time. It was not a short walk to Master Insa-tolsa’s quarters. He came back looking pleased with himself.
“It all went well,” said Draken. “Master Insa-tolsa didn’t mind at all. He’s quite nice really.”
The next day, Aronoke was careful to go out for a long walk around the time he was meant to go to the coordinates in the mysterious message. He figured that if his harasser had some way of observing his comings and goings this might convince them that Aronoke was doing what they wanted. Later that day he received a message asking him to go and speak with Master Insa-tolsa.
“That was well thought of by you to send a message by those means,” said Master Insa-tolsa approvingly. “We were able to intercept a droid at the coordinates you gave us. A red lightsaber crystal of an unsual kind was recovered from the droid.
“A lightsaber crystal,” said Aronoke, a little shocked. Such an item would not be trivial to bring into the Jedi temple. There would be serious risks involved.
“Indeed,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “This is something of a breakthrough in this investigation, Aronoke. I hope very much that some information leading from this might help us finally identify the perpetrator.”
“I hope so, Master,” said Aronoke, inwardly sighing. He held little hope by this time that his harasser would ever be found.
Several days later, he received a message from Master Nethlemor that the inquiry had decided that Aronoke could sit for a fourth examination.
One final chance. It would all hinge upon this last test. The subject for the examination was Moral Applications of the Jedi Code. The sort of thing Aronoke had always had trouble with. The sort of decisions that could get you killed on Kasthir. And yet, those were the rules Master Altus lived his life by, so it was obviously a viable choice.
Sighing, he set himself a reading schedule that covered all these moral topics. He carefully studied a wide variety of historical situations and moral tales to use as examples. Throughout this time he continued his lightsaber training, but decided to take a break from running.
To his relief, the fourth test was within the limits of the Jedi Temple. It seemed less likely that the examination could be tampered with there, with so many Jedi nearby.
Aronoke was precisely on time.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said the examination droid, when he arrived at the examination room. “Your final examination lies through this door. You may take up to twenty-four hours to complete it once you pass inside. Please step through the door.”
“Certainly,” said Aronoke, stepping through the door when it opened. Twenty-four hours was a long time for a test. What could it possibly involve?
Inside, he found himself in a moderately large chamber, almost cubic in shape. Before stepping forward, he allowed his Force senses past the shield of his control, out to the extents of the room.
Up near the ceiling, a large box hovered, suspended by two energy-beams. Aronoke could see two controls for operating the system, high up in the walls well out of reach, which would, if his evaluation was correct, move the box across horizontally and vertically. They could be triggered by using the Force to push them, something Aronoke was not very good at. He could tell also that hidden nozzles lay behind the controls. Operating each one would expose a nozzle, allowing something to flood into the room.
Water? Sleeping gas? Aronoke had no idea. He didn’t like the idea of water. He thoughtfully took off his outer robe and hung it over some pipework before beginning.
The pipework was at one side of the room and looked readily climbable, Aronoke noted.
First he decided to tap one of the controls to see what happened. That way he would be prepared for whatever lay ahead and could plan his next move. He reached out through the Force to push one of them. It was a simple mechanism, easy to push. It was no more difficult than lifting a pebble. While it was depressed, the box in the ceiling moved incrementally across the room towards the pipework. There was a hissing noise, as some sort of gas flooded the room. The temperature immediately grew a little colder.
Aronoke was relieved that it wasn’t water. He tried the other control. This time the box moved downwards. More gas hissed in. Aronoke noticed that moving the box downward produced far more gas than moving it across.
Very well then, he had a plan. He didn’t put his robe back on just yet, but continued moving the box downwards until it was at a height so that he would be able to climb on top of it. Then he used the first control to move it across to a position near the climbable pipework. The temperature in the room had dropped remarkably by the time he was finished, but controlling his body temperature was something even Clan Herf had studied, and Aronoke was able to maintain his at a comfortable level. Taking his outer robe, he tossed it up on the top of the box and began climbing the pipework.
The last step onto the top of the box was the most difficult. A thin patch of slick ice had already formed on the box’s outer surface. Unfortunately that was just the place Aronoke had chosen for a foothold. His foot skidded suddenly off into space, sending him plummeting headfirst towards the floor.
He twisted in mid air and landed on his feet. He rolled his eyes at himself. What was it with falling during these tests? Quickly he climbed back up the pipework, avoiding the slippery patch this time. Crouching on top of the cube, he put his outer robe back on.
On top of the cube was a simple puzzle square with sliding pieces that had to be moved to make a picture. Aronoke recognized the picture from some of his reading, of the Jedi Tower on Taris. The puzzle itself was simple enough to complete by trial and error, and was easier because he knew the picture. Once done, a panel clicked open, revealing a trap door that lead down inside the box. Down in there, Aronoke could see a chair, a desk and a datapad. The examination he had to complete.
Carefully he climbed inside the box, sat down at the datapad and began. The test was not as difficult as he had feared. Easier than writing the essays had been. Mostly he had to make moral decisions in regard to different situations, but the numerous examples he had studied stood him in good stead. The longer explanations some of the questions required were difficult for him to formulate, but still lay within his capabilities.
As he worked, Aronoke was aware that the nozzles in the walls of the room outside hissed occasionally, letting more gas in to cool the room. As time went on, the temperature grew even colder. Aronoke was glad when he came to the end of the examination paper, and quickly checked through his answers. He was relieved to climb back outside and push the buzzer on the outer door to be let out.
He had no doubts that he had passed this test, and felt pleased with himself. Everything had gone right this time, apart from falling off the box on his first attempt to climb on it.
He was even more pleased to receive his formal results a few days later.
“Congratulations!” said Master Insa-tolsa. “You have passed the tests required to pass to the rank of Padawan.”
Aronoke was silent for a moment. He was pleased that he had passed, certainly, but sad that Master Altus was not here. If his education had proceeded normally, he might have become Master Altus’s padawan after Hespenara had become a Jedi. It was certain now that he never would be.
“Thank you, Master,” he said.
“Typically your next task would be to forge your lightsaber,” said Master Insa-tolsa, “after which you would be available for selection by a Jedi Master. However, the Council has decreed that in your case, they will begin the selection process immediately and have called for expressions of interest from Masters wishing to take a padawan.”
“That’s good, Master,” said Aronoke.
“I believe there have already been several expressions of interest,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “Usually any Master wishing to take you would approach you directly, but in your case the Council has chosen to intervene and will decide on your behalf.”
“That is probably all for the best,” said Aronoke. He was glad that he would not have to worry about not being chosen, like Emeraldine had.
Razzak Mintula had congratulations to offer as well.
“I’m glad to see that your hard work has paid off,” she said. “Although you have not been here very long, and, I feel, perhaps not long enough, congratulations, Aronoke. I’m sure you will make a fine padawan.”
“Thank you Instructor,” said Aronoke, smiling.
“I’m sure your clan-mates will be eager to congratulate you too,” said Razzak Mintula. “They have been very excited, following your progress through the tests. It was been an excellent educational experience for them, one that I am certain will be of value to them when it comes time to prepare for their own tests in the years to come.”
“I’m glad that it has been of some benefit,” said Aronoke. He still felt that he had been hurried through his training far more than he would like. “I hope that all the trouble will now stop, and that things might be a little more peaceful for you and the clan, Instructor.”
Razzak Mintula sighed. “I know you would have liked to spend longer with us, Aronoke. I am certain, however, that despite the shortness of your stay here in the temple, that a strong bond has grown between you and the rest of your clan mates, one that you may come to appreciate further in your later years as a Jedi.”
By the time he became a Jedi, Aronoke thought, it was likely that his younger clan-mates would just be taking their tests to become padawans, although Ashquash and Draken could hope to graduate earlier if they were were diligent in their studies.
“Thank you, Instructor. I know that’s true.”
“I know Ashquash would like to congratulate you as well, but unfortunately she must remain in her rooms near Master Skeirim’s quarters for the moment.”
“Hopefully she will be able to return to the clan once I am gone,” said Aronoke sadly. It would be hard to not see Ashquash before he left.
“Perhaps,” said Razzak Mintula somewhat guardedly.
“How is she doing, Instructor? I hope she is improving.”
“You were not told, because it was decided that it was better to avoid distracting you from your tests, but Ashquash is not doing very well at the moment,” said Razzak Mintula. “Despite the precautions taken, she was drugged again during your tests.”
Aronoke was shocked. Outraged. “Again!? How can this keep happening, Instructor? I can’t understand how it can’t be stopped.”
“I can’t either,” said Razzak Mintula tersely. “It is just evidence that whoever is doing this is very powerful indeed, someone with considerable influence.”
“Well, perhaps she will be left alone once I am not here,” said Aronoke.
The younger members of Clan Herf were eager to help Aronoke celebrate and he found himself more popular than ever over the days that came next. There was nothing for him to do – lessons were over.
“You finally get a proper holiday,” said Draken self-righteously.
Aronoke laughed. “I suppose so.”
It was too difficult to do nothing. Aronoke rested more than usual, accompanied his clan-mates during some of their lessons, and spent free-time playing games and helping with homework. After four days of this, he received official notification that he had been assigned for apprenticeship to Master Ninnish Caaldor, a Jedi master who seldom came back to Coruscant, but would arrive to collect Aronoke in a few days’ time.
“Then you’ll get to go to Ilum to get your lightsaber,” said Draken enviously. “I bet you can’t wait.”
Aronoke shrugged. He felt that getting a lightsaber was another immense responsibility. Would forging a lightsaber be another kind of test, he wondered. How difficult would it be?
“It will certainly be exciting,” he admitted.
“I wonder what your Jedi master will be like,” said Draken, voicing Aronoke’s own thoughts. “I don’t expect you’ll come back here for a good long while, if at all, so we won’t get to know.”
“I’ll try to send a message when it’s appropriate,” said Aronoke. “Although you’re right – it could be some time before I can.”
The next afternoon a message came from Ashquash, a stilted recorded message, carefully cut-and-pasted. Ashquash wished Aronoke congratulations on becoming a padawan. She was glad he had passed his tests. Aronoke sent a carefully composed reply, sorry he was leaving Ashquash behind without properly saying goodbye.
Then the next day, his holocommunicator chimed, and there was Ashquash herself, no recording this time. She looked pale and thin. Her eyes were large and slightly wild. She looked dangerous and only barely in control, but determined and courageous.
“Aronoke,” said Ashquash. “I wanted to say goodbye properly. Will you come and see me?”
Aronoke hesitated just a moment, but surely there could be no harm in it.
“Of course,” he said.
“Then come now to the rooms at these coordinates. I can’t stay long, but at least we can talk.”
They were chambers near Master Skeirim’s, Aronoke could see from the coordinates. Rooms close to Ashquash’s new quarters.
“I’ll be there right away,” Aronoke said.
Walking through the familiar hallways of the Jedi Temple, he couldn’t help thinking that it was somewhat unusual. Razzak Mintula had said he couldn’t meet with Ashquash, but he was confident that she wouldn’t lead him into a trap, and if she was still drugged and strange, well, he knew about such things from his time with Boamba. He wouldn’t let himself or Ashquash come to any harm.
Aronoke palmed the door control when he arrived at the appropriate location and to his surprise the door slid back at once, without waiting for verbal confirmation from within. Beyond lay typical rooms of the type kept to house Jedi Masters while they visited the Temple, much the same as those Master Altus had inhabited while he had been here.
Inside, Ashquash wheeled hastily to face Aronoke, looking tense and defensive, only relaxing when she saw it was him.
“Aronoke! Come in,” she hissed and hurried forward to close the door behind him.
“Are you supposed to be here, Ashquash?” asked Aronoke. “I hope you’re not going to get into any trouble over this.”
“As if I could be in any more trouble than I’ve already been,” said Ashquash, dismissively, stepping close to him and speaking softly. “I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye! You’re my only real friend!”
“You know that’s not true,” said Aronoke. “What about the rest of the clan? You know that they care what happens to you. Draken helped to rescue you too.”
“I know, I know,” said Ashquash dismissively. “But they don’t really understand. The younglings are too little, and Draken only thinks he knows what the seamier side of the galaxy is like. He doesn’t truly understand what that sort of life is like, not like you and I do.”
“Nevertheless, they can still help you,” said Aronoke, but Ashquash made a dismissive, impatient gesture.
“They wouldn’t let me send a proper message before,” she said. “They were worried about what I might say.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Aronoke, smiling. “I’m glad that we can speak before I leave. I hope that things will go better for you now that I’m leaving. That everything will get easier.”
Ashquash looked down. She chewed her lip. Looked back up at him. “Master Skeirim has promised that it will,” she said steadily. “He said if it doesn’t stop after you have left, than he will take me away from here, to continue my training somewhere else where it can’t happen any more.”
“That’s good,” said Aronoke. “So he should too.”
“I’m not giving up,” she continued, glaring at him, making him smile because he knew she meant it. “I’m not going to let them influence me in this way, no matter what, if I’m only strong enough. I’m going to try as hard as I can, Aronoke, and one day, you’ll see. I will be a proper Jedi. I’ll come and see you when that happens. We will be Jedi together.”
“If you weren’t strong enough, Ashquash, than no one would be,” said Aronoke. “You’re the strongest person that I know.”
Ashquash looked away then. The faintest pink tinge highlit her bone-white cheeks.
“Thank you, Aronoke,” she said. “Thank you for helping me and being my friend.”
“You’re welcome,” said Aronoke. “Thank you for helping me. All the studying and the conversations that we had… I doubt I would have passed if I hadn’t had you to discuss all those moral tales with. Look after the others for me, the younglings, and Draken, if you can. And I’ll hold you to what you said, about meeting up when we both are Jedi.”
“You can count on it,” said Ashquash fiercely.
Aronoke smiled down at her. She stood very close to him now, her eyes full of some undeniable emotion. He felt a sudden hot rush of realisation that Ashquash was well and truly a girl – a young woman, he amended – and that he was attracted to her, even though he had always gone to great lengths to deny it to himself. He felt his face heating as his body began to respond to her close presence with an undeniable giddy enthusiasm.
And at that moment, just as he was forcing himself to step back, to take a deep breath, to use his meditative techniques to bring himself back under control, his habitual shielding from the Force was ripped aside by a sudden wave of energy. It was not like the currents of Force energy he had felt exuded by strong sources of Light side energy, like powerful uses of Force by Jedi Masters. It was not like the ropy red pulsing strands that had entangled him after he had fainted during his trials. If anything, it was overwhelmingly green, filled with the vibrancy of living things. It pulsed undeniably through him like a new alien heart beat, exultant and demanding.
Suddenly Aronoke was completely aware of the workings of his own body, like he had been when he was injured during the trials. He was also intimately aware of Ashquash and exactly how her body was responding to his own, like they were undeniably connected in some way. He was mesmerised by the rush of blood through her veins, the fast beat of her heart, the building insistence of the attraction she felt for him. And then somehow, crazily, she was stretching up to kiss him, and his lips were pressing themselves against hers. Her tongue flicked into his mouth, hot, wet and demanding. Her arms reached around him and pulled him against her, and he gasped, overwhelmed with confusing emotions.
Maybe Boamba had hugged him sometimes when he was a child, but it was certain that no one had since.
He felt a sudden hunger for physical contact that transcended any thought of restraint. He pulled her more firmly against him, his hands groping clumsily to remove the frustrating barrier of her clothing. Her pale hands had slid inside his tunic to touch his bare skin, and he shuddered with the intensity of the contact. He felt the warmth of them against his back, and shivered as she slid them lower, under the band of his trousers. He tugged at the ties that fastened hers, and they came undone with surprising ease.
And then his holocommunicator chimed insistently.
For a moment, Aronoke considered ignoring it, but the noise was enough to break the moment, to allow common sense and self-control to reassert themselves.
A sudden wave of shame washed over Aronoke as he realised what they were doing, already well on the way to being half-naked. Ashquash had a reason; she had been drugged and had not yet completely recovered, but he had no such excuse. His face burned hotly and he gently but insistently pushed Ashquash away.
“Aronoke!” she complained, still clutching at his robes.
“I have to answer this,” said Aronoke firmly, and he untangled her resistant fingers, and walked away into the back section of the room, straightening his garments. He took a deep breath, and answered the call. A tiny holographic image of Master Insa-tolsa appeared. Aronoke knew the ithorian master well enough by now to recognise his expression as one of considerable concern.
“Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “Is everything well with you? I felt a sudden strange disturbance in the Force and it seemed to me to originate from your vicinity.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke, grateful that the holographic image was colourless, and would not betray his blushing. “I inadvertently let my shielding slip for a moment, but now I am recovered. Perhaps that is what you sensed.”
“Hrm,” said Master Insa-tolsa, seemingly unconvinced. “Well, so long as you are certain. I know this has been a time of some stress for you, Aronoke, and it would be sad if you were to suffer some mishap now.”
“I’m fine, Master,” said Aronoke, trying to slow his still-racing heart and to exert calmness over his rampaging hormones. “I just need a little time to compose myself.”
“Of course, Padawan. I need not remind you that you can come to me if you experience any further difficulties.”
“I will, Master. Sorry to be the cause of such concern.”
He turned the holocommunicator off, and turned to Ashquash who was standing there, caught somewhere between alarm and unrepentance.
“I’m sorry,” said Aronoke. “I shouldn’t have done that. I lost control. We shouldn’t be doing this at all, of course, but especially not now, while you are still recovering. Things are confusing enough.”
“There won’t be any time later,” said Ashquash, bitterly, hugging her arms around herself.
Aronoke sighed, still struggling to regain equilibrium. He couldn’t believe he had just acted like that, so uncontrolled, in the face of all his training. He could only put it down to a relaxation of his usual vigiliance, in relief that the trials were over.
“Look, we are trying to be Jedi. This is not a Jedi-like way to behave. I’m supposed to know better – I’ve just been made a Padawan and something like this could destroy everything. Not just for me, but for you too. Do you really want that?”
Ashquash looked uncertain, but the expression in her eyes made Aronoke think that she did not really care, that if he suggested they leave the Jedi temple and run away together, that she would take his hand and never look back.
“And besides,” he hurried on, resolutely, trying to ignore the small part of his mind that was already plotting out that strange alternate future, “you saw what just happened. Master Insa-tolsa has been watching over me for years, since I was a new initiate and scared of the power of my own senses. If I lose control like that again, he won’t just call. He’ll be over here in person to see what’s happening to me, in case it’s some new persecution dreamed up by our enemies.”
Hope died in Ashquash’s eyes and she nodded sadly. Her shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor.
“I’m sorry, Ashquash,” Aronoke said. “I’m sorry to confuse you even more. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“It’s alright,” whispered Ashquash. “I think I’d better go now.” She slowly refastened her clothes.
“That’s probably a good idea. I have to go too.”
She walked to the door, a small, sad, lonely figure. When she reached it she took a deep breath, obviously preparing to face the world again, alone.
“May the Force be with you,” said Aronoke. It was the first time he had said it aloud.
“May the Force be with you too, Aronoke,”said Ashquash quietly, and she slipped out the door and was gone, leaving Aronoke wishing that he could somehow help her achieve her goals. He knew he really couldn’t, except by following what he was already doing. Going away. What had just happened only made that more imperative.
When Master Ninnish Caaldor arrived, he did so in the middle of the night. Aronoke’s holocommunicator chimed, waking him up, and it was a few minutes before he could remember what the noise meant. When he did, he sat up groggily and composed himself a little.
“Ah, Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “Master Caaldor has arrived to collect you. He is here at my quarters. I realize that it is the middle of the night, but you should come and join us here. He is eager to meet you at the earliest opportunity and wishes to discuss his plans for leaving Coruscant with you.”
“Yes, of course, Master,” said Aronoke. “I will come at once.”
The Jedi temple never really slept. There were too many different species of Jedi with different sleeping habits to ever conform to any single schedule. Too many people from different planets accustomed to different sleeping cycles. It was important that Jedi were on hand at all times to deal with galactic disasters and issues as they arose. Nevertheless, the corridors and chambers were distinctly quieter at this time of night, and Aronoke felt excited and out of place travelling through them, like an explorer embarking on a great adventure.
Aronoke had been to Master Insa-tolsa’s rooms many times over the last few years, and knew the way well. Nevertheless, this time he felt more nervous than on his previous visits. He knew that he could have looked up information on Master Caaldor on the holonet and learned a little about what he was like. He had not wanted to. He felt he wanted to form his own opinion first.
“Come in, Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa when he chimed the door.
In Master Insa-tolsa’s rooms waited a human man, not exactly elderly, but grey and bearded. He was a little shorter than Aronoke himself.
“Padawan Aronoke,” said Master Caaldor. “It seems you are to be my new padawan. I haven’t had one for a very long time – about twenty years to be precise – but I expect we shall get along passably.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. “I am pleased to meet you.”
“My last padawan was also a Chiss,” said Master Caaldor. “I expect that might be one reason why the Jedi Council settled you on me instead of any of the other Masters who expressed an interest in taking on a new Padawan.”
A chiss too? But there was only one other chiss Jedi.
“You were Master Bel’do’ruch’s Master?” Aronoke asked.
“Yes. She made an interesting Padawan, even if she was a rather slow learner.” Master Caaldor’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and Aronoke didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not.
“Master Insa-tolsa has been discussing your training with me in some detail,” Master Caaldor continued. “Not to mention these annoying incidents. All things considered, I am eager to leave Coruscant as soon as possible rather than wait until after the next shuttle is sent to Ilum. That is still some time distant, so I will request from the Council that I take you to Ilum en route to our next destination, so that you can forge your lightsaber immediately. That will be far more convenient.”
“Yes, Master, as you wish,” said Aronoke, smiling. He was pleased not to have to wait until the next shuttle. Going to Ilum with his new master would surely be far more pleasing.
“Very well then, we shall depart as soon as is practical. I trust you can be ready to leave tomorrow?”
“Of course,” said Aronoke. He had little enough to pack.
Master Insa-tolsa said something then and he and Master Caaldor fell into one of those conversations that older people enjoyed, full of people, places and situations which originated long ago, and Aronoke was left to listen. He was given some tea to drink and fruit to nibble on.
“You’ve been very quiet, Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa after a while. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke mildly. “It is the middle of the night.”
“Why, so it is,” said Master Caaldor. “I was forgetting that you are on a Coruscanti schedule. You should probably get back to sleep. You can come and meet me back here tomorrow, at, let’s say, 1500 hours. Bring your things and we will leave then.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. “I will do so.”
It was difficult to go back to his quarters and sleep, but Aronoke reasoned that the later he slept the better, since he would be doubtlessly be required to adapt to Master Caaldor’s schedule. He slept through breakfast, and tried to rest as long as he could, but was accustomed to getting up very early, and even with the interruption to his rest, could not sleep much later than 1000. He had a shower, packed his things carefully into his bag. There was not much to pack – a Jedi does not collect personal possessions. There was his datapad and practice sabre, several sets of new padawan robes, the old robes of Master Altus’s that Hespenara had given him, three years ago. Aronoke held them up against himself and looked in the little mirror inside the cupboard door. The robes would fit well enough in the breadth, but were short in the sleeves now. The legs of the trousers would end somewhat above his ankles. He felt sad as he folded the robes away into his pack. He wished he was strong enough to go and save Master Altus from the pain and torment being inflicted upon him, far away on that watery planet, but he was still only a padawan, and a scantily trained one at that. How could he rescue Master Altus when the green man himself had fallen prey to whatever trap or danger had struck him down? Master Caaldor would hardly be likely to take Aronoke to rescue Master Altus, when there were other Jedi trying to do that at the Council’s behest. He would have other duties, and Aronoke was being sent away to distance him from his enemies, not to seek out even greater danger.
At lunchtime Aronoke said goodbye to his clanmates.
“We will miss you Aronoke,” said the younglings. They were solemn and calm as befitted young Jedi, and Aronoke smiled down at them.
“I will miss you too,” he said. “But it won’t be as long as it seems. Work hard in your training, and I’m sure we will see each other again, when you are padawans, if not sooner.”
“Don’t forget to have some fun too, Aronoke,” said Draken mock-severely. “It shouldn’t all be about meditating and philosophy and doing your Master’s laundry.”
“Don’t get in too much trouble while I’m gone, Draken,” said Aronoke. “I expect you to look after these younglings. You’ll have to run the sparring classes now, you realise. It’s become something of a clan tradition.”
“I’ll do my best, Aronoke,” said Draken and then he abruptly turned away.
“Goodbye, Instructor Mintula,” said Aronoke. “Thank you for all the lessons and advice that you have given me. They have always been useful and I’m certain they will continue to be so.”
“Goodbye, Padawan,” said Instructor Mintula. “You have been a good student and a good example for the younglings to follow. You may have only been here a short time, but I am certain that you will do well as a padawan. Listen well to your new master, Aronoke.”
“I will, Instructor.”
And then he was walking along the corridor towards Master Insa-tolsa’s residence, shouldering the pack with all his worldly belongings, the first step towards an unknown destination amongst the stars.
{Continued in Aronoke – Book 2 – Padawan. Chapter 1 coming soon!}
Aronoke ran down the hallways of the Jedi temple, drawing irate glances from Jedi masters and curious comments from the younger initiates he passed. All that running practice had paid off, and Draken had fallen considerably behind by the time Aronoke reached the elevator bank that led up to the Jedi Temple’s higher towers.
“Aronoke! Wait!” came Draken’s breathless voice. It would have been plaintive enough to be a wail, except he was far too out of breath. The younger initiate doubled over wheezing as Aronoke punched the elevator call button impatiently.
“Where – are – we – going?” wheezed Draken as the elevator made a noise to show that it was on its way down to them.
“Ashquash,” said Aronoke grimly. “She’s trapped up there somewhere, on a ledge. I have to help her.”
“I hate to say this, Aronoke,” said Draken, “because this is much more interesting than going to morning lessons, but you have a test, and wouldn’t it be better to tell someone else instead of going up there ourselves?”
Aronoke hesitated. He had thought of calling for help, but then he had remembered how sad Ashquash had sounded when he had spoken with her about him leaving. And then there was the rising impatience Aronoke felt with the Jedi Council, recently fuelled by Master Bel’dor’ruch’s words about their incompetence; he was tired of waiting for other people to rescue his friends, tired of long worrisome inactivity. He wanted to go and find Ashquash himself.
“I think she might be out there because of me,” he said at last.
“Because of you?”
“Because she’s upset about me leaving.”
“Even so, how are you going to get her down from in there?” asked Draken nodding up at the ceiling towards the tower that lay somewhere high above them.
“I don’t know – there must be a window or something,” said Aronoke.
“The windows don’t open,” said Draken, “and I don’t know about you, but I seem to have left my lightsaber in my other set of robes.”
“The windows don’t open?” asked Aronoke incredulously. “Are you sure?”
Draken nodded. “I looked at the schematics back when I had that idea about climbing… oh, never mind that, but I’m certain they don’t.”
“How can we get out there then?”
“Son,” said Draken seriously, “I have spent years of intensive investigation attempting to discover a convenient way out of the Jedi Temple, but as yet, I have found nothing. Apart from the front door.”
Aronoke’s face fell. “The speeder pool?” he said at last. “We could borrow a speeder and fly down from the outside. Or perhaps you’re right – I should tell someone I know where she is… Master Skeirim…” Aronoke had promised Master Skeirim that he would help look after Ashquash. He pulled out his holocommunicator and keyed Master Skeirim’s connection, but was greeted by a holographic recording asking him to leave a message. Aronoke remembered belatedly that Master Skeirim hadn’t returned to the Jedi temple yet, but was still away, investigating Master Altus’s disappearance.
“I said I hadn’t found a convenient way,” said Draken impishly. “I know of plenty of inconvenient ones. There’s this shaft for the droids that do maintenance on the outside of the building that opens somewhere up there. It has an emergency ladder, but it’s a long climb.”
“How do we get to it?” asked Aronoke, putting his holocommunicator away.
The maintenance shaft was long and narrow – it was an impossibly long way down, even at the point they entered it, and after the first unguarded glimpse, Aronoke kept his eyes firmly focussed on the rungs of the ladder above him. The shaft was almost narrow enough for him to touch both sides at once. It seemed an impossible distance to climb, although Draken assured him that it was no great haul up to the hatchway compared to the overall height of the shaft. Aronoke’s shoulders and legs ached from the effort of pulling himself up the rungs.
“Aronoke?” Draken’s voice echoed up from some distance below. “I don’t know that this was such a good idea. I don’t know how much further I can go.”
Aronoke paused. “Use your control, Draken, like they taught us. Use the Force to control the pain and the tiredness.”
“I don’t know,” said Draken, dubiously. “I’ve tried that already and I’m not sure it’s helping. What if we get too tired before we get there? What if we can’t make it any further?”
“Then I call for help on my holocommunicator, and we sit on the ladder until someone comes and gets us down,” said Aronoke reasonably. “It surely can’t be much further, Draken. Stop worrying about what might happen and concentrate. I’m sure you can do it if you try.”
There was silence for a few moments, presumably while Draken tried to calm his thoughts, and then Aronoke could hear the steady progress of Draken’s feet on the rungs below him.
Finally they reached the hatchway, and Aronoke was relieved to see that there was a small balcony where they could rest and not merely a hatch opening onto the outside of the Temple. Draken sat down wearily, while Aronoke examined the inside of the hatch.
“I can’t see how this opens,” he told Draken after a moment. “There aren’t any of the usual controls.”
“That’s because it’s usually only opened by droids,” said Draken knowledgeably. “There should be an emergency control panel. Let me look.”
Aronoke obligingly moved aside, while Draken climbed to his feet and spent a few minutes prodding and poking at the door panel. He brought out a peculiar gadget from his pocket, which made a slight zapping noise, and then suddenly the hatch was sliding open. Aronoke and Draken both hastily grabbed at the balcony railing as cold wind blasted in from outside, pushing them physically backwards.
“This is why the windows don’t open up here,” yelled Draken in Aronoke’s ear.
Outside there was no railing but merely a ledge that led out around the curved edge of the building. It seemed very similar to the ledge that Aronoke had sensed Ashquash clinging to, although it was wider, about as wide as a maintenance hallway, and sloped slightly down towards its outer edge. It would have been easy enough to traverse, were it not for the gale-force winds that were blasting across it.
“Perhaps you’d better wait here,” Aronoke yelled to Draken, and the younger boy nodded. The wind caught in Aronoke’s outer robes in an unpleasant way, so he stripped them off and passed them to Draken. His tunic and trousers flapped wildly, but didn’t balloon in the wind the way the robes did.
“Be careful,” yelled Draken clutching the balcony r
ailing in one hand and Aronoke’s robes in the other. “I don’t want to have to explain to that scary Master Bel’dor’ruch how I let the only other chiss Jedi get blown off the Temple.”
Aronoke nodded and made a brief gesture of farewell, and then he was moving out on to the ledge, the wind rushing by him with unrelenting fury.
Aronoke was grateful now that it had always been windy on Kasthir. His body remembered the way the wind played tricks with his balance and intuitively adjusted itself to the unpredictable gusts. He had never had much to do with heights there, but they didn’t bother him much, certainly not the way water did. At least the wind here was not full of sand. Aronoke’s hair whipped about his face, stinging his eyes, and he remembered anew why he had always kept his hair shorter before he came to the temple.
Slowly, one foot after another, he edged his way along the ledge, grateful that the surface was less slippery than it looked. On one side the bulk of the tower stretched above him, the slope of the wall not vertical, but so steeply angled there was no practical difference. On the other side was a yawning void, echoing down, down, down, to the bulky mass of the main part of the temple. In the distance beyond, lines of traffic streamed inexorably across the sky, far enough away for Aronoke to be indistinguishable to the vehicles’ occupants, masked as he was against the tower. If he fell from here, Aronoke thought, perhaps the wind would snatch him away from the building and he would tumble all the way down to the real surface of Coruscant, a mile or more beneath him. He wondered how long it would take to fall that far. It was unlikely that would happen though; he would have to be blown a vast distance. No, he would probably fall straight down, to impact on top of the temple with enough force to render him unrecognisable. A fully-trained Jedi might survive, but Aronoke doubted he had the necessary skills to slow his fall. His training in alteration techniques had been minimal.
There was no use thinking of that. It was far better to focus on finding poor Ashquash, who had presumably been out here for hours, since the middle of the night. Aronoke could sense she was nearby, around the curve of the tower a short distance away and slightly below him.
A sudden fierce gust snatched at Aronoke, so fiercely that he lost his balance and staggered forward several steps. He plastered himself to the wall for a moment, while the wind blew furiously, seemingly trying to pry him off and fling him out into the void. As soon as the gust abated, he hurriedly continued forward, hoping to get further into the lee of the tower before the next one commenced.
Much to Aronoke’s relief, the wind grew less fierce as he neared the side of the tower where Ashquash was. From here he could see down to another ledge, several body lengths beneath him. It looked narrower than the one Aronoke was on – about half the width – and in the middle he could see a bundle. It was Ashquash, her body pressed against the side of the building, her legs dangling over the edge, like she had fallen over sideways while sitting on a bench.
“Ashquash!” screamed Aronoke, hoping she would hear him over the wind. He called again and again, and on his third try he was relieved to see the bundle stir and come to life. Ashquash’s pale face peered up at him, the tattoos on her face distinctive even at this distance.
“Aronoke!” Ashquash’s voice sounded weak and croaky and was snatched aside by the wind. “I don’t know if I can sit here much longer! I’m so cold. I’m going to fall off.”
“Just wait there, Ashquash!” called Aronoke. “Just sit still. I’ll be there in a moment.”
He travelled along the ledge a little further, so as to be more out of the unpredictable wind gusting around the tower, and then looked down at the ledge beneath him. It was a difficult jump, although not so far below. Aronoke knew he could handle the distance easily enough, but it was treacherously narrow. If he bounced when he landed, or overbalanced, he might easily topple over the edge.
There would be only one try at this. It was something Aronoke knew Master Altus could do easily, but for him it was a different matter. He thought hard again about calling for help. It would be the sensible thing to do.
“Be careful, Aronoke!” came Ashquash’ voice, sounding weak and trembly.
It was Ashquash’s pinched face and desperate tone that decided him. What if she fell while he waited for help to arrive? Aronoke would never forgive himself. He would call for help once he was down there and she was safer from falling.
“I’m coming down,” he called. He closed his eyes and steadied himself for a moment. When he felt as calm as he felt he could manage, he drew upon the Force to find that perfect balanced place inside him, just as Master Squegwash had taught him to do during lightsaber training. He put aside his fear regarding the outcome, concentrating solely on the moment of action. The drop, his body, the ledge. The way his knees would have to bend to take the impact of his landing. The way his arms would spread to help keep his balance. Exactly where his feet would land. It all became connected in Aronoke’s mind, forming a simple series of motions – a small jump to the side, a brief fall angling slightly inwards, and a perfect landing.
It seemed to last forever, that moment in the air, and yet Aronoke felt no terror, only an exhilaration as his body perfectly expressed the pattern in his mind, like a musician feels as he plays a familiar and well-loved piece of music. A few steps along the narrow ledge, and there was Ashquash, looking sick, tired, and even paler than usual.
“Aronoke, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened -”
“Shh, it’s alright,” said Aronoke, sitting carefully down beside her. “Don’t worry about that until later. Are you okay? I’ll call for help in a moment, when I’ve got my breath.”
“What about your test?”
“It’s not that important,” said Aronoke. “Don’t worry about it. It’s more important that you’re safe.” He put one arm around her and pulled her snugly against him, holding her tightly to make sure she wouldn’t slip. She clutched at him almost as desperately as he had grabbed her when he thought he was drowning.
“Shh, sit still,” said Aronoke calmly. “You won’t fall, I’ve got you. You’ll feel warmer soon. Just try to stay calm and relax.”
“I’m so glad you came,” murmured Ashquash, burying her face in his shoulder. He could feel her body trembling with cold and fatigue. The icy chill of her face bit through the fabric of his shirt. Once he was sure she was settled, he went to get the holocommunicator out, and then he suddenly remembered it was in the pocket of his robes which he had left behind with Draken.
Aronoke’s heart sank. How could he have been so stupid? It might be ages before Draken noticed the holocommunicator and decided to call for help. The wind was far too fierce for Draken to hear him, even if Aronoke yelled as loudly as he could. Perhaps if Aronoke climbed around the ledge to the other side of the building – but the wind was too fierce on that side of the tower. Aronoke didn’t know if he could keep his balance on a ledge as narrow as this one.
No, it was best to sit and wait. Draken knew where they were. As time passed, Draken would grow alarmed and fetch help. Aronoke doubted he would wait very long to do so. Perhaps Draken could set off some sort of alarm from the panel near the hatchway and have them rescued that way.
He said nothing of this aloud to Ashquash and was debating how to tell her what had happened, when he suddenly felt her straighten beside him.
“Aronoke! Look! A speeder!”
Sure enough, a bright yellow speeder was flying cautiously around the tower towards them. Draken must have called for help already, Aronoke thought gratefully. The speeder held two occupants – one was a droid, who was flying it, and the other was a tall dark-skinned Jedi.
“Are you injured?” called the Jedi.
“No, we’re unharmed, Master,” Aronoke called back.
“I’ll have you down in a moment – just sit still.”
It was impressive how easily he managed it, Aronoke thought. He did not pause to collect himself or find his balance, but merely stood in the speeder while the droid manoeuvred it close to the building. As it drew close, he leapt with casual grace, akin to Master Altus’s effortless strength and agility, over to the narrow ledge.
“Take Ashquash first,” said Aronoke, edging over to give him space. “She’s very cold, and stiff and tired. I haven’t been here very long.”
“Just close your eyes and stay calm, Initiate,” the Jedi master boomed to Ashquash, his deep voice familiar to Aronoke now he was closer. “It will be over in a moment, and then you will be safe.”
He gathered her easily in his arms, and Aronoke felt an odd pang of jealousy. Jealous of his easy heroism? Jealous of him rescuing Ashquash, when all Aronoke had done was get himself in trouble alongside her? Aronoke didn’t have time to decide. The Jedi leapt across to the speeder, now positioned a short distance away and slightly below them, where he lowered Ashquash carefully into the back seat.
“Your turn now,” the Jedi called to Aronoke. “Do you think you can jump across, Initiate?”
“I think so,” replied Aronoke. The jump was nowhere near as difficult as the one down to the ledge had been. He climbed cautiously to his feet, no easy task on the narrow ledge.
“Take it steady,” warned the Jedi Master. “I’ll catch you if you misjudge.”
Aronoke took his time and jumped across. The speeder bobbed alarmingly as he landed, but the droid pilot steadied it skilfully. He gratefully sank into the front seat and fastened the straps.
Now Aronoke had a chance to look at their rescuer more calmly, he recognised him from his last meeting with the Jedi Council. Master Rosfantar. Aronoke’s heart sank. Being rescued by a member of the Jedi Council limited the chances of this all being quietly set aside.
“You initiates have some explaining to do,” said Master Rosfantar sternly, as if he could hear Aronoke’s thoughts, settling down into the back seat beside Ashquash. His gaze settled primarily on Aronoke, perhaps because he was the biggest, perhaps because they had met before. “Aronoke, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Master.”
“You’re lucky I happened by when I did,” Master Rosfantar scolded him sternly. “Fooling around on the outside of the tower spires goes beyond a prank. You could have both been killed.”
“That’s not what happened,” Ashquash protested weakly. “It’s not Aronoke’s fault. He just came to rescue me.”
“Draken didn’t call for help, Master?” asked Aronoke.
“There’s another one of you?” Master Rosfantar asked, sounding exasperated.
Aronoke gave directions, and T-3QV, Master Rosfantar’s protocol droid, piloted the speeder around the corner to where Draken was waiting, worried, wind-blown and very firmly clutching onto the balcony railing.
It was not long before Draken was also squeezed into the back of the speeder and they were all travelling back to the Jedi Temple.
“What about your test, Aronoke?” asked Ashquash. Her voice was little more than a whisper washing out from the back seat.
“It’s not important,” said Aronoke firmly. “Don’t worry about it. I can do it again some other time.”
“There’s still time,” said Draken. “You can make it if we hurry. That is, if you think he should still go, Master?”
“Test? Yes, you’re sitting for your trials, aren’t you?” said Master Rosfantar, eyeing Aronoke with some interest. He looked thoughtful for a long moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “I see no reason why I should detain you,” he said. “Initiate Ashquash obviously needs to visit the medical bay, but I don’t see why either of you others need be involved, if you can assure me that you won’t do anything as foolish as this again. Taking action is laudable, but best left in the hands of fully qualified Jedi. Next time, ask for help.”
Aronoke felt very uncertain. What was Master Rosfantar suggesting? He felt confused, having expected to have to justify his actions, if not to the Jedi Council, than at least to Master Insa-tolsa and Razzak Mintula.
“I don’t know,” said Aronoke uncertainly. “Shouldn’t we come along and explain things?”
“If you wish to come along and explain things, then of course you may do so,” said Master Rosfantar smoothly, as the speeder angled in to make a landing in the bay atop the Jedi Temple. “However, in that case you will almost certainly miss your scheduled test, and the Council is very intolerant of absenteeism or any lack of punctuality. I am sitting on the Jedi Council, and such an incident will almost certainly result in extra paperwork and quite possibly a meeting to discuss if you were at fault or not. Thus, in the interests of all concerned, I suggest the following scenario. I will escort Initiate Ashquash to the medical bay while you two initiates get back to whatever it is you are supposed to be doing. She can explain how she came to be on the outside of the Jedi Temple, and how I happened to fly by and spotted her clinging to a ledge. It is, after all, completely true.”
His expression was stern, but Aronoke could see an undeniably mischievous gleam in his eye.
“Yes, Master Rosfantar. It’s very decent of you to help us out like this,” said Draken meekly. He took Aronoke’s arm and practically pulled him out of the speeder as it completed its landing.
“But -” said Aronoke stupidly, looking at Ashquash.
“Go on, Aronoke!” Ashquash hissed. “You can make it if you run!”
Here I am, Aronoke thought, as he drew to a ragged stop in the corridor outside the examination room. He bent, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath and compose his mind. It was not how he had planned to arrive at his examination. Dishevelled, tired, and only just in time. He spent a moment steadying himself before he walked through the door.
“Ah, Initiate Aronoke,” said a human Jedi Master waiting in the room. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it. I am glad to see that you are – barely – on time. I am Examiner Nethlemor, and I will be overseeing your trials. Today you will be undertaking a written examination upon Jedi history and philosophy. Please proceed into the next room where the examination droid is waiting with your test.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke and he passed through the door into the next room. The door slid shut behind him.
The droid was waiting for him as expected. The examination room had a single chair, a desk with a datapad in the middle of it, and nothing more.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said the droid. “I am examination supervisor RT-39A. Please be seated. Your task today is to complete the written examination which is contained upon the datapad in front of you. You have four hours.”
Aronoke sat down, and activated the datapad, his mind spinning at the enormity of the task ahead of him. Three years ago he could not read. Now he had to write four essays on topics full of people and places he had never heard of then. On the sorts of things he had overheard Master Altus and Hespenara talking about. All those conversations that meant nothing.
When he saw the four chosen topics, he felt sick. They were none of the questions he had hoped would be chosen; none of the things he felt happily confident of answering well. On initial inspection they were all things he knew nothing about. He couldn’t even remember seeing these topics on the list provided. Was that part of the test?
Be calm. Focus. There was plenty of time to do this in. Aronoke closed his eyes for a long moment, and performed his favourite meditative exercise for a few minutes and then began again, feeling less panicky. He read all four questions through again, carefully and slowly, and picked the one which seemed least impossible to start with.
Consider the Eye of Zakarthrun from the perspective of Master Kendroh’lahn’s thesis on the Morality of Force Persuasion Techniques.
He had read a little about the Eye of Zakarthrun. It was some sort of evil sith mind-control artefact that had caused the Jedi Order an immense amount of trouble half a century ago. Force persuasion was also a kind of mind control – mind tricks like Hespenara had tried to use on him – although he didn’t know what Master Ken-whatsit’s perspective on it was. He guessed that Initiates would probably not be taught much about Master Ken-whatsit’s thesis if it didn’t somehow agree with the modern view on such things. He forced himself to begin writing an essay that followed the theme of “Mind Control: Bad but Sometimes Preferable to Violence”.
He had not got very far when suddenly the ventilation duct in the corner of the room began making a peculiar clanking noise. Aronoke glanced at it and saw nothing amiss other than the annoying sound and brought his attention back on his writing. A few minutes later, he noticed that the room was becoming very cold, enough to make him shiver through his robes.
As if he hadn’t been cold enough already this morning!
Doubtlessly this was part of the test, Aronoke thought. It was not simply a written examination after all. He had been taught how to regulate his body temperature to cope with extreme heat and cold, and now he used the Force to maintain his temperature at a comfortable level while he continued writing.
The second topic was more difficult than the first.
Consider the rise of the intraorder collective known as the Jedi Covenant and discuss the events that culminated in the Padawan Massacre of Taris.
Aronoke did his best to write an essay that attempted to demonstrate his sparse knowledge of the history of that period. He was close to the end of the time he had set aside for it when a maintenance droid came into the room and began tinkering with the ventilation ducting, making loud mechanical noises and operating a welding torch. Aronoke eyed it suspiciously, hoping it was not some strange attempt by his harasser to manipulate him, but the droid seemed quite intent upon performing its maintenance duties.
Now is not the time to worry about it, Aronoke told himself firmly. Even if it is unusual, you should attempt to complete the test. A droid doing maintenance is no threat, only a distraction. He forced himself to concentrate on the datapad and ignore the droid working around him. It was more difficult to ignore the changes in temperature. First the room became even colder, then unbearably hot and stuffy, and then there was a horrible oily smell that made him want to cough.
It’s part of the test, Aronoke told himself, and did his best to use the Force to counteract the unpleasant temperature swings and to help him breathe shallowly.
The third essay went badly.
Rate the importance of the major works of Master Aiiohn Jahr, Master Bashiboru and Master Kligh, and discuss how they affected Jedi doctrine within their respective eras.
He really did not know anything about those Masters or their works at all. He had heard of the writings of Kligh Botu, but was that even the same Master Kligh? Aronoke felt very despondent, but forced himself to write a detailed speculation to show he was concentrating. It was better, surely, to write something than to write nothing at all.
Part of his mind was thinking of how he would write the fourth essay, which he had deemed the hardest and had saved for last.
Relate the most historically significant action taken by Padawan Reloo Sey and discuss its importance and value within Jedi teachings.
Suddenly, while he was still trying to think of things to write for the third essay, a memory popped into Aronoke’s head. It was back when he and Ashquash had been studying together, when Aronoke had first realised how much they both had changed.
“Do you understand what they mean us to learn by this?” Aronoke had asked. “Why does he just walk off into the desert, instead of helping the villagers or killing the Sith? I don’t understand how he can just do nothing.”
“It’s because neither is a good decision,” Ashquash had said. “He chooses consciously to make no decision, rather than to make a bad one.”
They had been talking about Padawan Reloo Sey. It was a trick question in a way – Reloo Sey’s most significant action, as recorded by history, had been to choose to do nothing.
When he started the fourth essay, Aronoke found it much easier to compose than he had dared hope.
By the time he had finished, the temperature in the room had returned to normal and the droid had finished its work and removed itself as if nothing had ever happened.
“Your time is up,” said the examination droid, presenting itself. “You may leave now.”
Aronoke’s mouth was dry, his head was aching from the aftereffects of the dreadful smell, and he felt a little dizzy, but all in all, he decided he had not done badly. He had written four essays and had known something relevant about three of them. It would have been unimaginable to his eleven-year-old self when he had arrived at the Jedi Temple.
In the outer room, Examiner Nethlemor was waiting for him.
“Very good,” Master Nethlemor said. “You will be informed of the results of this first test after you have completed all your examinations. Your next examination will be held in one week’s time. You will be informed formally by message regarding the details. It is expected that you will not discuss these tests with other initiates. You may tell them if you thought you did well or poorly, but nothing regarding the nature of the test itself. There are harsh punishments for doing so.”
“Of course, Master,” said Aronoke. He hesitated.
“Is there anything else?” asked Master Nethlemor.
“Just… the maintenance droid, and all the distractions. They were intentional, weren’t they?” asked Aronoke.
“Yes,” said Master Nethlemor. “The test is designed to test your control skill, to see if you can ignore the distractions while writing your essays. The written examination is not the solitary focus of the exercise.”
“Yes, of course,” said Aronoke, reassured. “I thought as much. I wanted to be certain.”
He went back to his room wondered what the next test would be like. If it would be just as tricky.
He was called into Instructor Mintula’s office shortly after his return.
Instructor Mintula looked very tired. “I have some bad news for you Aronoke,” she said. “It’s about Ashquash.”
Aronoke’s mind fled back to the events of that morning, which, dramatic as they were, had been set aside in his determination to focus on the examination.
“I’m afraid she was drugged again,” said Razzak Mintula wearily. “She was walking through the temple last night, unable to sleep, when she was overcome by dizziness and fell unconscious. We suspect she was subjected to some sort of tranquilliser. She awoke in a dangerous place high up on the outside the Jedi Temple, but was fortunately found by Master Rosfantar before she could come to any harm. She is in the medical facility recovering. She was in quite a bad way. I must ask, although I am sure you would have told someone, if you noticed anything last night.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t even wake up,” said Aronoke truthfully. “It’s terrible that something like that could happen to her again.”
“It’s unforgivable that something like this could happen to a student under my care,” said Razzak Mintula. Her composure was slipping, Aronoke noticed. He could tell that this new attack on Ashquash had made her angry, and it was showing despite her efforts to control her temper.
“I’m sorry, Mentor,” said Aronoke. “These things would not happen if I was not here.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Razzak Mintula shortly.
“I know that,” said Aronoke. “But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. That is why I agreed to do my tests early when I would really prefer to stay longer. I don’t want anyone else to suffer because of me.”
“I swore to myself that I would not let it happen again,” Razzak Mintula said. “It makes me feel very ineffective.”
“You might try meditation, Instructor,” said Aronoke. “I find it very helpful.”
“Yes,” said Razzak Mintula a little wryly. “Perhaps I should. Thank you, Aronoke, that is all.”
“You are looking very tired, Instructor,” said Aronoke. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, there really isn’t,” said Razzak Mintula.
Aronoke bowed respectfully and left.
The details regarding the next examination arrived the next day. There was not much information regarding what sort of test it would be. Aronoke suspected that it would be a physical trial rather than a written examination like the last test. It stood to reason that if there were only three trials in total, at least one of them would evaluate physical training. Perhaps, he thought, there would also be a test specifically of his Force abilities, or maybe that would be incorporated into the other tests like it had in the first.
He made himself take things easy that week, taking up a relaxed schedule of running, lightsaber practice and meditation. He continued with his reading, although not so intensely. He tried not to worry about Ashquash.
But the attack on her had made him angry and it was difficult to forget. There was only one good way he knew to deal with his anger and that was to release it. He knew better than to use it to power an attack against his enemies – that was the Dark side and how Vark had tried to corrupt him. He must instead let it dissipate and step back into a place of calmness, from which he could strike with balance and foresight when his enemies presented themselves.
It was most frustrating that there was nothing he could do now. His enemies were mysterious and ephemeral, remaining as stubbornly hidden as ever. Their intentions were incomprehensible. Had the attack on Ashquash been intended to ruin Aronoke’s chances to pass his trials? Or was there some other hidden purpose?
They had done these things to hurt him through Ashquash. He would do something demonstrating his control over his anger and fear, something to strengthen himself. Something that Ashquash had wanted him to do.
He would go swimming.
He asked permission first. “May I go down to the pool this afternoon to practice swimming, Instructor Mintula?” Aronoke asked. He was gratified to notice the expression of surprise that crossed her face, although she recovered quickly. “I will be careful not to interfere with the other classes.”
“Uh… yes, I expect that will be fine, Aronoke. I will just send a request to the pool staff to let them know that you are coming. But perhaps it is better that you do not go alone.”
“Can I take Draken with me, Instructor? I’m sure he would like that.”
“Yes, that seems like a good idea,” said Razzak Mintula.
“Swimming? Really? Just us?” Draken was very cheerful and surprised when Aronoke told him. “Let me get my things!” he said, rushing away tumultuously.
Together they rode the elevator down to the pool and traversed the long hallway where Aronoke had encountered the exploding droid, and Ashquash had run away.
“You’re really going swimming?” asked Draken as they walked. He looked sideways at Aronoke with some wariness as they walked down to the pool. “No one’s forcing you to? Or is it something that you’re going to have to do on your test?”
“I don’t know what will be on the test,” said Aronoke. “It’s just something I want to do. I can’t go on being scared of it forever. I won’t let myself.”
Draken looked a little awed. He knew how much Aronoke had always hated water. How he didn’t like dressing in a swimsuit either.
Aronoke had anticipated a struggle when it came to the moment, expected his courage to fail, but his control was gratifyingly firm. It was like the day when he had visited the water purification plant. Swimming was not the point. It was incidental. This exercise had another point. Distraction was a powerful tool.
He could feel the fear was still there, but he accepted it and that robbed it of its power. He did not like the feeling of the cold water kissing his skin, but he thought of Ashquash spending all those hours cold and alone on the side of the tower.
It was easier than it had ever been before. Aronoke focused on maintaining his inner balance. He made the physical act of swimming a form of meditation in motion, like his running often was. Like his lightsaber fighting had become. A way of using his mind and body in unison, while the Force served to direct both.
He swam across the pool and back, several times. He wasn’t a good swimmer – his movements were awkward and splashy – but grace would only come with practice.
“Wow,” said Draken, when he finally climbed out. “Congratulations. You really did it.”
“Yes,” said Aronoke, smiling. “I don’t expect I will ever be as good as you are, but at least I have learned a little.”
A recorded message came from Ashquash that evening, a stilted, awkward message.
“I wanted you to know I’m alright,” Ashquash said, although she looked terrible, Aronoke thought. “I wanted you to know that I hope you do well in your tests. You should try your hardest, Aronoke, and not let anything interfere.”
Aronoke felt proud of her. Maybe she was really going to make it after all.
“Master Skeirim is returning to the Jedi Temple and they’re keeping me in rooms near his chambers for the time being, until your trials are over,” said recorded-Ashquash.
Until he was safely off-planet and the persecutions might stop, Aronoke thought.
“I hope we meet again before you leave, but that might not be possible,” said Ashquash. “I’m sure you’ll pass. Sure you’ll get snapped up by a Master too.”
“I’m sure we’ll meet again,” muttered Aronoke to himself aloud, feeling sad that Ashquash wasn’t coming back to Clan Herf, and that they mightn’t study together ever again.
He sent a return message, trying to sound upbeat and encouraging. He told her that he thought his first test had gone passably well, and that he had gone swimming today. He knew she would understand what that meant and why he was telling her.
The time of the second test came all too quickly, and Aronoke was careful to present himself to the examination room in a timely fashion this time. He was greeted by Master Nethlemor as before, and this time when he walked in, he was presented with an array of practice sabres.
“You may choose a weapon,” said the examination droid, presenting a number of blades for his inspection. Aronoke took his time, weighting several of the weapons in his hands before choosing one as close to his own practice blade as possible.
“Please proceed through this door,” said the droid, and Aronoke walked through. On the other side was a medical chamber. He was surprised to recognise the same medical droid who handled all his medical treatment.
“Hello, D2,” said Aronoke. “What are you doing here?”
“Greetings Initiate Aronoke. It is a pleasure to serve you as always,” said the droid. “This examination requires that you wear special lenses in your eyes and I am here to administer them. If you would please sit here?”
Aronoke submitted to the lenses being placed under his eyelids. They were momentarily uncomfortable and blurred his vision slightly, but he soon adjusted to the feel of them.
“You may proceed through this door to undertake your examination,” said the droid. “Good luck.”
Aronoke walked through the next door. He found himself standing in a corridor as the door slid shut behind him. A distance ahead stood what looked to be a four armed Trandoshan wielding a vibroblade in each hand. It seemed to be waiting for him.
Well, here goes, thought Aronoke, stepping forward without thinking.
His foot passed straight through the floor.
He found himself falling through the air. His body automatically moved to minimise his impact, but the drop was not sheer. Large padded blocks swung across the well, and Aronoke had to twist to avoid being smacked by them. He managed to avoid the worst of it, but was slapped firmly across the side of his head by one. He landed at the bottom a little disoriented and dizzy, but mostly unharmed.
That was stupid, he thought as he picked himself up. You knew they put lenses in your eyes for a reason! So you can’t trust your eyes! He took a deep, steadying breath and slowly released his grip on his sense abilities. His Force senses would not lie to him.
“Some Jedi you’ll make, running blind,” he snorted at himself derisively. He was so accustomed to shielding himself, it had not immediately occurred to him to actually make use of his hyperacute senses.
He firmly set the matter aside. If falling meant he had failed already, that was too bad. Time to concentrate on getting out of here and finishing the test.
The corridor at the bottom was relatively short, punctuated with several traps that were glaringly easy to spot with his Force senses, although invisible to his doctored eyes. It led to a small chamber from which there was no exit save for a shaft stretching upwards. Aronoke could see that it was a climbing test, a complicated tangle of handholds and angled surfaces. There were other traps up there too – fake handholds, sliding panels and other tricks to upset the unwary.
With some effort he began making his way up the wall, concentrating on making it from one position to another, avoiding the traps easily enough now he knew what to expect. He was careful to look ahead to plan his route. Didn’t want to manoeuvre himself into an untenable position.
He was halfway up, in the middle of swinging from one handhold to another, when suddenly everything winked into darkness.
Cunning, he thought, steadying himself for a moment, but he trusted his Force senses to see him past this new difficulty. He pushed them out a little further to more clearly sense the next section as he reached for the next hold…
…They snapped out. Out, out, out. Far further than he had ever reached before. The enormity of the distance his mind stretched made him feel microbially small, because it was so mind-bogglingly huge. He had never been able to reach through the shielding of the Jedi Temple before, but now it was simply not there. He was simultaneously aware of four different scenes, instantly and intimately familiar with the details of each with dazzling clarity. Knew with absolute certainty that they were real things.
In one place bone-sucking worms coiled and writhed, buried deep below the ground on Kasthir. Aronoke knew it was Kasthir, even without the bone-sucking worms, from the heat and the familiar smell of fumes. The floor was loose red sand. A statue stood there, a simple monolith that seethed with barely restrained Dark Force energy.
In another place Hespenara stood in carbonite, frozen in place, her face captured in a moment of intense concentration. It was a garden filled with red trumpet-shaped flowers, and around her alien sentients played frivolous idle games. The aliens were small, furry and quick moving, and they paid Hespenara no attention while they cavorted.
In a third place, it was dark and smelt of fear, but the familiar shape of Master Altus was there, in both body and mind, reciting platitudes to hold back pain. Above lay a great immensity of water in which an unfamiliar sentient species swam. Nearby there were machines, great robotic platforms that floated in the water. Aronoke could sense a woman wearing a uniform, a cruel expression twisting her pretty face.
In the last place, there was a narakite who looked a lot like Ashquash, although Aronoke knew that it was not her. It was an artificial place, a ship or a station deep in the reaches of space. The person was wearing manacles and she was being pushed out an airlock.
The lights came on again.
He hit the ground very hard and screamed involuntarily as he felt his collar bone snap along with something else in his chest. He lay still for a long moment, stunned. So much time seemed to have passed, yet he had experienced all that in the tiny sliver it had taken to fall down the shaft and hit the ground.
Great, it had to happen in the middle of a test. He had failed for certain. All he wanted to do was to lie there and wait until someone came to pick him up, but he knew that would be giving up. He refused to give up without a struggle.
Pain is nothing, Aronoke told himself. Is this as bad as what Careful Kras did? As bad as all those things that happened on Kasthir? No. Pain was something he was well acquainted with, an enemy so old it almost felt like a friend. It couldn’t beat him.
He began to slowly get up. Agony sliced through his chest.
I don’t need to do this the hard way, he thought dully. I’m a Jedi. Jedi can deal with things like this. Like Master Altus in that vision. He sat still, willing himself to be calm, and gathered the Force to control his pain to a bearable level. It was a lot better, but he still didn’t know if he could climb with a broken collar bone.
There was a click and a sliding noise near the floor, and something tumbled out from a panel in the wall. A medpac. Aronoke had seen those before and knew how they worked, although he had never had to use one on himself. It was relatively simple – there were even instructions. The pain receded further as the drugs kicked in.
He could climb now, he thought. He hoped that wouldn’t cause further damage.
In some ways, it was easier the second time. He knew how to move from handhold to handhold and was expecting the darkness to wink in, although it didn’t happen at precisely the same time. He had his Force senses ready for it now. Nevertheless he was very glad to reach the top and swing up over the edge. He wanted nothing but to lie there and recover, but he had not forgotten the Trandoshan waiting there. He tried to get up quickly, but his injuries made him slow, and a practice blade slammed into his arm while he stumbled to his feet, hard enough to bruise thoroughly.
He did his best to parry and block the incoming blows with his own saber. To make his own attacks using nothing but his Force senses to guide him. He didn’t know that he did Master Squegwash’s training any justice at all. The wrongness of the grinding bones in his chest made his movements clumsy, even if he could ignore the pain.
Then the bout seemed to be over. The world blinked back into light, and he could see the Trandoshan making a formal bow to him, which he returned.
A door opened at the other end of the corridor.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said Master Nethlemor. “You gave us quite a scare there. You are going to require some medical attention. Please come through and see the medical droid immediately.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke automatically, his mind racing. He had to tell them about the visions but now the trial was over and he had stopped concentrating so fiercely on finishing, his injuries were distracting in a way that had nothing to do with pain. He could tell he was seriously hurt, even though he mostly felt numb. Blood leaked internally from the damaged tissues surrounding his broken bones. The rush of cells hurrying to attempt to alleviate the damage was deafening. Without really noticing, Aronoke allowed himself to be ushered into the medical bay and helped to lie down.
D-2 removed the lenses from his eyes and began scanning him. Aronoke was happy to lie there, hyperaware of his body and replaying the visions he had seen in his mind. He remembered them with absolute precision, unlike if he had seen them with his eyes.
“You are going to require treatment in a kolto tank,” said the droid. “Your collar bone is broken, and you have one broken rib and several fractures. Some of the surrounding tissues have also suffered damage. If these injuries are treated promptly, they will be repaired very quickly, but any delay will cause an exponential extension in the healing time required.”
“Okay,” said Aronoke, “but I need to talk to Master Insa-tolsa first, before I go into the tank. It’s important.”
“Any further delay is inadvisable,” objected D-2, but Aronoke was adamant. “Can you speak to Master Insa-tolsa by holocommunicator? That would be faster.”
“No,” said Aronoke. “It has to be in person.” He had to tell Master Insa-tolsa what he had seen before he went in tank. It might be important. Might help Master Altus and Hespenara.
His request was relayed to Master Nethlemor.
“Master Nethlemor has agreed that you should be allowed to speak with Master Insa-tolsa before I continue your medical treatment,” said the droid reluctantly. “On the condition that you allow yourself to be prepared for the tank in the interim.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” said Aronoke wearily. Submitting himself to the indignity of being helped to undress was unpleasant, but he could not bring himself to care. Having various injections applied to him was a strange distraction, because Aronoke could sense exactly what the drugs were doing inside his body. It seemed hardly any time at all before Master Insa-tolsa appeared. At one time Aronoke would have felt terribly threatened by having the ithorian master see him in his underwear, but now that was secondary amongst his concerns.
“Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa, “I’m sorry you have been hurt. You should really be in a kolto tank already, so I will be brief. You wished to tell me something?”
“I had some strange visions during the test, Master,” said Aronoke.
“It is common for students to have strange visions during this examination,” said Master Insa-tolsa, but Aronoke shook his head. “Maybe, Master, but this is important. I was trying to extend my senses during the test and perhaps I pushed a little hard. They suddenly snapped out and I saw these things without meaning to. That’s why I fell off the wall.” He went on to describe the four scenes, in as much detail as he could, while Master Insa-tolsa listened attentively.
“I will be sure to record and consider these visions,” said Master Insa-tolsa reassuringly, “and to report them to those seeking Hespenara and Master Altus, but now you must go into the kolto tank, Aronoke. We can speak again when you come out.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke, suddenly feeling profoundly tired. He let himself relax back against the bench as the droid pressed another injector against his arm.
He didn’t remember Master Insa-tolsa leaving the room or anything else. He must have passed out. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the green strangeness of the kolto tank, feeling confused about where he was. He felt mildly fretful about being submerged, but was too lethargic and momentarily weak to do anything about it. Then he was raised out of the tank, helped to clean himself off and get dressed.
He felt fine. A little weak and tired still, but nothing to cause him concern. His chest ached mildly, but he had been told this would pass. That he should take things easy for a few days.
“You are free to go, Initiate Aronoke,” said the medical droid, after running a final scan. “Please return if you suffer any further symptoms from your injuries.”
“Thank you, D-2,” said Aronoke, glad to be returning to his clan.
“Aronoke’s back!” yelled Giscardia, as he came in. It was late afternoon, he realised belatedly, and the whole clan was enjoying its free time.
“Aronoke!” said Draken. “How was your test? We heard you were hurt. What happened?” He hesitated a moment. “Oh, I suppose you can’t really tell us, because the tests are all secret.”
“I had an accident,” said Aronoke. “Broke a couple of bones, but it’s all better now. They put me in a kolto tank and I’m fine.”
“What about the test? Did you still pass?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Aronoke. “Mostly it went well.”
“Well, I hope you passed,” said Draken. “Not like I’m looking forward to getting rid of you or anything.”
“One more to go,” mused Aronoke. “I can’t say I’ll be sorry to have it out of the way.”
Draken nodded gloomily. He seemed to have little doubt that Aronoke would pass and be spirited away as a Padawan. His faith was heartening and made Aronoke feel guilty that Draken was doomed to be left behind.
He told himself again that Draken would doubtlessly be a better Jedi for getting to spend so many peaceful years in the Jedi temple, even if it wasn’t what Draken himself wanted.
There was a noise like the Procurator’s tower flying through the air and crashing into another one just like it, and light in colours Tash could not recognise that made his eyes hurt, and a thunderous wind that was unbearably hot and unbearably cold in turn. Stabbing pain struck Tash first in one place, then in all of them, and he would have shrieked like a baby if he had been able to breathe. Tighter than he had ever held anything, he clung to the silver cord.
Something in Tash mastered the worst of the pain and the worst of the chaos, and it seemed to him then that he was being pulled through places that could not possibly exist and that he could not possibly have imagined, one swiftly being replaced by the next.
It was black in all directions, and very cold filled with distant points of brilliant light, and great metal machines were floating through it while some sort of winged men or beast flew about them; then there was a wilderness of yellow sand that clutched at Tash with a horrible grasping dryness, and a thing like a man made out of marsh worms peering up at him through a dome of green glass; there were mountains of something bitterly cold that cracked and fell into a sea of tumultuous grey froth as he passed; there was a forest of leafless trees under a virulent pink sky, through which hordes of things like flying gnawers chased each other, and when he passed close to one of the trees he saw that it had eyes. Then there was an endless city of bronze, its streets thronged with some kind of four-limbed men who looked almost as if they were made out of polished stone, with a black sky that had the same points of light as the first place he had seen, but dimmer. And then there was a vast plain of brightly-coloured plants, with roughly-hewn stones of great size arranged in innumerable lines and circles on it. He found himself falling towards the middle of one of these and squeezed his eyes shut so he would not see himself hit the ground.
Then the unimaginable din was replaced by silence, and Tash found himself standing in a field. The only sound was the wind, sighing inexorably through the branches of the plants which extended endlessly in every direction. They came up no higher than Tash’s knees, and were a bewildering variety of colours – green, and blue, and golden, and a vivid red, violet, and silver, tumbled together in such a mad profusion that looking at them made him a little queasy. The sky overhead was a deep blue. In one direction something horribly bright was in the sky, far too bright for Tash to look near, let alone at it. The air was warm and had a bitter flavour, and he found himself taking quick shallow breaths of it.
‘I wonder if there is where I am supposed to be,’ thought Tash. He was disturbed to find that he was no longer clutching the silver cord, though he had been holding on to it with all his strength. ‘At least there is no one here doing anything horrid to me.’ Having nothing better to do, he walked towards the nearest of the standing stones, which was about fifty yards away. Up close the stone, though left unshaped and unpolished, was carved all over with what seemed to be proofs of theorems in geometry.
‘What a curious thing to do,’ thought Tash, forgetting to worry about the loss of the silver cord or what would become of him in this strange landscape, and peering at the theorems. It seemed to him, though he was not quite sure, that if he looked away from one and then looked back at again it was a different theorem the second time. Yes, he was almost quite sure. He looked away and looked back at one particular theorem a fourth time. He did not look at it a fifth time, because his attention was distracted by a long note from something like a horn sounding in the distance. He headed off in the direction of the sound to find what might be making it.
Before too long Tash could hear other sounds, the sounds of a group of men approaching him, and he could see them coming across the meadow. They were almost like thalarka, but not quite: they were more feathered, and taller, and Tash had the feeling that without their feathers they would be quite a skinny sort of people. Their feathers were the most beautiful things Tash had yet seen – they had the opalescent quality of looking different colours from different directions and glittered impressively in the bright light. Tash felt drab and grey beside them. There were somewhere between a dozen and a score of them, and they were in a hurry. They all had bright red eyes.
‘Are you the inscrutable powers?’ asked Tash hopefully. This did not seem to be such an unpleasant place, and these people did not seem so very unpleasant.
‘This is the one,’ said one of the men. Several of the others threw a large net over Tash.
There did not seem to be any point in struggling with these men, who were very strong, so he meekly let himself be tied up. Up close, they seemed to come in two kinds: one slightly taller, who wore belts as thickly encrusted with jewels as any of the priests Tash had seen in the Procurator’s tower, and one slightly shorter, who wore collars of some drab metal.
‘No wonder the lines were tangled,’ said one of the tallest of the men, coming up to examine Tash closely once he was safely tied up. ‘This one has not even been attuned. Hzghra!’ Tash was not sure at first if this last word was a curse, or somebody’s name, but decided it was a name when one of the shorter ones hurried up. It leaned in close to Tash and examined the hand he had been holding the cord in, then jabbed it without warning with a sharp metal object.
‘Ow!’ said Tash.
‘This one is attuned to Gith-Khash, but only weakly,’ said the shorter man. ‘It has not come completely unattached.’
‘Bring this one to the sorting chamber,’ said the tall thalarka-like man who had said that Tash had not even been attuned. ‘Nine and Ninety Transparent Godlings, what a tangle.’ The men seemed to say something in the same kind of voice, an impatient way of talking with a whistle in it that made it impossible to tell whether they were really irritated or not. Maybe they were all always irritated.
For the first time one of the opalescent thalarka addressed Tash directly. It was the one who had stabbed his hand, and what it said was ‘Do not be very alarmed’.
‘I will try not to be,’ he assured the creature.
Several of the opalescent thalarka-like men picked Tash up then – he had been trussed into a bundle convenient for carrying – and carried him briskly off across the meadow.
‘What purpose do you serve?’ one of the taller ones asked Tash.
‘I don’t know,’ said Tash.
‘Do you know what sphere you originate from?’
‘No,’ said Tash. He would have bowed his head and let his arms droop if he had not been tied up. It occurred to Tash that perhaps the old thalarka who had sent him here did not know what he was doing as well as he thought he did.
Tash was carried to a circle of standing stones, in the centre of which the grass and flowers had been trampled down to packed earth. In the centre of this was what appeared at first to be a pool of water, but as they drew closer it became apparent it was a hole in time and space, like Tash had seen the gnawers make. Instead of just ending, it was bounded neatly with stones. Tash was not very alarmed until it became evident that the almost-thalarka were going to toss him into it; then he did become very alarmed, but he was tied up too tightly to do anything about it.
He flew through the air. There was a very brief tingling and pain as he fell into the void, and then he found himself in a large round stone room. There were some dozens of the thalarka-like men in it, but it was large enough that there was plenty of room between them. Around the edge were any number of intricate clockwork gadgets, and the walls were covered with carved images – of theorems in geometry, but also of machines, and buildings, and different kinds of men – that were most certainly moving as Tash looked at them. At the centre of the room was a vertical hole into the void, made somehow into the sides of a triangular block of black stone that slowly turned around. Tash supposed he had got from there to the edge of the room somehow; and also had been untied, since he was standing up and unbound. Some time seemed to be missing from his life, and one of his shoulders stung as if something had bitten it. He rubbed it and this seemed to help a little.
The shortest of the thalarka-like creatures he had yet seen, barely taller than Tash himself, was standing in front of him, holding out a cone with something green in it.
‘What is it?’ asked Tash.
‘Lime ice,’ said the man.
‘Thank you,’ said Tash, sniffing it curiously. It seemed like the kind of thing you could eat, but had no odour of vinegar to it at all.
‘What is this place?’ Tash asked the man who had given him the lime ice.
‘This is the sorting chamber,’ the short almost-thalarka said proudly.
‘What will you do with me?’
‘We will untangle your line from the other lines you have been entangled with, and sort you.’
‘Oh,’ said Tash, understanding this as well as he had understood anything else in this place where nothing made sense.
‘Please,’ said the man. It gestured that Tash should stand someplace other than where he was standing, and he went to the place indicated. It was marked off from the rest of the room with a kind of rope strung between poles, and contained a number of things that looked like they were made to be sat on, though neither of the creatures already there were sitting down. They were peculiar sorts of things. They did not come up much above Tash’s knees, and were evidently the same kind of creature, though they were dressed very differently and the tufts of fibrous material coming out of their heads were different colours and arranged in different ways. Like the feathered men, they had two arms and two legs, and flat sorts of faces with two eyes. One of them had something sticky and glistening on its face, and was making noises that sounded distressed. The other was eating lime ice out of a paper cone and rubbing its shoulder. As Tash approached, the one who was making the distressed noises looked at him and became more distressed, while the other one’s eyes went very wide.
‘What manner of creature are you?’ asked the short pasty creature with the lime ice. ‘I have not seen your like before.’ It was wearing a single black garment that was tied around its middle with a belt and came down to a little below where its knees ought to be.
‘I am a thalarka,’ said Tash, feeling an unworthy satisfaction at being the cause of mystification in someone else for a change.
The creature stared back at Tash in a way that made him uncomfortable. It nodded slowly, and took a bite of its lime ice. It took large, quick bites, as if it was used to eating rarely and in a hurry. ‘I am a human being,’ it said. ‘They call me Number Five Girl, but I call myself Nera.’
‘They call me Tash and I call myself that too,’ said Tash. The other creature that he supposed must be a human being too was slowly making quieter and quieter distressed noises, and rubbing its sticky face. It was wearing complicated garments with tubes around its legs and what seemed to be two or three layers of stuff covering its arms and chest.
‘I don’t know that one’s name,’ said the human being who called herself Nera. ‘I think he comes from somewhere nice.’
Tash nodded. He would be very distressed as well, if he had come to this strange place from somewhere nice. He took a bite of the lime ice and found it to be very cold, disconcertingly crunchy, and overwhelming in its sweetness, but nevertheless very pleasant.
‘It is like eating snow, isn’t it?’ asked Nera, in a somewhat more friendly tone befitting the camaraderie of fellow lime-ice eaters.
‘I don’t know,’ said Tash. He did not want to admit that he did not know what snow was, so he did not inquire. ‘How is it that we can understand each other?’ he asked. ‘I am bad at understanding women’s language at home.’
Nera shrugged her shoulders. ‘Magic?’ she suggested.
‘What are you doing here?’ Tash asked.
‘My masters,’ said Nera. ‘Put me through to try and swap me with somebody from the other world. That one there who’s crying, I suppose. But we didn’t end up in each other’s worlds, we both ended up here. The bird people said something about our line being tangled up in some other line. My guess is that something went wrong.’ She crumpled up her empty paper cone and let it drop to the floor.
‘I think that might have been me,’ said Tash. ‘They said something about lines being tangled to me, too.’
‘And what are you doing here?’ asked Nera. She had very piercing sorts of eyes.
‘Someone just… sent me here,’ said Tash. ‘I don’t know why.’
Nera nodded in sympathy. ‘It’s pretty bad where you come from, isn’t it?’
Tash nodded in return.
‘What do they call you?’ Nera asked the other small human being, who was just coming to an end of crying in a series of long stuttering sobs. But Tash never found out what is was called, because just then a large group of the thalarka-like men trooped back in, which set it off crying again. The group split into three groups, circled on each of the displaced travellers.
A single very tall man who wore a white crystal between its eyes addressed them.
‘There is no need to exhibit distress. You will soon all be returned to the correct spheres. At the moment we are making the final adjustments to the binding incantations, and the trajectories to return you to your points of translocation will be immanentised very shortly.’
‘Are you sending us back where we came from?’ asked Tash, uneasily.
‘Yes,’ said the very tall man. ‘Send this one first,’ he said, indicating the sticky-faced human who was making all the noise.
‘No!’ said Tash. He could not bear being sent back to the old thalarka and the gnawers, to the dark labyrinth, the watchful eye of the Overlord and the near certainty of being sacrificed. ‘No!’ He threw his arms in the air, losing grip on his lime ice, and broke free of the knot of men surrounding him.
‘You must be patient,’ said the man who wore the white stone, exasperated. ‘The trajectory immanentisations are not yet complete.’
‘I’m not going back,’ cried Tash. ‘I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!’ He dashed in random directions like a small mire-beast on the road that loses its wits when a cart approaches. The thalarka-like men were hurrying towards him from all over the room now, surrounding him, closing in on him.
‘The portal,’ said Nera, who had somehow broken away from her own group of watchers and was suddenly there at his side.
‘The portal,’ cried Tash, running toward it. If they were sending the crying one first, than the portal ought to lead to its world, surely, the one that was nice.
‘Stop! It is perilous!’ called one of the men. Nera, with her short legs, could not keep up with Tash, and the almost-thalarka blocked her way, but Tash was inspired by a sudden rush of heroism. Knocking one of the men sprawling – they were strong, but they were not heavy when you got them by surprise, he thought – he swept Nera up in his arms and hurled them both at the hole in space and time.
‘Nine and Ninety-‘ the very tall thalarka-like man who seemed to be in charge began saying. Its words were cut off by the chaos of the void.
After Master Bel’dor’ruch’s arrival, everything moved quickly. It was not long before Master Insa-tolsa sent Aronoke a message telling him that he was to be accepted as a candidate for the Padawan trials, which would proceed as soon as he had reached the sixth level of training in the way of the lightsaber. Aronoke was currently learning the third level, and to hasten his progress he was to be provided with extra tutelage by Weapon Master Squegwash.
“I would have you realise what an honour it is for Master Squegwash to agree to instruct you personally in this way,” said Mentor Snesgrul when he saw Aronoke during his usual training sessions with Clan Ryllak. “He takes very few students, only the best, and has very exacting standards of formality. You must be on your best behavior, Aronoke.”
“I will, Mentor Snesgrul,” said Aronoke and armed with this sage advice, he determined to be exactingly polite to Master Squegwash at all times.
Master Squegwash was perhaps human, perhaps not. Mostly he looked human, but Aronoke could not tell if he was even actually male. Mentor Snesgrul had seemed to think so, but Mentor Snesgrul was a bothan and perhaps did not know either. Like Ashquash, Master Squegwash was bald and androgynous, although they were otherwise not similar. Aronoke put his curiosity about the Weapon Master firmly aside. After Mentor Snesgrul’s warning, he was hardly going to ask Master Squegwash prying personal questions.
“I am not certain why your education is being hurried along in this way, Initiate,” Master Squegwash told Aronoke stiffly when they first met, “but Master An-ku insists that it is necessary. Now, please demonstrate your understanding of the first six standard forms.”
“As you wish, Master Squegwash,” said Aronoke, bowing formally before complying.
It was obvious Master Squegwash felt that Aronoke’s tutelage was something that could have been handled by other, lesser beings.
“You have a good understanding of the concepts of level three,” Master Squegwash said patiently, when Aronoke had finished. “That is unusual in a student who has come to his training so late.”
“Thank you, Master Squegwash,” said Aronoke, bowing again.
“In order to learn the higher forms of lightsaber combat, you must push beyond your reliance upon your physical senses,” said Master Swegwash. “When we train with a practice sabre, we teach the body and the mind to work together, to produce automated responses to stimuli. When our opponent moves a certain way, we respond with the correct opposing move. That is why students are trained from a very young age, because these responses become as natural as language to them. Just as you do not have to think about saying simple words, the correct form should automatically be there when needed in combat, with no thought involved. You have done well to learn as much as you have in a short time. I expect it is because you had some training in combat from a young age yourself, even if it is not in these specific forms.”
“Yes, Master Squegwash,” said Aronoke. “That is true.”
“However, when a fully trained Jedi enters combat, he does not merely use his physical senses to fight,” said Master Squegwash. “He uses the Force. Before you are ready to wield a true lightsaber, you must make the transition to using the Force to direct your movements, instead of merely your eyes and ears. This is something a Jedi trained from a youngling would also learn to automatically perform. He has never fought without the Force – both are developed together. Many older students can never learn this lesson, and thus are ultimately doomed to failure when attempting to learn the highest tiers of lightsaber combat. This is one reason why older students are so seldom accepted as candidates. Nevertheless, I believe your great acuity in sensing the Force will allow you to make this transition, Aronoke, despite your late start, but it will not be easy.”
“I will work hard, Master Squegwash,” Aronoke promised.
Certainly it seemed that Master Squegwash expected nothing less. By the end of the first lesson, Aronoke was exhausted, but was also pleased that Master Squegwash seemed to have warmed to him. If he was to face his Padawan trials so soon, Aronoke knew he needed Master Squegwash on side, and that he had to make every effort to be as focused as he could possibly be.
In between lightsaber practice sessions Aronoke went running every morning. He added weights training to his routine to help build his strength. Then there were all the usual lessons. He was doing a lot of extra reading as well. There was hardly a moment to spare in his day. He felt stretched to his limits. Some days, usually when he had made some discernible progress, it was a good feeling. At other times Aronoke despaired of ever being able to pass the trials. The academic side of his training still lagged years behind that of the human students his age, let alone those of his maturity level. It was difficult to feel confident about passing, and Aronoke had no idea what would happen if he failed.
Failing to be a Jedi, leaving the temple, disappointing Master Altus’s confidence in him – Aronoke spent long hours meditating instead of sleeping, trying to rid himself of these fears, whenever he found himself lying awake thinking them over and over.
Aronoke was told to report to the medical bay, ostensibly for a routine check-up. D-2J399 was there as always, he was relieved to see. Although he had been for many check-ups by now, and was accustomed to undressing in front of the droid, Aronoke never felt complacent about it. There were too many uncertainties involved – what if the person who sought to influence him did something to D-2? What if some sort of device was hidden in the medical bay, to spy on Aronoke’s back? It was paranoid to think these things, Aronoke told himself firmly as he removed his shirt and robes as instructed. Whoever had taken such an interest in him must have other endeavours to take up their time. Other plans and schemes to watch over.
But no matter how he tried to convince himself, despite the fact that he was better able to control it now, the feeling of dread was always there. It wasn’t just the slight chill of the medical bay that made Aronoke shiver.
“Today I have instructions to take a number of scans of your dorsal dermis, Initiate,” said D-2. “These will be made using several different spectra of light, and thus will take slightly longer than regular imaging.”
Aronoke nodded. Master Bel’dor’ruch had said that the image on his back was to be recorded and investigated more thoroughly. Even so, it was an uncomfortable idea. Aronoke did not like the thought of extra images of his back existing, even within the Jedi temple. It was bad enough that Master Altus had disappeared with one in his possession. If it wasn’t for the fact that his back might reveal some clue regarding Master Altus’s disappearance, Aronoke would have protested.
“The additional spectra do not seem to reveal any extra information,” D-2 informed Aronoke, when the scans were finished and he was dressed again. “However, I may be mistaken. They will be sent off for further analysis and forwarded to Master Bel’dor’ruch and Master An-ku. If anything is discovered regarding them, or if additional images need to be made, you will be informed, Initiate Aronoke.”
“Thanks, D-2,” said Aronoke, grateful that his part in the procedure seemed to be over.
“You’ve got to go and see that Master Bel’dor’ruch again,” said Draken one morning at breakfast. “It was up on the schedule board. I thought you mightn’t have seen, since you were in such a hurry.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke. “Thanks.”
Aronoke had been late that morning, and hadn’t bothered to look at the board. He had slept far later than usual, right through the time when he usually went running and did his weights training, and through the time when he would typically shower, thanks to a particularly exhausting session with Master Squegwash the evening before.
“All sorts of strange Masters seem to be interested in you,” continued Draken, teasing a lump of red fribj fruit apart into strands on his plate. “You are twice as busy as the rest of us, and Wyla Gorgeous knows, we’re busy enough.”
Wyla Gorgeous was a Twi’lek superstar, a wildly popular actress starring in many holovids that Aronoke knew were considered completely unsuitable for consumption by Jedi initiates. Draken’s latest gimmick was to mention her name at every possible opportunity.
“It seems every week Razzak Mintula thinks of a new thing I should be doing in my lack of free time,” Draken continued morosely.
Aronoke smiled to himself, thinking that Razzak Mintula knew Draken was best kept busy. His inventive mind and undeniable curiosity would soon lead him into trouble if it were not so.
“So why have you got so much to do, suddenly?” asked Draken.
“They want me to take my Padawan trials soon,” Aronoke admitted quietly.
“What!?” squawked Draken, in loud surprise. Razzak Mintula frowned at him from the end of the table and all the little kids stopped talking to stare at him too. Aronoke took refuge in spooning more chornut porridge into his mouth and chewing thoroughly.
Ashquash stared at Aronoke from across the table, her expression blank, but her composure ruined by her open mouth and the way her spoon hovered in mid air. Bits of porridge dripped off it unnoticed.
“When were you going to tell us?” she asked, coldly.
“I’m sorry, I only found out a little while ago,” said Aronoke. “It was Master Bel’dor’ruch’s idea, and I was hoping that the Jedi Council wouldn’t go along with it. I don’t want to have to leave the temple any time soon.”
Ashquash glowered at him and lowered her head to stare at her plate sullenly.
“I don’t want you to leave soon either,” admitted Draken, “but we’re clan mates, right, and that means we should consider what’s best for each other, not just our own preferences. If there’s any way I can help, you should let me know.”
“I’ll help you too, Aronoke,” said Bithron, and then it became a chorus amongst all the little kids sitting closest to him. Aronoke noticed that Razzak Mintula was watching and listening, yet saying nothing. Waiting to see how he would respond.
“Thank you all very much,” said Aronoke, feeling awkward at being the centre of attention. “But the trials are something each of us ultimately has to face on our own.”
The younglings’ faces fell, and Aronoke hastily added: “There’s certainly some things you can help me with in my training, though.”
It was strange how much they had become like family to him, Aronoke thought as he hurried off after breakfast to look at the schedule board. Despite the diversity of age and race, Clan Herf had become a central part of his life. They might mostly be a lot younger, but the younglings, alongside Ashquash and Draken, were wise for their years, changed already from self-absorbed little kids into something quite different. Something more Jedi-like. Just like Aronoke himself.
Master Bel’dor’ruch sent her padawan, a yellow-green twi’lek girl, to escort Aronoke to her chambers after the evening meal.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch when Aronoke arrived, fixing him with her gleaming red stare. Aronoke had spent all day psyching himself up to talk with the chiss master, telling himself that he would be brave and stand up to her. After his friends’ reaction at breakfast, he had determined to tell her that he didn’t want to sit for his trials, that he wasn’t ready, but now his resolve weakened. She was scarier than he had remembered.
“Yes, Master,” he said.
“I would like to talk more about the problems you have faced here at the temple,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch, pacing back and forth as Aronoke stood in front of her. She was the most restless Jedi that Aronoke had ever met. The initiates were always being schooled in being still as a lesson in calmness and patience, but Master Bel’dor’ruch made constant movement into her own unique art form.
Even Masters, Aronoke thought, had some failings.
“I can’t understand how the Jedi Council can fail to clear up these harassments that you have faced,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “I have spoken to Master Insa-tolsa and Master An-ku, amongst others, and they assure me that every appropriate action has been taken, but I find that difficult to believe, considering their utter lack of results. It seems a hopeless incompetence on their behalf.”
“It is frustrating, Master,” said Aronoke evenly, “although I’m sure everything possible is being done.”
“Are you?” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “I am not. Someone high up in the Jedi order obviously wishes to manipulate you, or these things would not continue.”
“Yes, that’s what Master Altus thought,” said Aronoke. “He said he could not discover who had sent me to train with Clan Sandrek, but that the order had come through the Jedi Council from very high up indeed.”
“I see,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “I have read all the reports, but I wish to hear about these harassments from you. Perhaps there is something that was missed.”
She led Aronoke chronologically through all the events that had taken place according to Council records – the missives from the droids, the drugging of Ashquash, Clan Sandrek’s strange behavior, the droid in the shower – encouraging him to elaborate and add anything else that might have been missed.
“What about this time when you were discovered in an off-limits maintenance area?” asked Master Bel’dor’ruch. “Was that anything unusual?”
“No, Master,” said Aronoke, blushing. “That was just us fooling around. Being silly.”
“The time you fell in the swimming pool and nearly drowned?”
Aronoke hadn’t known that had been reported to the Council.
“No, that was an argument with one of my clan mates.”
“I see,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. She looked thoughtful. “Is there anything else about your early history on Kasthir that you did not tell Master Altus that might be relevant?”
Aronoke thought carefully.
“There is one thing, Master. I don’t know how relevant it is. It is only a minor detail, and I did not think to tell Master Altus at the time. He never asked me for all the details of my childhood.”
“Well, then?” she said, gesturing impatiently.
“When I was about five years old, in galactic standard years, my Uncle Remo died, and another Twi’lek took care of me, named Boamba. At first everything was fine, but then she became addicted to spice. A few years later, there came a day when she didn’t come back. I assumed she was dead. Some bigger people forced me out of our home, so I had to live on the streets and scavenge for myself. I wasn’t very good at it, was starting to starve, but then the Fumers came and took me to Bunkertown, out in the desert. I believe they were looking specifically for me, because when I was in the speeder going to Bunkertown, some of the things from Boamba’s house were there too. Some of my old things. It was like I was collected along with all of Boamba’s other possessions. Then, when I arrived in Bunkertown, I was sent to be a menial in the kitchens, and no one seemed very interested in me, but a few days later, I was dragged up in front of Careful Kras. He cut my shirt off my back, like he knew something was there.”
Aronoke faltered at the thought of what had happened next, but swallowed hard and forced himself to continue as unemotionally as he could.
“He didn’t like what he saw. He cut it and burned it to hide it. I’ve never understood why he did that instead of just killing me. Why he wanted to hide it, but keep me alive.”
“Perhaps he wanted to keep you for the right buyer,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “He might not have wanted to reveal the information on your back, but might have been tempted by the high prices on offer for strong force-sensitives. And then you are bioengineered, a complicated and expensive business. Others would pay a lot of money for you just because of that. But you’re right, this could be an important bit of information. I think that Careful Kras is long overdue a visit from the Jedi Order.”
Aronoke felt a most un-Jedi-like pang of malicious glee at the thought of Jedi wrath raining down on Careful Kras’s head.
Master Bel’dor’ruch paced a minute or two in thoughtful silence, and Aronoke was glad of the opportunity to regain his composure. Along with thoughts of rightful vengeance, his mind was seething with all the emotions that always erupted when he spoke about his past, despite his best efforts. It was not the right way for a Jedi to feel.
“You have not been raised as a chiss, as I was,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch at last. “But anything you might have learned from exposure to chiss culture is irrelevant. There is nothing in being a chiss that would benefit you in being a Jedi. Quite the contrary. It is only your chiss biology that affects your training. You should not feel that this is unusual. There are a plethora of different species who train to become Jedi. Did you think all of them grew at the same rate and were made padawans at the same age?”
“No, Master,” said Aronoke. “I just did not know I was different from humans in this way until recently. Most near-human species are not.”
“Your tests should be scheduled soon now,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “Do you feel ready for them?”
“Not very, Master,” said Aronoke reluctantly. “I am supposed to reach lightsaber level six to do my tests, but I am only level four. I train hard and my new lessons are very helpful, but I make slow progress.”
“Let me see,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch, and before Aronoke could say anything, she flung her lightsaber, thankfully unactivated, across the room at him.
Aronoke was startled and nearly failed to catch it. He fumbled and nearly dropped it on the floor. Could feel himself flushing. He had never held a real lightsaber before.
“Show me the standard forms,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch, making a little hurry-up gesture. “Start with form one.”
Aronoke swallowed firmly and tried to relax. It took him a moment to work out how to activate the lightsaber and then he was startled by the feel of it when it did. The balance was completely different from that of his practice-sabre; it felt awkward and unfamiliar in his hands. He found himself hyperaware of the glowing blade that could slice through flesh so easily, and made a couple of passes in the air, trying to get the feel of the weapon. The sound it made triggered memories of hot Kasthir sand and the smell of sweat and fumes.
But Master Bel’dor’ruch was waiting. Aronoke forced himself to drop into form one, but his movements were jerky and off-balance. He went through the forms once. He should have known them perfectly after so much practice and training, but he found himself struggling to make the transitions smoothly.
Master Squegwash was right; the lightsaber changed everything. It was a dangerous weapon, a threat to the wielder as well as to his enemies. Only someone practiced in the Force would be able to wield such a blade effectively.
He was glad to deactivate the lightsaber. Glad to pass it back to Master Bel’dor’ruch when he had finished. He felt he had not done well at all.
“You will manage,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “You will have time to learn when you are assigned to your new master as a padawan. Remember that to be an initiate here in the temple is an artificial role, designed to keep young force-sensitives out of trouble while they are children and not yet physically grown. You are very close to fully grown. Almost a mature adult. You are fourteen years old, which is an age humans were once considered too old to send out as padawans. They would be shipped off to serve in the Jedi Corps if they had not found a Master by that age. That we now keep initiates so late is a sign of the order’s increasing decadence and over-burgeoning influence. You are not human. It is ridiculous to keep you here in the temple when you have reached full growth.”
“But there are so many things I haven’t learnt yet, Master,” protested Aronoke. “There are lots of topics my clan has not even touched upon yet, and although I read widely, I haven’t had time to cover everything. I have only been here somewhat over two years. Even if I’m fully grown I can’t absorb ten years of lessons in two years.”
“Yet you were acting as an adult before you ever came here,” pointed out Master Bel’dor’ruch. “You learn differently as a child than you do as an adult. You learn in a different way.”
“Yes, that’s true, Master,” said Aronoke, remembering Master Squegwash’s lesson. “When do you think my tests will be held?”
“I do not know exactly,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “You will be given some weeks notice. I expect it will be a good deal sooner than you would like, and a good deal later than I would.”
“I will do my best, Master,” said Aronoke, making a respectful little bow, and she nodded in return and made an abrupt gesture to indicate that he was dismissed. He left her rooms feeling overwhelmed and uncertain.
“Don’t worry, everyone feels that way after talking to Master Bel’dor’ruch,” said the Twi’lek padawan breezily, meeting him at the door. She seemed pleased to have a Master that everyone thought was scary, Aronoke thought. “Though I thought perhaps it would be different for you because you are a chiss too. I thought perhaps all chiss were like her.”
“Master Bel’dor’ruch is the only other chiss I’ve ever met,” Aronoke admitted.
“Really?” said the Twi’lek padawan. “That’s very weird.”
Very weird, that’s me, thought Aronoke sadly.
“You’re so busy all the time,” said Draken mournfully a few days later. “I expect they can’t wait whisk you off somewhere. You’ll be the youngest Padawan ever, and we’ll still be stuck here doing lessons for years and years.”
“I wouldn’t mind being stuck here for years and years,” said Aronoke carefully. “I’m not in any hurry to leave. I would much rather stay here with you and take my time. But you’re right. Master Bel’dor’ruch wants me to be sent out in the field as soon as possible, partly because of all the strange things that have happened to me, but also because I’m a chiss and I’ve grown up so much faster.”
“But it will still take a long time for you to know everything you need to complete the tests, won’t it?” said Draken. “Months and months? At least a year?”
“The Council has decided I should sit for my tests as soon as I reach level six in lightsaber training,” said Aronoke. “Master Squegwash says I am level four now. Master Bel’dor’ruch says that I will probably sit for my tests a good deal sooner than I would like, and a good deal later than she would.”
“Oh,” said Draken, crestfallen.
Aronoke shrugged. “I can see Master Bel’dor’ruch’s logic in hurrying me through. Even if I do have to leave, we are still clan mates you know. Like you said. Nothing is going to change that. One day you and Ashquash and all the younglings will finish your training and will probably be better Jedi because of your time in the temple.”
“Yeah, but you get to have your own lightsaber and see new places now,” said Draken enviously. “I wish we could swap places – then we would both be happy. I’m tired of training.”
“I’ll still be training,” Aronoke reminded him. ”It will just be with a Jedi Master instead of here. Padawans train to be proper Jedi, remember? And even Jedi Masters train in new things sometimes.”
“Yeah, but that’s different,” grumbled Draken, and Aronoke was left thinking that Draken and Master Bel’dor’ruch had certain things in common.
“Why didn’t you tell me about you leaving?” asked Ashquash one night. She was lying in bed, one arm flung over her eyes, while Aronoke was sitting up studying. It was late, and he had thought she had been asleep for ages already.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Aronoke said gently. “I knew you wouldn’t like the idea, and there didn’t seem any point telling you if it wasn’t going to happen after all.”
“But it is going to happen,” said Ashquash crossly. “You’re going to go away, and leave us all behind. Well, maybe when that happens, I’ll go away too.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” said Aronoke, but Ashquash turned away towards the wall, pretending not to hear him.
“It’s not like I want to go away,” he added. “I’d rather stay and train with you and Draken. It’s something that Master Bel’dor’ruch decided. If Master Altus were here, it probably wouldn’t have happened.”
“Can’t you tell them you don’t want to?”
“I have,” said Aronoke. “But there are good reasons for me to go away too. Reasons that you already know about. Maybe there won’t be any more hassles, and you’ll be able to finish your training in peace.”
“Hrm.”
“I know it seems like a long time,” said Aronoke, “but it’s not as long as it seems. One day you’ll be a Jedi in your own right, but not if you leave. Don’t you want to be a Jedi?”
“Sometimes I don’t know,” said Ashquash, her voice muffled. Her back was still to Aronoke, so he couldn’t see her expression. “I’m not like you, Aronoke. Not so powerful in the Force. I’m Force-sensitive, but I struggle with most of the lessons we do – even things most of the little kids find easy.”
“It takes time and patience,” said Aronoke. “And we’re all different. We find different things difficult. Master Skeirim brought you here, even though you were just as old as I was. He must have thought you were worth training, enough to convince the Jedi Council too, or you wouldn’t be here at all. They would have sent you somewhere else, to be trained as a pilot or a mechanic or something like that. They wouldn’t bring you to be trained as a Jedi just because they wanted to help you. If they think you can become a Jedi, than it must be possible.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course I do.”
“But what if I fail?”
“Then you’ll probably be sent to join the Jedi Corps, and there’s no shame in that either.”
“Hrm.”
There was a long silence, long enough that Aronoke decided that Ashquash had finally fallen asleep. He picked up his datapad again, and started reading from where he had left off.
“I still don’t want you to leave,” said Ashquash, in a sad sleepy voice.
The weeks passed quickly. There was still no progress in locating Master Altus, and Aronoke felt depressed. He had always imagined that Master Altus would be there when he performed his tests. He was still finding it difficult to progress in his lightsaber training. He practiced the standard forms during free time every afternoon now, over and over again, determined to make progress, but he seemed to have reached a plateau in his abilities.
Then when Aronoke came back from training one afternoon, there was an official looking message waiting for him.
“It says I have to sit for my trials in one month! But I’m not level six in lightsaber training yet!” protested Aronoke to Master Insa-tolsa. “I’m still only level four!”
“That is what the council has decided,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “It does seem very soon. I suspect Master Altus would not have agreed with how your training is being handled.”
Aronoke knew the green man would have preferred him to take his time, to linger in the temple in peace instead of being hurried back out into the field. He remembered a conversation they had once.
“Sometimes I don’t feel very much like I can really become a Jedi,” Aronoke had confided. “We learn all these moral lessons, and I can see the idea of them, but I can not truly believe in them. All the things the Jedi do in the histories and the fables seem separate from real life to me, because that is so unlike how anyone would behave on Kasthir.”
“You need to give yourself time,” Master Altus said. “These lessons will take time to become part of yourself. The longer you spend here in the temple, the more deeply you will be able to accept them.”
“That is all very well while I am in the temple, Master. There is little to confront me here. But I am worried that when I step outside into the real world, all these lessons will fall away, and I will be who I was once again.”
“You will never be who you once were, Aronoke,” said Master Altus, smiling. “You have already learned too much. You can only be the product of what you were and what you have learned since. You should not fear your past.”
“Well, I suppose I have learned a lot,” said Aronoke, who did fear it. “But I might still act in a similar way.”
“By the time you go out into the real world you will be better prepared to deal with it,” said Master Altus. “You will be able to remain in the temple for a long time, if the Force is with us. That is one of the reasons the Temple is so isolated from the outside world. You can learn in peace, with few outside influences to disturb you. You can learn about yourself before you have to confront everything else. Once you are ready, you will move beyond these walls to learn different, more challenging lessons.”
Aronoke nodded reluctantly, unconvinced, and made a non-committal noise.
Master Altus smiled patiently. “You can trust yourself, Aronoke.”
Aronoke could not help but wish that Master Altus was here now, but that was pointless, because if Master Altus were here, everything would be different. He knew that Master Altus would not have supported his hasty advancement to Padawan status. It was not just a matter of being fully grown, of knowing how to physically wield a lightsaber or argue the minor points of Jedi philosophy.
No, it was a matter of inner confidence and stability. Aronoke tried hard to stay under control, to be a real Jedi, but he was still plagued by those same roiling emotions. There were deep insecurities, residual damage from Careful Kras’ tortures, from his too-hasty childhood. From being small and vulnerable in a world of harsh realities. From being the only one of his kind. From being bioengineered.
He knew the words to describe what his problems were and also the techniques he should use to deal with them. He thought with time and effort these troubles would fade, but he did not know how successful he would be at coping in a stressful situation in the real world. What if his fear rose to panic and his control over the Force crumbled?
But as long as he remained here in the Jedi Temple, the persecutions would continue, and those did not just affect him, but also the others around him. Look at what had happened to Ashquash. Master Altus had disappeared, and it seemed likely that was because of Aronoke too.
It might be safer for everyone else to have him gone from here. But if Aronoke could not be completely protected from such things here in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, than where else could he possibly be safe?
He must be strong and calm, trust in the Force. No matter what happened. That was what Master Altus would say now.
“You know yourself the reasons for this decision,” Master Insa-tolsa was saying.
“I know, Master, but it seems so soon,” said Aronoke. “How can I possibly learn everything I need to know in just one month?”
“It does seem like a lot, but Master Bel’dor’ruch is correct in that most of a Jedi’s training comes from the years spent as a Padawan,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “I believe myself that your abilities are adequate and that you will pass the test.”
“You really think so?” asked Aronoke.
“Yes, I do, but you must not be complacent either,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “You must use the time available to you to best advantage.”
“But there is no more time to fit anything else in, Master!” Aronoke objected. “I get up earlier than anyone else in my clan to start training and I stay up late in the evenings reading and studying. I have sparring practice with Clan Ryllak, extra lightsaber training with Master Squegwash…”
“Let me see your schedule,” said Master Insa-tolsa, and Aronoke obligingly passed over his datapad. “There is little benefit to you in continuing these few remaining physical training exercises with your clan, so we will cross those off. Also, you will probably do better individually studying those areas where your knowledge is lacking, rather than continuing in morning lessons.”
Suddenly Aronoke’s schedule looked a good deal emptier. He was relieved. Everything seemed a little less impossible.
“Thank you, Master Insa-tolsa,” he said. “I will study hard.”
“That is all you can do, Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “If you do your best and fail, then so be it.”
“What happens if I do fail, Master?” asked Aronoke. “What happens to me then?”
“You will continue with your training here at the temple,” said Master Insa-tolsa steadily. “You may retake the tests at a later date. That would not be the case if you had already spent your complete allotment of years at the temple, but you have not.”
“Oh,” said Aronke, relieved. That did not seem so bad. Desirable even, although he would not consider failing the tests on purpose. Better to refuse to attempt them at all. “That is not so terrible. Thank you, Master, I feel my path is much clearer now.”
“May the Force be with you, Aronoke,” said Master-Insa-tolsa.
Despite the extra time, there was only so much physical training Aronoke could productively do in one day, and his lightsaber skills did not make much headway during the first two weeks of the remaining month.
“I believe you are not yet comfortable in your own body,” said Master Squegwash one morning. “You are at an age where you have been growing very quickly, and your mind is not perfectly aware of your limits or the way your limbs move. To rectify this, I will teach you some meditative techniques that will assist you in becoming better aware of yourself.”
“Yes, Master Squegwash,” said Aronoke. “I will do my best.”
The meditative techniques were not dissimilar to some of the Force exercises Clan Herf had been learning, although they required a good deal more focus. They demanded control of the body while performing acts of balance and other physical activities, and demanded an awareness of physical self that Aronoke had never attempted before. Aronoke had to focus hard to perform to Master Squegwash’s exacting standards. He found it difficult to maintain the control necessary to contain his motions, but once he did, he found the rest of the process came easily.
“Good,” said Master Squegwash.
Afterwards, they ran through some basic exercises, and then Master Squegwash had Aronoke duel with one of his other students, a talented rodian by the name of Kwidor. Kwidor’s abilities far outclassed Aronoke’s own, and it was obvious from the start that Aronoke was going to lose. He struggled again and again to block Kwidor’s effortless blows to no avail. It was like being humiliated by Clan Sandrek all over again.
“Clear your mind,” said Master Squegwash from the sidelines. “Forget about the outcome, and seek to isolate every moment of the fight. “Seek the connection between your movements and the Force, just like we practiced this morning.”
It seemed impossible amidst the confusing whirl of action. Even though Kwidor was obviously not putting in full effort, he seemed to everywhere at once. Aronoke struggled to control his movements, struggled for awareness of every muscle, every bone, every tendon of his body, and suddenly, everything swung into balance and the world seemed to snap into ultra-clear perspective. Aronoke’s mind and body no longer felt like two different things. His connection to the Force welded them together inexorably and connected him to everything outside in an undeniable bond. It was just one moment of clarity, but Aronoke seized the feeling in his mind and tried to remember what it felt like.
“You’re doing very well for level four,” said Kwidor, bowing graciously as Aronoke admitted defeat.
“You felt it, didn’t you?” asked Master Squegwash, coming over and looking pleased. “Go away, practice the exercises I showed you, and try to find that place again. Once you have achieved that balance, you will have passed the greatest hurdle in lightsaber combat – the difference that lies between the even the greatest of mundane fighters, and those who wield the Force.”
After that lesson, Aronoke felt invigorated instead of exhausted. Lightsaber training had become a trial in itself, a nightmare he refused to allow himself to wake from, but now he felt his perseverence and Master Squegwash’s lessons had paid off.
He practiced all that week with new enthusiasm, feeling like he had been fighting blind through all his previous lessons. Now when he managed to maintain this new and as yet tenuous balance, it was like he existed in a nexus of calm while his mind and body acted in unison in response to the stimuli his Force senses fed him. He worked towards achieving this new state consistantly and was rewarded accordingly.
“I believe you have made the step you needed to make, Aronoke,” said Master Squegwash appreciatively during the next lesson. “There is nothing to prevent you from proceeding to the higher levels of training, given time and practice.”
“Thank you, Master Squegwash,” said Aronoke. He was pleased to be told he had reached the standard of level five by the end of that week.
The summons for Aronoke’s first test arrived then. There were to be three tests in total, but this summons only dictated the nature of this first test – that and a stern reminder that candidates would be considered to have failed their trials if they revealed the nature of the tests to anyone who had not already passed them.
The first was to be a written examination upon Jedi lore. Four topics would be randomly selected from amongst a list of a hundred possible questions, and he would be expected to write an essay upon each of them.
An essay? How did you do that? Aronoke had never done anything of the kind. Presumably this was a skill his clan had not yet studied. There was plenty of information on that sort of thing available on the holonet, however, and he relaxed when he saw it was a relatively simple standard form of writing.
Aronoke’s heart quailed when he saw the list of subject matter. One hundred possible topics! At first glimpse the questions looked terrible. Discuss Master Amn’s hypothesis of galactic spontaneity of cultural forms. He didn’t know anything about Master Amn, let alone what spontaneity meant. Or this one: reflect upon the moral quandaries presented by the Hypercaspelian Conflict and suggest three ways in which the Jedi Order might have mitigated its intervention for a more beneficial outcome. Urgh. But upon closer examination, when he looked beyond the long words and the formal style of the questions, he realised that he actually knew a reasonable amount about more than half of them. Certainly he didn’t know as much as he would have if he had remained at the Jedi temple for the usual duration, but enough, perhaps, to get by. He spent most of his study time covering those things which his studies had not touched upon, and by the time of the examination he was feeling moderately confident.
The morning of Aronoke’s test finally arrived. He awoke trying to feel ready for anything, but could only sense that something was wrong. He looked about the room in confusion and realised that Ashquash was not in her bed. That was unusual. Ashquash did not like to get up early in the morning. She got up as late as possible, when the chime for breakfast went.
“Do you know where Ashquash is?” he asked Draken who was outside in the common room.
“No,” Draken said. “But Razzak Mintula went away somewhere in the middle of the night because of it.”
That, of course, didn’t help at all. Aronoke felt sick, thinking about something having happened to Ashquash. Something terrible, and he hadn’t noticed at all. Could she have been drugged again?
What should he do?
“Razzak Mintula said you weren’t to worry, on account of you having to do your test,” said Draken, as if he knew exactly what Aronoke was thinking.
“How can I possibly do that?” said Aronoke, his voice sounding higher pitched than usual, even to himself.
Before he could convince himself that it was not a good idea, Aronoke let his habitual control over his senses drop away, opening himself up to the Force and sending his mind out looking for Ashquash. Out to the extents of the Jedi Temple, out to test the limits of the great shield that both protected the Temple from outside influences and prevented him from seeing beyond. No, Ashquash was not inside the temple – he was immediately sure of that. But wait…no, she was there, not inside exactly, but clinging to the very edge, her tiny Force-presence blurred by the influence of the great shield. Aronoke had a sudden impression of Ashquash perched up somewhere very high indeed, clinging tenaciously to a narrow ledge. She was frightened and dizzy, and something was blurring her perception in a horrible nauseating way.
Aronoke was dimly aware of Draken saying something, of Draken clutching at his sleeve and shaking his arm.
“Aronoke? What are you doing?”
“I have to help Ashquash!” said Aronoke, ignoring Draken’s increasingly frenzied questions. He snatched himself free of Draken’s grasp. He ran off through the door of Clan Herf’s rooms into the hall outside.
“Aronoke!” cried Draken, and ran after him.
In almost all places it is uncomfortably cold to sleep out of doors in your clothes, and Josie found that the Lion’s Pool was one of them, even with her heavy coat. The scents of the night flowers were different, and the breeze brought no trace of smoke or sheep, but the night had the same feel as cold clear winter nights at home. She tried to curl up into a little ball and go on sleeping when she woke up, but tired as she was she could not manage, and had to get up and stomp backwards and forwards on the soft grass to keep warm. Her thoughts went around and around without getting anywhere. She was in a land with talking animals. For ‘some important reason’, the gazelle had said. She did not know what would happen to her here, and whether she would ever get back. She thought of all the little ways she had done people wrong, and how she might now never have a chance to make them right. She worried about how terrible Miss Miles would feel when she found out she was gone, and then how she might get in terrible trouble for carelessly leaving Josie to stumble over a railing into the ocean. She wondered what her father would think when he got the news. Around and around Josie’s thoughts went, just like they had the night before she had left home to go to England.
By and by the birds began to sing – first one that had a melancholy sort of whistle, and then more and more, none of them familiar. Josie felt the breeze pick up, a breeze that was a little warmer and was heavy with the same vanilla bush smell of the dandelion-like flowers she had smelled the day before. And because you cannot worry forever about things you cannot help when there are things you can do something about that you should, Josie realised that she was really very hungry, and worried about finding something to eat.
‘The gazelle – Arabitha – seemed to know something about people,’ Josie said to herself. ‘So they’ll know I can’t eat grass. Maybe they’ll know something about where to find fruit and nuts that human eat. And there might be fish. I hope they don’t talk. That would be horrible. The birds don’t seem to talk; so probably the fish won’t talk. Stop rambling, Josie.’
Then she heard the sound of great many hooves coming from the same direction as the warm wind. With the dawn came a crowd of gazelles, a couple of dozen, who arranged themselves in front of her in an orderly fashion like a school assembly. The lady gazelles and the smaller children were in one place, with the larger children off to the sides, the boys on one and the girls on the other. Out in front in the place where the headmistress would be in a school assembly was who could only be Caladru, prince of the gazelles.
‘The Lion’s peace be upon you, Lady Josie, Daughter of Helen’, said Caladru, in a voice that put Josie in mind of a bass clarinet. ‘I bid you welcome to the March Plains of Sha, on behalf of all the talking animals who dwell here, and put myself and all my people at your disposal. We have always done all that was in our power to aid the Sons of Frank and Daughters of Helen when they had need to call upon us.’
Josie had not imagined such an occasion being made of her arrival. ‘Thank you, your majesty’ she said, as politely as she could, and curtsied in the direction of Caladru. This seemed like an inadequate reply to Caladru’s grand welcome, but she could not think of exactly what else she should say. After a long pause filled with the shuffling of youthful gazelle hooves Caladru continued.
‘My daughter says that you have come from the sea, Lady Josie, and that you were summoned to the Lion’s Pool on a quest, and now seek guidance on how to proceed further. My Aunt Radamatha knows many tales of the quests that have been made by the Lords and Ladies of Creation since the world was made, and I have asked her to listen to your tale and to provide you with what advice she can.’
‘I am at your service, Lady Josie,’ said another voice, the mellow golden voice of someone who has recently retired wealthy from singing on the stage, a voice that made Josie think of comfortably warm indoor afternoons on a cold day.
‘Thank you,’ said Josie. ‘I suppose I must have been brought here, since I didn’t do anything to bring myself. I was on a ship, and I fell overboard, and then I ended up here without there being anything in between that I can remember. There isn’t anything like this place in the whole world that I know – we don’t have any talking animals there, except birds that copy what people say, and in stories that people have made up.’
There was a loud murmuring of shifting feet and whispered conversations, just like there would be at a school assembly, and Caladru silenced it in almost the same way that a headmistress would, by raising his voice to say something very firmly and slowly with a hint of sharpness to it.
‘We will now leave the Lady Josie to discuss these matters with Radamatha,’ said Caladru. ‘We will remain at a courteous distance, Lady Josie, in readiness should you require anything further.’
‘Thank you very much, your majesty,’ said Josie.
‘It has been our Honour, my Lady,’ said Prince Caladru, and he withdrew in a stately fashion, most of his clan following in disorder very like children dismissed from a school assembly. One only drew closer to Josie, and she was sure this was Radamatha, who had spoken before with the mellow golden voice. When she was close Josie found that she smelled rather like a sheep. Not unpleasantly, and with a wild deserty something as well; Josie thought of frankincense and myrrh.
‘Thank you for helping me,’ said Josie.
‘I will do what I can,’ said the gazelle with the golden voice. ‘I have seldom spoken with men, and never anyone like you, Lady Josie.’
‘Please, just Josie,’ she said. ‘Lady Josie sounds like someone old and important.’
‘That is fine, Josie,’ said Radamatha. ‘But your proper name is something different again, is it not?”
‘Yes,’ said Josie. ‘My proper name is Josephine Furness. The Furness is from my father’s name.’ She felt she should be encouraging to the young gazelle, so she smiled and said, ‘It is a bit of a mouthful for Arabitha to remember.’
‘A mouthful,’ repeated Radamatha, as if the expression were unfamiliar to her.
‘You are hungry,’ she said abruptly, in quite a different tone. ‘I fear my nephew does not think of such things. Of course it is the right thing to first ask a Daughter of Helen whether she wishes something to eat, and show her where some may be found. If you will come along with me?’
Josie walked along with Radamatha, feeling the first warmth of the sun on her face and hands. It should have felt like a dream, walking with a talking gazelle in another world, but it felt more as if her life in Australia had been the dream. She felt more truly real, more truly alive, than she could remember feeling since she was very young. There were many things she wanted to ask, but she could not decide where to start, and it felt so pleasant just being alive.
‘If you wish, Josie, I can tell you the tale of how Aslan appeared in this place,’ said Radamatha.
The same wild feeling of fear mingled with longing ran through Josie.
‘You see, it is the other story that I know about a Daughter of Helen who came from far away, and this place, and Aslan, who is the one who makes all wonderful and unlikely things happen in this world, and I think it is connected in some way to the story that you are in now. But you don’t know about Aslan.’ Radamatha said this last in the same tone of voice she had used when she had said Josie was hungry.
‘No, I don’t’ said Josie. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything at all about this place.’
They stopped so Josie could disentangle her skirts, which had snagged on a thorny bush. ‘I am sorry, Josie’ said Radamatha. ‘I did not think of that. We can go around over here, instead.’
‘Aslan is the great Lion who was there on the day that the world was made,’ said Radamatha. ‘He does not grow older, and he does not die, but only goes away for a time to some other place, and comes back when he is needed again. When the world was made he spoke to the talking animals and set them apart from the other animals, to watch over them and guide them rightly. And he brought from another place the first of the race of Men, King Frank and Queen Helen, to watch over all the talking animals and guide them rightly, in the same way as the talking animals watch over the dumb animals. That is how things are done in the northern countries still. This is a fig tree.’
‘Thank you,’ said Josie. ‘We have figs where I come from.’ She reached into the branches and felt about until her hand closed on a fig, which felt as if it were ripe. She plucked it and brought it to her nose. She had never been particularly fond of figs, but this morning it smelled more delicious than any fruit she had ever had. ‘But things are different here than in the northern countries?’ she asked.
‘All these lands were settled by restless animals and restless men’ said Radamatha. ‘Talking animals and men are few and thinly scattered here, and these lands have always been the refuge of those who do not like being watched over. Here there is no one king to rule over all the Sons of Frank, and most talking animals seek to live in the lands where the Daughters of Helen are not, so that they might suit themselves.’ There was a touch of rueful amusement in her voice as she said this last, as if she knew that the gazelles of the March Plain of Sha bore a little of the blame for the state of affairs she described. ‘The worst of all the men who did not want to be ruled by the Kings of the North once lived north and west of here, beyond the mountains, in a land called Telmar.’
‘Mmhm,’ said Josie, plucking another fig while she chewed the last bite of the first one.
‘The men of Telmar learned how to do evil things that the King would have forbidden them to do; things that Aslan had forbidden their ancestors to do. One of the things they learned was how to make people do what they wanted using magic. Then one of their wizards travelled north to Narnia – that is the land of the Kings whose fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers were all Kings, back to the time of King Frank – and put a spell on a boy there, so that he would leave his home and come away to Telmar after a certain time had passed. I don’t know why the wizard put a spell on the boy to make him want to go away to Telmar. When the boy snuck away to go to Telmar his sister followed him and tried to get him to come back. She talked with him, and fought with him, and though nothing she tried was any use she did not give up but stayed with him, hoping to turn him back. And they came here.’
‘Mmhm’ said Josie.
‘They were very hungry and thirsty when they came here, for it had been a bad summer, and many of the pools on the plain had dried up, and there were even fewer animals and men dwelling in this land than there are today. They ate and drank and recovered their strength, and the girl was trying again to break the spell the wizard had put over her brother when they heard the men of Telmar approaching from the west, and she prepared herself to fight them so that they might not have her brother, and in the proper form of the story is remembered all the things she said then. But when it seemed most hopeless the Lion, Aslan, appeared from the east. He defeated the Men of Telmar and broke the spell over the boy. Then he took the boy and the girl with him into Telmar, and they were with him when he defeated them and turned them all into dumb beasts to punish them for their wickedness. And afterwards the boy was the last king to rule over the south as well as the north, before the men of the south had their own kings, and he had the form of the Lion carved here.’
‘Thank you for telling me the story,’ said Josie. She thought what you have probably thought yourself about similar sorts of stories, that it was in some ways rather unsatisfactory story, in the way the boy and girl had just gone along without managing to do anything useful until Aslan appeared and fixed everything. ‘But that is what most stories in real life seem to be like,’ she thought to herself. ‘People are dragged along by things that happen to them, and other people who are much more powerful than they are come in at the end and decide whether the ending will be happy or miserable.’
‘I don’t know that the story can have much to do with me, Radamatha. No one persuaded me to come here, and I haven’t followed anyone – I just appeared. And you say that these men of Telmar were defeated long ago, so there doesn’t appear to be any great trouble. Not that I could do anything about it anyway.’
Radamatha took a step closer, close enough that Josie could feel the warmth of her breath.
‘You appearing is not the only thing that has happened,’ said Radamatha. ‘I have not yet told my nephew, but an owl came from the Northeast the night before last and told me that a man of Balan is coming this way – Balan is the place of men where the Kings of the South who are closest to Narnia rule. He is the one whose brother will be ninth of the Kings over Balan if he lives. The owl told me that he has heard of the treasures and secrets of Telmar, and thinks it would be great and heroic to go and find them. Maybe you are supposed to tell him not to.’
‘Maybe,’ said Josie dubiously. ‘Why would he listen to me?’
‘His name is Margis,’ said Radamatha. ‘Margis was also the name of the boy in the story. And I did not tell you the name of the girl in the story – it was Jozfeen.’
‘That is a funny coincidence,’ said Josie slowly, feeling like something with too many legs was crawling on her back.
‘I don’t think it is one of those,’ said Radamatha. ‘It is a wonderful and unlikely thing.’
‘So it is the doing of…’ Josie could not quite bring herself to say the name.
‘Of Aslan, yes. If you wish, Josie, you can tell me more of your story now, but I think you are here because you are meant to speak with this Margis, and persuade him not to go to Telmar, like Jozfeen sought to persuade the other Margis not to go to Telmar.’
‘I will tell you a little about me,’ said Josie. She was still hungry, but she thought she had probably had as many figs as were good for her. She wiped her hands on her skirts in a way that would have gotten her scolded at home and sat down under the fig tree. Radamatha sat down beside her, and Josie told her all about growing up with mother and Gerry in a little town in Western Australia, and Miss Harker at the blind school, and how Ada Plummer – who was a year younger than Josie – was a terrible nuisance but it was hardly an excuse for being so unpleasant back to her. And she told Radamatha about the accident, and how she was being sent away to England to her father over the ocean when she had fallen into this new world.
‘I cannot keep all those countries straight,’ said Radamatha. ‘You have so many of them in your world. And these ships you speak of, that burn stones to move against the wind.’ She made a snorting gazelle gesture of amazement.
‘It already seems so far away,’ said Josie. ‘Like a dream.’ She paused a long time, listening to the birds and the milling gazelles, the wind in the trees, the splash of something in the pool that might have been a frog. The sun was already warm enough that she felt she would be more comfortable in the shade. ‘This is a lovely place,’ she said to Radamatha. ‘I don’t want anything bad to happen to it. I don’t see why it should be me, but I can’t think of any idea that is better than yours. I suppose we have to go and meet this Margis.’
Radamatha got to her feet. ‘Even if I am wrong, Josie, you will be better off among other men, rather than gazelles. The men of Balan are kinder to outsiders than other men of the south. Shall I tell Caladru?’
‘We could go and tell him together,” said Josie. ‘It seems the proper thing to do, somehow.’
So Josie and Radamatha trooped across the meadow and Radamatha told Caladru of their decision in quite a formal way, and Josie did her best to keep up, and there was a discussion in which Caladru decided exactly who would be in the party sent to guide Josie, and what each of them should be responsible for. Josie found it very interesting at the time but it would not be so interesting to put down all the details now. At the end it was decided that Radamatha should stay behind with the herd, but that Josie should go with Murbitha, who liked to listen to Radamatha’s stories and was her apprentice, and Mirinitha, who was very good at finding water and hearing the approach of things that were trying to be quiet, and also two of the young gentleman gazelles, Zadru and Kodoru, who had a way of talking over the top of each other that made it hard for Josie to tell them apart. They were nearly at the age when it was the custom of the gazelles for boys to go off and find their own way in the world and see if they could collect a herd of their own, and they had recently spent a good deal of time wandering off to the northeast – which coincidentally was the direction Margis was said to be coming from – preparing themselves for this journey.
This having been decided the herd dispersed over the meadow by the side of the Lion’s Pool, grazing in a disorderly way, with nobody taking pains anymore to stay politely away from Josie, and most of them coming in close to look at her and ask her questions and see if there was anything useful they could do.
‘There is another tree over here that has something you might want to eat on it,’ said Murbitha, who had a shy sort of voice. ‘You can hold on to me if you like and I will lead you there.’Murbitha was quite nice to hold on to, with fur more like a well-kept dog than a sheep, and the tree which was on the drier edge of the meadow had a lot of leathery low-hanging fruit. ‘I have seen the Sons of Frank break them open,’ said Murbitha. ‘There are juicy things inside.’ Josie did this, and found that there were indeed lots of juicy things inside, stuck together like the little bits of a raspberry with seeds that you could eat. They were very nice indeed. These fruit were pomegranates, which Josie had not had before, and she found them every bit as messy to eat as you did the first time you had them.
Alabitha came eagerly up to Josie and introduced her sisters. ‘We were quarreling yesterday and I ran off by myself, which is how I found you,’ she said. ‘I suppose when they tell the story of how you came here they will tell how I was the first to find you?’
‘I suppose they will,’ said Josie, with a laugh.
‘Your feet are different than they were then,’ said Alabitha.
‘I took off my shoes and stockings,’ said Josie. ‘It is nicer to walk on the grass without them.’ She wiggled her toes to demonstrate.
‘It must be very strange to wear all those things,’ said Alabitha. ‘I don’t think I would like it. Are you going to take off any more?’
‘No,’ said Josie. Though it was almost tempting. Being proper sort of clothes for going to dinner on a liner, they were not at all the most comfortable things to be wearing out of doors on a warm day. ‘I am very used to it,’ said Josie. ‘It should feel very strange to me if I was not wearing them, and I would be horribly embarrassed if anyone else came by. Any other human being, that is. Not to mention sunburned.’
‘I see,’ said Alabitha, still fascinated by Josie’s toes. ‘I know you are looking for good things to eat,’ she said. ‘There are some plants that grow by the water that are very nice.’
‘Please, show me,’ said Josie. These turned out to be things a bit like spring onions that Alabitha and her sisters assured her were extremely tasty, but when Josie ate one she found it much nastier than the nastiest spring onion she had eaten and had to drink rather a lot of water to get the taste out of her mouth. Not everything in this new world was pleasant.
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think those are food for people like me,’ Josie admitted.
Alabitha was so downcast at this that Josie felt she had to give her a hug, but this turned out to be another difference between humans and gazelles. Alabitha leapt away in a panic of flailing hooves, and then apologised profusely from a safe distance. ‘I am so sorry, Lady Josie, it just felt that I was trapped. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.’
‘It’s quite alright,’ said Josie. ‘I should have asked first.’
Josie felt rather queasy in the afternoon from eating nothing but fruit all day, and sat down to rest in a shady place where she could dabble her feet in the pool. As the shadows grew longer the gazelles drew closer together, and after a while they danced. First the boys and young men, then the girls and young women, and then all of them together, hooves stamping in unison in a completely different way from the heavy thump of horses in harness or the chaotic scramble of a flock of sheep. Then they did something completely different from any of the dumb animals of Josie’s world: a thing she should have expected from their voices, but which came as a complete surprise regardless. They sang. The young lady gazelles began first, and then the young gentlemen joined in with a different theme that ran along beside the first one, and then the older ladies joined in with a slower sort of tune that seemed to carry both of the first two along with it, and finally Caladru added his voice. It was the most beautiful singing Josie had ever heard and she never found the words to describe it properly.
The turning of day and night
Is the maker of events.
The turning of day and night
Is the source of life and death.
The turning of day and night
Is the echo of the song of Creation.
The turning of day and night
Is a soft two-coloured reed,
With which That-Which-Is
Disguises itself with appearances.
Fast and free blows the wind of time,
But Love itself is a wind that stems all winds.
In the tale of Love there are times
Other than the past, the present and the future;
Times for which no names have yet been coined.
Love is the tune that brings
Music to the voice of life.
Love is the light of life.
Love is the fire of life.
When Josie was starting to doze off the four who were to be her companions trotted up to her. A few of the older gazelles were still softly singing, and the air had the feel of night.
‘We will stay with you from now on until we reach the Sons of Frank,’ said Murbitha and Mirilitha.
‘We will watch over you while you rest, Josie, and you need not fear,’ said Zadru and Kodoru.
‘Thank you all,’ said Josie. And the four gazelles lay down around on four sides, so she was a good deal warmer that night than she had been the night before, and felt safe and comfortable in a way she had not felt since her mother had started having her turns.
[The Gazelle’s song is adapted from lines in ‘The Mosque of Cordoba’, by Muhammad Iqbal]
The next day, a message was waiting for Aronoke on the group viewscreen telling him to report to the Jedi Council immediately after breakfast.
“Why do you have to report, Aronoke, and not the rest of us?” asked Yeldra, crinkling up her little face thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” said Aronoke.
“It’s probably because Ashquash is Aronoke’s room-mate,” said Razzak Mintula, coming into the clan room just then. “The Council probably wants to ask Aronoke a few more questions about what happened to her. Do you know how to get to the meeting room, Aronoke?”
“Yes, Instructor.”
“Good. Make sure you are not late. You should probably leave as soon as you have tidied yourself.” Razzak Mintula’s gaze lingered on Aronoke’s crumpled robe and unbrushed hair.
“Yes, Instructor,” said Aronoke, relieved that she hadn’t ordered him to shower. He hurried off to put on fresh robes and make himself presentable.
It was not difficult to find his way across the Jedi temple. Now he could read, the signs were much more helpful. The meeting room was in the most formal section of the Jedi temple where initiates did not usually go. The hallways were grander, the decorations more looming and impressive. People spoke in hushed tones unless they were very important people indeed.
Aronoke was relieved to find that the meeting room was not an immense council chamber like the one he had entered with Master Altus upon his arrival at the Jedi temple. It was relatively small in comparison, although still much larger and grander than anything in the primary training centre.
“Ah, Initiate Aronoke,” said Master An-ku when Aronoke peered around the edge of the open door, debating whether or not he should go directly inside or wait to be fetched. “Come inside and close the door.”
Aronoke obediently did so, and went to stand in front of the three Jedi Masters, who were seated on curved single-legged chairs on one side of the chamber. Apart from Master An-ku, the togrutan master he remembered from his arrival, there was a green-skinned duros and a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned human man accompanied by a protocol droid. “These are Masters Kordu-molh and Rosfantar,” Master An-ku said, and Aronoke bowed politely to all of them, like he had been taught.
“The council wishes to know more about the unusal events that have occurred to you since you entered the Jedi Temple, Initiate,” said Master An-ku smoothly after Aronoke had made his bow. She looked very tall, serene and somewhat fiercer than Aronoke had remembered.
“I told Master Altus and Master Insa-tolsa everything there was to tell, Master An-ku,” said Aronoke uncertainly. “I don’t know if I can add anything to what I said then.”
“Nevertheless, I would like you to repeat your story,” said Master An-ku. “Master Insa-tolsa has reported that these events are upsetting to the initiates in your clan and have proved disruptive to your training.”
Aronoke nodded, and obediently began outlining all the events that Master Altus would have labelled unusual.
“Most preposterous!” huffed Master Kordu-molh indignantly, when Aronoke had finished. “It is ridiculous that our training centre can be plagued by such interruptions! The education of our younglings is a serious matter and any interruption to their routine can only be viewed to be of extreme detriment! How can they learn proper meditative techniques and to perfect their control under such conditions?”
Aronoke suspected that Draken would put Master Kordu-molh into his category of people who never had any fun at all.
“It is true that these incidents should be given serious consideration,” said Master Rosfantar. His voice was deep and melodious and echoed around the chamber. “It is important that no one should influence our initiates so early in their training. But we must remember, Master Kordu-molh, that we are educating Jedi who will one day be mostly sent out into the field, where interruptions and incidents are something they will have to learn to cope with.”
“Coping with such things is beyond the scope of primary students -” said Master Kordu-molh, but subsided as Master An-ku held up her slender hand.
“We can debate this matter later,” said Master An-ku. “There are a few other questions I would like to pose to Initiate Aronoke first, before he returns to his studies.”
“Of course,” said Master Rosfantar. “Please, continue.”
“Initiate Aronoke, Master Altus has reported upon the conditions under which he encountered you on the planet Kasthir, and has detailed his reasons for bringing you to the Jedi Temple as a candidate. Your candidature has been accepted and is beyond reproach. Is there anything in your past to suggest why you in particular should be made the target of these attacks?”
“I don’t think so,” said Aronoke uncomfortably. There was, of course, the map on his back. Had Master Altus told the Jedi Council about that? Aronoke assumed that he had, back when Aronoke had been too scared to be examined by the medical droid, but on the other hand, Master Altus had suggested it was safer to keep the map secret. Before Aronoke could decide whether he should tell the Council about the map or not, Master An-ku was prompting him with more questions.
“It says in Master Altus’s report that you are an orphan with no known relatives. Do you know anything about who your family were?” asked Master An-ku.
“No,” said Aronoke.
“You were born on Kasthir?”
“I don’t think so,” said Aronoke again. “I was brought there when I was very young, by a Twi’lek whom I called Uncle Remo. I don’t remember anything about where we came from.”
“And on Kasthir? You worked in the service of a crimelord called Careful Kras, who controlled a sizeable amount of territory out in the wilderness?”
“He didn’t like me,” said Aronoke softly, remembering Careful Kras. “He… had me taken from the Grinder and brought back to Bunkertown. He punished me…sometimes… for… for being… different.”
“Different?” asked Master An-ku.
“There is no reason to suspect that this Careful Kras would have any influence here on Coruscant,” interjected Master Rosfantar. “A crimelord from the desolate reaches of a backwater planet like Kasthir would certainly not have the contacts or resources to operate here.”
“Besides which,” added Master Kordu-molh, “some of these events suggest that whoever wishes to manipulate Initiate Aronoke has power in the Force, suggesting that it is a Jedi Master who is responsible.”
“Yes, those are both valid points,” said Master An-ku. “I think we have taken up enough of your time, Aronoke. You may return to your studies.”
“Yes, Master An-ku,” said Aronoke, bowing politely. He was relieved that he hadn’t had to tell them about the thing on his back, although at the same time he felt guilty. Like he was hiding the truth from people who needed it to help him. Still, he had told Master Altus about the markings on his back. Surely that was enough.
Ashquash returned the very same day, and when she arrived, she looked at Aronoke sitting on his bed in their shared room for a long moment, saying nothing. To Aronoke it was obvious that she was pleased, although she did not smile.
“I’m sorry for nearly drowning you, Aronoke,” she said gruffly.
“That’s alright,” said Aronoke. “Perhaps you were right, that merely looking at the water was not enough, but I had to try something. Didn’t want to give up.”
Instead of Ashquash going and sitting on her own bed, she came over and sat next to him, something she had not done before. Aronoke was not certain how he felt about it.
“I’m sorry I went away,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean for you to feel that we weren’t friends any more. I just didn’t want you or the others to be hurt.”
He was suddenly aware that Ashquash was a girl, despite all his previous self-conditioning to not think of her that way. There was something in how Ashquash held herself that made him think she would not resist at all if he put his arms about her and gave her a reassuring, but most un-Jedi-like, hug. It was not something he had ever done to anyone before. Knew it was not allowed.
“It’s all right now,” she said shyly.
He could see a look in her eyes that was not at all appropriate.
Oh, Aronoke thought stupidly. She likes me. In that sort of a way. No wonder she pushed me in the water.
Argh.
“Shall we go and see if Draken wants to come and spar?” he said too quickly, standing up.
“Yes, lets,” agreed Ashquash, and the moment was broken.
Months rolled by, incident free, and Aronoke began to think that whoever had been trying to influence him had been scared off by the Jedi Council’s investigation. There was plenty to keep him occupied; more and more he was being encouraged to read ahead and around the material in the lessons that Clan Herf studied. He seemed to make great advances in all things. It was like he was blossoming into himself.
“You’re growing up so fast, Aronoke,” Razzak Mintula said one day and he found himself feeling miffed instead of fearful and reluctant about the future. Surely he was quite grown up already! His rapid escalation towards maturity meant that he had grown taller and had filled out substantially. When he looked in the mirror in the clan bathroom he no longer saw an uncertain boy, but a shyly smiling young man. He looked taller. Rangier. New robes had arrived for him at regular intervals, but still the clothing struggled to keep up with the changes in the proportions of his limbs. He had perhaps not reached his full growth yet, but he already looked down on most fully grown humans. His chest had broadened too and he felt stronger and more capable.
Ever since Ashquash had returned, Aronoke had to struggle with temptation more regularly. The current between them was often palpable, and although Ashquash never said anything, never referred to it, never did anything inappropriate, Aronoke knew that any move he made would be completely reciprocated. It was lucky that he had never been especially attracted to Ashquash, or resisting might have been completely impossible. Aronoke always made sure that he kept a careful distance. After all, he had once promised that he was Ashquash’s friend, that he would never think of her as a girl. When he began to feel that current working between them, he was careful to make himself absent. It was easier to go off to the meditation rooms, or to suggest a group activity that included Draken or the little kids.
Luckily, with each passing month, Ashquash also seemed to grow smaller and more childish. Soon Aronoke could think of her as something like a kid-sister. Someone with a hopeless crush on him, who was too young to take seriously. Someone who it was easier to treat like a friend.
Master Insa-tolsa’s excursions started during this time, and they were more fun than Aronoke had hoped. Aronoke, Draken and Ashquash were the ones who went, and they were accompanied by the ithorian master, and his colleague, Master Parothis. The excursions visited a variety of locations about Coruscant. The first one was to a meditation garden. Draken had been disappointed when he found out where they were going, thinking that it would be very dull, but when they got there, Master Insa-tolsa suggested that he and Master Parothis take a leisurely stroll together while the initiates explored together. It was nice to be out in the sunshine, even if Aronoke could see the faint curve of the dome high above them. It was nice to be left to their own devices, out from under the watchful eye of the Masters. He was well aware that were still being supervised from afar, and also that the Jedi were shielding him from the full impact of the Force so that he should not be overwhelmed.
The garden had an odd effect on him. Despite the familiar reluctance to take off his robes, he had the sudden urge to strip buff naked and lay on the grass in the sun. He did not do any such thing, of course, but the urge was there and it was most peculiar.
The other excursions visited different locales. They explored a great emporium in the Bezdrilian sector. It was a huge market, a three dimensional maze of little clothing stores, and the initiates were accompanied to one of the booths which Master Insa-tolsa claimed made very good quality robes to measure. They were all measured for new robes by the spindly arconens that worked inside.
The third expedition was to a biological gardens. Draken was very excited by that trip. Aronoke had to admit that looking at all the different kinds of creatures was exciting. It was even more interesting to see the habitat-spheres that the creatures were presented in. It was like looking at tiny samples of many different planets.
The fourth expedition was to the spaceport. Aronoke was less interested in this because he had seen it before on his arrival with Master Altus.
He was fourteen in standard galactic years now, and had been at the Jedi temple a little more than two years. He knew now that it was more his home than Kasthir had ever been. Felt a completely different person from the boy who had arrived there.
It was during this time too that he was called in one day to speak to Master Insa-tolsa, down in the main courtyard.
“Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa gravely. “I have some bad news. Please, sit down.”
“Yes, Master?” said Aronoke, seating himself on a bench. He knew at once that it had to be something to do with Master Altus and Hespenara. They had been away for so long now, without any news.
He hoped the investigation of the map on his back had not led Master Altus into trouble.
“We have received news that a Jedi frozen in carbonite has been advertised to be auctioned by a crime lord on Kath’lor,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “The Jedi in question matches Hespenara’s description.”
“Oh no,” said Aronoke, shocked. “That’s terrible.”
“Obviously something must have prevented Master Altus from interfering, as he would not easily allow something of this nature to befall his Padawan,” said Master Insa-tolsa gravely.
Aronoked nodded, feeling sick. What could possibly be powerful enough to strike down someone as strong as Master Altus? And poor Hespenara…
“The Jedi Order will of course do all it can to retrieve the Jedi in carbonite before she can be auctioned, and to try and find out what has become of Master Altus,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “We must trust in the Force that these things can and will be achieved.”
“Yes, Master Insa-tolsa,” said Aronoke mechanically. His mind felt numb and confused and he went through his lessons distractedly the next few days. He hoped that news of Master Altus and Hespenara would arrive soon, but it was weeks coming, and when it came, none of it was good. The Jedi Order’s efforts to prevent the auction had failed and Hespenara had been sold, it was thought, to someone in the Primtara sector. Master Skeirim, amongst others, had been sent to investigate. None of the attempts to locate Master Altus had been successful.
Aronoke did his best to maintain a jedi-like attitude about Master Altus’s disappeareance, but he found it difficult. He burned with the need to do something, although there did not seem there was anything that he could do. Surely a fully trained Jedi like Master Skeirim was far more likely to achieve results than an initiate only in the third year of his training. The matter was already in capable hands and Aronoke knew exactly what Master Altus himself would say he should do. He must continue his training as if nothing had happened and not worry pointlessly about his missing mentor.
That was something Aronoke was not capable of doing. Even though he threw himself into his lessons with dogged vigour, he found himself worrying about Master Altus and Hespenara all the time. Thoughts of them crept in to disturb his meditation and sometimes prevented him from sleeping. Something had gone wrong and Aronoke suspected that it had something to do with him. He often felt if he could just reach out through the Force, unobstructed by the great shields that protected the Jedi Temple, he would be able to find the missing Jedi Master and his padawan.
It was no use to discuss these thoughts with Master Insa-tolsa. Aronoke was well acquainted enough with Jedi ways to know that the Master would only repeat what he knew himself. That he should continue his lessons and leave rescue attempts in more competent hands.
Meanwhile, the excursions to interesting places on Coruscant continued, although Aronoke found it difficult to relax and enjoy them. They visited the senate plaza to see the great building where the galactic senate sat. It was a popular destination for tourist groups visiting Coruscant from across the galaxy, and Aronoke and his colleagues were stared at a good deal by the other tour-groups who had come to see the sights. It was like the Jedi were part of the attraction instead of visitors themselves.
The sixth excursion was back to the Bezdrilian sector for more new robes. This time the initiates were directed to locate the tailor shop and order new robes by themselves. Aronoke was glad – his arms were already outgrowing his current sleeves by a few inches. Afterwards, they were allowed to explore the shopping complex further.
While Aronoke was waiting for Draken and Ashquash to come out of a shop, he noticed a droid was watching him. As soon as it saw he had noticed, it began trying to get his attention. Its limbs waved exaggeratedly, making what it obviously thought were covert gestures. Aronoke studiously ignored it. Chances were this was another unusual incident, and he didn’t want any strange messages from his supposed friend. The droid was insistent however. When Aronoke did not move, it reached inside one of its compartments and produced a cylindrical device. Waiting until there was a space in the crowd, it rolled the device across the floor so that it fetched up against Aronoke’s foot.
Why do these things always happen to me, Aronoke thought. Now what am I going to do?
He didn’t want to kick the cylinder away across the floor in case it hurt someone. Remembering how the previous message-droid had exploded, he wouldn’t put it past his mysterious assailant to do such a thing. Instead, sighing, he picked it up and looked at it. The droid seemed satisfied with this and scuttled off into the crowd. The cylinder seemed to be a message device. Aronoke did not want to activate it in such a public place – again, it might be dangerous. Instead he dropped it into the pocket of his robes.
As soon as they had returned to the Jedi temple, he brought it over to Master Insa-tolsa. They had just dismounted from the speeder, and the other Jedi in their party were standing a short distance away.
“Master Insa-tolsa,” he said, “There was a droid watching me while we were off by ourselves.”
“A droid?” said Master Insa-tolsa. “As happened to you before? Did it give you a message?”
“Well, perhaps,” said Aronoke. “It gave me this.” He took the cylinder out of his pocket and passed it to Master Insa-tolsa. “I didn’t look at it,” he began to say, but as he did so, the cylinder began flashing with a red light.
It was a good thing, Aronoke thought later, that Master Insa-tolsa had the foresight to act so quickly. Aronoke was still thinking stupidly that the flashing light didn’t bode anything good, when the cylinder was suddenly whisked some distance away, where it exploded violently. It raged brutally for a moment, a great ball of surging energy spectacularly contained by an invisible spherical shield, and then slowly died away. Aronoke could hear the astounded gasps of Draken and Ashquash from where they waited for him to finish speaking to Master Insa-tolsa, a short distance away.
“I wondered if something like that might happen,” said Aronoke, stunned.
Master Insa-tolsa also looked shaken. “If I did not know you so well, Aronoke,” he said wryly, “I might suspect you of playing pranks.”
It was a gentle admonishment. He had just saved all their lives, Aronoke thought belatedly. He had suspected the cylinder might blow up, although he had not imagined it happening so violently. He had trusted that Master Insa-tolsa would deal with it without thinking about the possible consequences – his faith in the big ithorian had solidified that much during their association.
“I’m sorry, Master,” said Aronoke contritely, making an apologetic bow of respect. “I did not think. I would not do something like that as a joke.”
“It is insufferable that these attacks continue unabated,” said Master Insa-tolsa, and then to Master Parothis and the other acolytes who were coming over: “There is no need for concern. Everything is fine. Initiates, you may go back to your clan quarters now.”
“What was that?” asked Draken, wide-eyed and excited as they made their way down the lift.
“It was a message cylinder a droid gave to me while we were in the bazaar,” said Aronoke.
“A droid? What droid?”
“You were in the shops.”
“What did the message say?” asked Ashquash. It was good perhaps, thought Aronoke, that she had seen what had happened. Proof that what he had told her was true.
“I don’t know. I didn’t look at it. Thought it was best to give it to Master Insa-tolsa without looking, and then it blew up.”
“That was sure something though,” said Draken. “The way it all raged and seethed, and how Master Insa-tolsa held it back like that! I’m glad that I saw that. It was amazing!”
“It’s probably best not to talk about it too much,” said Aronoke gently. Draken was still so young in his ways, it was difficult to remember that they were about the same chronological age. He wistfully thought that it would be more fun to be like Draken, without the weight of mysterious problems. If Aronoke had not been growing up so rapidly all the time, he would have spent a great deal more time getting into trouble with Draken, he suspected. “It’s better that the little kids don’t know.”
“Oh of course,” said Draken. “I won’t go blabbing the whole story in front of the little kids. Why would I go and do a thing like that?”
This from Draken who was the primary source of gossip, not only within their clan, but probably amongst many of the surrounding clans as well.
Aronoke and Ashquash both looked at him and Aronoke laughed.
“What?” asked Draken looking bewildered and holding his hands up questioningly.
The weeks fled by, and there was still no good news about Master Altus and Hespenara. Being frozen in carbonite was dangerous if it was not done properly, Aronoke knew, but Hespenara would not be aware of the passing of time. She would be in no pain or torment as long as she had not been released. Aronoke did not know why someone might want a live Jedi to experiment on, but he was certain such projects existed, and he hoped that Hespenara had not fallen into the hands of one of them.
Perhaps an experiment like that was what he himself had been created for.
As time went on, with no good news forthcoming, Aronoke grew more and more impatient. It seemed that the Jedi Council was useless, despite all their amazing powers. Were they too couched in caution to achieve anything? He felt strongly that Master Altus was still alive and was even more certain that he would know at once if the green man were dead.
“Master Insa-tolsa?” asked Aronoke one day. “It seems I have been learning a great deal about the Force, and yet every time we go out on our excursions, you and Master Parothis still shield me from it. Do you think I might go unshielded?”
“Are you sure you are ready?” asked Master Insa-tolsa thoughtfully. “It is for your own protection that you are shielded. Full exposure to the Force can be risky for one with your unusual balance of powers. From your lessons, I know that your control is progressing well, but your sense abilities continue to advance apace.”
“I can’t be certain, of course, Master,” said Aronoke. “But I feel I will be alright. I want to learn. I want to know what it is like. I will not learn to control myself if I do not try.”
“Hm, well, you have practiced hard, it is true,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “On our next expedition you may attempt to go unshielded.”
Their next expedition was to the water purification subsystems on the lower levels of Coruscant. At one time Aronoke would have been worried about all that water. He was still disturbed by it, seeing it lying in great sweltering pools and thundering by in torrential cataracts, but being exposed to the full strength of the Force was a new experience for him. It demanded a lot of his attention. Coming out of the temple had not been as shocking as that first time. He had been expecting the sudden great cacophony of the Force thundering through the great city. His attempts to dull its impact resulted in the construction of his own personal shield to counteract it.
It was not so difficult, but it did require a certain degree of concentration, and so, for the first part of the excursion, Aronoke was happy to wander along with his group mates. To stare in fascinated horror at the vast pools of water and listen to the explanations the tour droids gave of the processes involved in filtering it. Here at last was how Coruscant maintained its water supply to provide for all its billions of people, but Aronoke found it hard to pay attention. He felt curiously divorced from what was happening around him, partly absorbed in the new task of shielding himself, while another part of his mind was thinking about how he was going to achieve his secret goal, to look for Master Altus. Great columns of water thundered down around them, although never so close that they got wet by the spray, yet Aronoke found himself hardly thinking about them at all. He would once have been terrified by such a thing.
Distraction was a powerful tool.
Aronke waited until Master Insa-tolsa and Master Parothis fell deep into conversation together, as they were often wont to do. They stood debating some distance away. Draken and Ashquash were over by the railing, looking down at a great suction pool that lay below. Aronoke took advantage of the moment and went to sit upon a handy bench against one wall
He calmed his mind by means of a simple meditative exercise and carefully let his shields fall away.
He had tried once before to reach out through the Force to find something. It had been a minor thing, a missing datapad left behind on one of their excursions, but he had been unable to reach past the great protective barrier that encircled the Jedi Temple.
Now there was no barrier. The Force was like a great living network that reached everywhere, even between the worlds of the galaxy. Everything was interconnected. Distance was nothing. Aronoke reached out towards Master Altus, knowing that he was out there somewhere, knowing he was not dead and seeking some confirmation of it. Wanting to know where he was.
What came was no more than a fleeting glimpse. Master Altus was in a dark place, alone and in pain, but still very much himself. He shielded himself against the forces that beset him. He was obviously a prisoner, but he was still alive.
Aronoke had no time to tell anything of where Master Altus was. Like a piece of stretchy rubber he had reached his limits of expansion and was suddenly snapped back into himself in a painful oscillating way. He felt too loosely anchored afterwards, like his mind had been overstretched and was unable to contract fully. He sat a few minutes, feeling dizzy but relieved. Master Altus was alive, although he was being held prisoner somewhere.
Everything felt strange and disjointed. The world was too bright and strangely too wide and not high enough. It reverberated around him, and Aronoke forced himself to sit still and focus on a meditative exercise. It did not seem as effective as usual and he felt if he moved too quickly he would lose control of his body and start to shake like a leaf.
“Are you okay, Aronoke?” asked Draken, coming over. “You look a bit sick. Is it all the water?”
“I’m okay,” said Aronoke, climbing to his feet and following the others back over to the masters, hoping he didn’t look too peculiar. Merely thinking that was too much. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as they made their way over to rejoin the tour.
Master Insa-tolsa must have noticed Aronoke looking strained. Suddenly the Master’s shield snapped around Aronoke, blocking out the vast bulk of the Force. Aronoke felt more secure. He was happy to remain quietly near Master Insa-tolsa for the rest of the trip, although his mind was anything but still. He was so very grateful that Master Altus was not dead or horribly changed.
He knew that keeping this information to himself was the smart thing to do. He might get in trouble for having attempted to see Master Altus. Master Insa-tolsa would certainly not be pleased.
But he didn’t care if he got in trouble. That was of no importance whatsoever. If what he had seen was even of the smallest assistance in locating Master Altus, it would be worth it.
“Master Insa-tolsa, can I speak with you a moment, before we go back?” asked Aronoke when their speeder arrived at the temple.
“Yes, of course,” said the ithorian. “Although I hope it is not a surprise like last time. Draken and Ashquash, you can go ahead back to your clan rooms. There is no need for you to wait.”
Draken and Ashquash were curious, Aronoke could see, but made no protest, making their bows, and thanking Master Insa-tolsa for taking them out.
“I saw Master Altus,” said Aronoke, once the others had gone. “I could sense him through the Force. I could not see where he was, but I could tell that he was alive. He seemed to be a prisoner, and was in some pain, but he was still alive and still himself.”
Master Insa-tolsa paused a moment, an unreadably alien expression crossing his face. “That is good news,” he said at last. “I am relieved to hear that Master Altus is alive, but you have been very foolish Aronoke. To attempt to seek him out in this way is a task that experienced Masters would hesitate attempting. Your training is very far from complete and you risk yourself greatly by attempting such a thing.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” said Aronoke, but he was not. He was entirely unrepentant. “But I would not be here at all if it were not for Master Altus. I might be something else entirely, or probably dead. If I can do anything to help him, then any risk to myself is unimportant.”
“If you risk yourself heedlessly now, untrained and impatient, Initiate,” said Master Insa-tolsa sternly, “then you may well not be here later, when your skills really are needed. You might rob us of a resource that might help many people. Or even worse, corrupt that potential good into something that could do us harm. Master Altus himself would advise you to refrain from taking such risks on his behalf. Although I am relieved that he is still alive and will see that this information is passed on to those investigating his whereabouts, I am disappointed that you would do a thing like this during one of our excursions. I trust you to behave in a proper manner while in public and to be a good example for Ashquash and Draken. I took your request to go unshielded in good faith, yet you have purposefully manufactured this opportunity for your own purposes.”
“I am sorry for that, Master,” said Aronoke, more contritely. “It was not my intention to deceive you or to be disobedient. You are right. I did not consider that aspect of my actions. I have always felt that Master Altus was still alive. I felt I could contact him if only I tried, and it is difficult not to try when no one has made any great progress towards finding him and Hespenara.”
“You must be patient and trust in the Force,” said the ithorian. “All things happen in their own time.” And he went on to recite several platitudes that emphasized this point and required Aronoke to contemplate them at length, as a penance.
Aronoke did this, but he was still unable to regret trying to find Master Altus. The fact that the green man was still alive was a comfort to him during all the days that followed.
One evening, Aronoke was called to the library by Master Insa-tolsa. They had not met there before, but Aronoke thought little of it, because they often met in different places. When he arrived, it turned out to be a meeting room, set out with chairs and tables, with a reference library of datacrystals stored along the walls.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa, more formal than usual. “There is someone here whom I would like you to meet.” He gestured across the room, and Aronoke’s gaze followed the motion to settle upon the woman who stood there.
She was a chiss. A tall, stern looking chiss with silver hair, almost as tall as he was. He found it strange to look into her glowing red eyes, so much like his own in the mirror.
“This is Master Bel’dor’ruch,” said Master Insa-tolsa.
Aronoke had been told once about Master Bel’dor’ruch, the chiss Jedi who had come through the Jedi Temple a quarter of a century before he had started his training. He had been told he might consider her a good example of what he might achieve. He had expected that one day he might meet her, due to their shared race, but had not expected it to be as soon as this. Speechless for a moment, he realised he was staring at her, and attempted to hide his confusion by making an awkward polite bow under her flashing red gaze.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “You have nearly reached your full growth.”
Aronoke wondered how she could tell how fully grown he was, just by looking at him.
“Yes, Master,” he forced himself to say. He felt returned to his old monosyllabic insecurity, she was so very stern and frightening. Her direct manner seemed impossible to avoid, while her voice was hard and demanding, indicating that she would brook no nonsense.
“How long have you been here at the Jedi temple, Aronoke?”
“Something over two years, Master,” said Aronoke.
“I have heard about these incidents that have plagued you,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch. “I find it an affront to our shared species that the only other chiss to train to be a Jedi in my lifetime should have his training botched in this way. It is hard to believe that such a matter has not been effectively dealt with by the Jedi Masters after all this time.” She gave Master Insa-tolsa a scathing look, as if he were personally responsible for these failings, but did not give him time to reply.
“The question that I find myself asking,” she continued, pacing back and forth, “is why you have attracted this unwanted attention. It seems unlikely that it is due to your race alone, although I suppose it is possible. Your records show that you are a dedicated student, but certainly no more talented than many others. Many students are different in one regard or another – merely being unusual does not seem enough reason for you to warrant such unusual attention.”
She regarded Aronoke with her piercing red eyes.
“Your Master Altus recorded in his report that you were being provoked. His words indicate that he recognised that there was a reason for this happening and did not question that it was valid, but he did not see fit to record exactly what it might be.”
Aronoke could feel the heat rising in his face, a side-effect of the old shame and fear that were rising unbidden inside him, when he realised where this conversation was leading.
“Now Master Altus has disappeared as well,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch pointedly. “He has obviously met with a disaster great enough to overwhelm even one of his power and experience. I can’t help but think that these things are potentially related.”
She stopped still, fixing Aronoke with her stare and let him stand there a moment, sweating and trapped by his own ancient terror. He forced himself to focus, to bring his fear under control. He swallowed uncomfortably.
“Is there any reason you know of, Initiate, which you revealed to Master Altus, which might explain why you might be singled out in this way?”
“There is one thing, Master,” said Aronoke reluctantly. “There is not really any explaining it. I can only show you.”
“Then show us,” demanded Master Bel’dor’ruch. She waited expectantly, willing to accept no delays.
Aronoke made a small bow of acquiescence. His heart thudded in his chest despite his effort to maintain control and he felt hot, heavy and sick, like he had been struck down with a sudden fever. With fumbling hands that felt swollen and slow, he took off his outer robe and hung it on a chair. Nausea washed over him in waves as he unfastened his shirt with fingers that shook slightly. He felt helpless as a child again, naked, tied face-down on a rack, bound to his fate, as he took the shirt off.
You are not there, he told himself firmly, hanging the shirt over the robe. This is not Crazy Kras. That will not happen here.
And then he turned around.
They came forward to peer at him, turning up the lights to see better.
“And Master Altus knew about this?” asked Bel’dor’ruch.
“He took a picture of it,” said Aronoke unsteadily. “Recorded it on his datapad. He was investigating it here at the temple, but found little. Said there was a lead he might investigate while he was away.”
“And now he has disappeared,” said Master Bel’dor’ruch thoughtfully. “You can get dressed, Initiate.”
Aronoke hastened to put his shirt and robe back on while she continued speaking.
“A detailed record should be made of those markings. We must try to replicate Master Altus’s research, so we might find out what this lead was. It might give us some insight into where he went.”
Without further deliberation she turned to Master Insa-tolsa.
“Why is he still an initiate here in the temple?” she said, speaking as if Aronoke was not there. “He is obviously almost fully grown. Both you and I know, Master Insa-tolsa, that the role of Initiate is an artificial one, brought into existence to keep young Force-sensitives out of trouble until they are fully grown and a Master can be found to mentor them. It is only in recent decades that they are kept here as late as they are, shipped in batches like livestock to Ilum because there are so many it is the only way to deal effectively with them all. They used to be sent out much sooner, and certainly have been sent out with less training in times of war. He is young by today’s standards, it is true, but we chiss are not like humans, are nothing like humans in this regard. There is also his unusual background to consider. He was already performing in an adult’s role before he was inducted, according to Master Altus’s reports. He would never have been allowed to train at all, if not for Master Altus’s sponsorship. He is far too old. He should be given his trials and made a Padawan, placed out in the field where these harassments will be more easily avoided. It is the obvious solution.”
“But he is not ready for such pressures,” objected Master Insa-tolsa. “Aronoke has only been with us for a short time and although it is true that he has learned very quickly, there is still much that he does not know. Surely his unusual background means there is more reason, rather than less, that he requires time to complete his training.”
“Much that a Master can easily teach him out in the field, as it is meant to be. Don’t you agree, Master Insa-tolsa, that it was from your Master that you learned all the most important aspects of your training? Not as an initiate wasting time in the temple?”
Aronoke thought Master Insa-tolsa did not like the temple labelled as a waste of time, but the ithorian said nothing of this.
“You do make some valid points, Master Bel’dor’ruch,” he said stiffly. “In regard to the harassments.”
“What about you?” said Master Bel’dor’ruch suddenly, turning back to Aronoke. “Do you feel ready to go out to train with a Master in the field?”
“I…I don’t know, Master,” said Aronoke uncertainly. Part of him leapt at such an idea – to be out doing instead of practicing, to be able to make some difference in the world. To learn new things through experience rather than carefully considered repetition. But part of him did not want that responsibility. He liked having a safe place here in the temple, with people who could help him. The incidents were difficult and annoying, it was true, but they were nothing compared to the difficulties he had faced before he had come here. Those were the only two types of existence that he had known.
“I feel there is still much I have to learn here,” he said. “But I also feel it would be safer for my clan mates if I was not here, because then they could not be targeted by these attempts to get at me.”
Master Bel’dor’ruch was not satisfied with this hovering.
“Let me put it another way,” she said. “If you were given the opportunity to attempt the test to become a Padawan, would you be willing to do so?”
She made it sound like a challenge.
“Of course, Master,” said Aronoke immediately.
“Well then,” she said, turning back to Master Insa-tolsa and shrugging. “Let it be so. I don’t believe there is anything else we need to discuss that requires your presence, Initiate. I will contact you later as I would speak with you further about these incidents and those things that we have in common. You are dismissed.”
“You look rather shaken,” said Draken, when Aronoke got back to the clan rooms. “Did something strange happen to you again? More exploding messages?”
“No,” said Aronoke. “I had to go and see Master Bel’dor’ruch and she is scary.”
“Oh,” said Draken, a little sympathetically. Aronoke refrained from telling him more about the meeting. He didn’t tell Draken that he had met another chiss. He felt like Master Bel’dor’ruch had taken his world, firmly shaken it and then set it back in place upside-down. He had finally met someone of his own race and she was not at all like anything he had expected. She had ruthlessly extracted his secret in just a few minutes. Then she had abruptly decided that he should be taken from the temple and sent out into the galaxy. He did not know how to explain these things to Draken and thought perhaps it was best not to.
Everything would be revealed in time, regardless.