Part 2 (1/2)

Chapter Four.

It was nearly night when Korsin appeared on the twice-trodden trail, pulling a makes.h.i.+ft sledge crafted from a mess table. With thermal blankets and the remaining foodpaks heaped upon it, Korsin had needed the help of the Force a few times to get it down the mountain. Straps from pouches cut into his shoulders and neck, leaving ugly welts. The single campfire had become several. He was glad to see them.

Ravilan appeared glad to see him, too, after an initial surprised reaction. ”The beacon! Is it working?”

”I pushed the b.u.t.ton myself,” Korsin announced.

”And?”

”And we wait.”

Ravilan's eyes narrowed in the smoky haze. ”You know where we are? You spoke to someone?” Korsin's attention had already turned to unloading the packs to anxious crewmembers. Ravilan lowered his voice. ”Where ... are your Ma.s.sa.s.si?”

Korsin didn't look up. ”All dead. You don't think I wanted to do this myself, do you?”

The quartermaster's crimson face paled a little. ”No, of course not-Commander.” He looked back at the summit, fading in the surrounding darkness. ”Perhaps others of us could have a look at the transmitter. We might-”

”Ravilan, if you want to go back up there, you're welcome to. But I'd bring a team with some heavy equipment, because if we don't get some supports under that s.h.i.+p, the next person who boards could take it on its last flight.” Korsin set down the last pack and stretched his neck. ”Where are your your Ma.s.sa.s.si?” Ma.s.sa.s.si?”

Ravilan stared. ”All dead.”

Korsin stepped free, at last, from the cabling he'd used to drag the sledge. The bonfire blazed invitingly. So why was he so cold?

”Seelah.”

”Where's Devore?”

He looked at her coldly. Seelah stood, her tarnished gold uniform flickering in the firelight. ”Where is is Devore?” he repeated. Devore?” he repeated.

”He went up-” She stopped herself. No one was supposed to leave camp. And now, the look in Yaru Korsin's eyes.

She squeezed Jariad, who woke crying.

The pep talk began as many of Korsin's did-with a summation of Things Everyone Already Knows. But this speech was different, because there were so many things n.o.body knew, himself included. The a.s.surance that Naga Sadow still valued their cargo rang true for all, and while they were clearly a long way from anywhere, few could imagine the Sith Lord's desire exceeding his reach. Even if they were less sanguine about what Sadow felt about them them, Korsin knew his crew would accept that someone, somewhere, was looking for them.

They just didn't need to know how long that might take. It was too soon for that. Sadow, he would figure out later. This place couldn't be about what was next. It had to be about now.

By the speech's end, Korsin found himself growing unusually philosophical: ”It was our destiny to land on this rock-and we are bound to our destiny. For a time, it looks like, we're also bound to this rock,” he said. ”So be it. We're Sith. Let's make it ours.”

He looked toward a satellite campfire and spotted Gloyd and the remains of his gunnery crew bristling against the breeze. He waved them to the main bonfire. It would be another hard night, Korsin knew, and the supplies he'd brought would soon run out.

But he knew something else. Something he'd seen, that no one else had.

The winged beast had carried a rider.

The Force was with them.

Gripping her son, Seelah watched the circle break. Nodding, human Sith set to their tasks, stepping around Ravilan, the master without Ma.s.sa.s.si. He stood aloof, commiserating with the Red Sith and the few other surviving aliens. Energized and triumphant, Yaru Korsin conferred with Gloyd-keeping his confidences, as he always had, to the huge alien. Too strong to be defeated, too stupid to betray him-and dumb to the Force. The perfect ally.

Turning away from the Houk, Korsin saw Seelah. A new land to be broken to his will, and no one to stand in his way. He smiled.

Seelah returned his gaze coldly. Thinking of Devore, thinking of little Jariad, she made a quick decision. Summoning all her anger, all her hatred, all her will ...

... Seelah smiled back.

Devore had underestimated Yaru Korsin. Whatever came, Seelah thought, she would not. She would bide her time.

Time, they had.

Read on for an excerpt from Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Fate of the Jedi: Omen Omen by Christie Golden Published by Del Rey Books Kesh Two Years Earlier The ocean sighed as it rushed forward and receded in a rhythm even more ancient than what was unfolding on its lavender-sand sh.o.r.es. While the sun was bright and warm, a breeze came from the sea to cool the heated faces of the two figures standing there.

They faced each other, as still as if they were carved from stone, the only motion around them that of their hair and heavy black robes as the wind toyed with them.

Then, as if by some unheard signal, one of them moved. The soft sound of the ocean was punctuated by a sharp snap-hiss. snap-hiss. The almost perfectly symmetrical, light purple features of Vestara Khai's adversary were abruptly cast into sickly green relief. Vestara activated her own weapon with a fluid motion, saluted her opponent with it, settled into position, and waited to see who would make the first move. She balanced lightly on the b.a.l.l.s of her booted feet, ready to leap left, right, or straight up. Still her opponent did not move. The almost perfectly symmetrical, light purple features of Vestara Khai's adversary were abruptly cast into sickly green relief. Vestara activated her own weapon with a fluid motion, saluted her opponent with it, settled into position, and waited to see who would make the first move. She balanced lightly on the b.a.l.l.s of her booted feet, ready to leap left, right, or straight up. Still her opponent did not move.

The sun was at its height and its light was harsh, beating down on them like something physical. Their heavy dark robes were stifling hot, but Vestara would no sooner abandon her robes than she would abandon her weapon or her heritage. The robes were traditional, ancient, a deep and valued part of who she was, and she would endure the enc.u.mbrance. The Tribe valued strength as much as it valued beauty; rewarded patience as much as initiative. The wise being was the one who knew when which was called for.

Vestara sprang.

Not at her opponent, but to the left and past him, leaping upward, turning in the air, and slas.h.i.+ng outward with the blade. She felt the blade impact and heard its distinctive sizzle. He gasped as she landed, flipped, and crouched back into a defensive position. The sandy surface was treacherous, and her foot slipped. She righted herself almost instantly, but that moment was all he needed to come at her.

He hammered her with blows that were more of strength than grace, his lithe body all lean muscle. She parried each strike, the blades clas.h.i.+ng and sizzling, and ducked underneath the final one. Lightness and agility were her allies, and she used them freely.

Her long, light brown hair had come loose from its quickly twisted braid, and the tendrils were a distraction. She blew upward to clear her vision just in time to block another one of the strong blows.

”Blast,” she muttered, leaping back and switching the blade to her other hand. She was completely ambidextrous. ”You're getting good, Ahri.”

Ahri Raas, apprentice, member of the native-and conquered-species of Kes.h.i.+ri and Vestara Khai's close friend, offered her a smile. ”I'd say the same about you, Ves, except for the fact that that sand-jump messes you up every single ti-”

She interrupted him with a sudden upward leap, landing on his shoulders, balancing there lightly with the use of the Force, and plunged the lightsaber straight downward, aiming for his back between his shoulder blades. He dived forward, Force-pus.h.i.+ng her off, but not before she had touched the tip of the glowing red blade to his robes. Ahri arched, his dive thrown off as his body twisted from the pain; even the training lightsabers inflicted a powerful shock.

Vestara leapt as Ahri dived, using his Force push to her own advantage, turning twice in the air and landing surely, facing him. She smirked in satisfaction as she brushed her renegade locks out of the way. Ahri completed his dive and came to his feet, rolling in the sand. Vestara extended her arm with the grace of a dancer. Ahri's lightsaber was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand and flew into hers. She grasped it and dropped into the Jar'Kai stance, ready to come at him with both blades. Ahri looked up and sighed, dropping back into the sand.

”And you get distracted far too easily. Focus, Ahri, focus,” she chided. She gestured casually, just a slight jerk of her chin, and a handful of sand flew toward Ahri's face. Muttering, he lifted his empty hand and used the Force to deflect the grains.

”It's just training, Ves,” he muttered, getting to his feet and dusting himself off.

”It's never never just training,” she shot back. She deactivated her training lightsaber, hooked it back on her belt, and tossed Ahri's to him. The Kes.h.i.+ri youth caught it easily, still looking disgruntled. Vestara undid her hair and fluffed it for a minute, letting the air penetrate to the roots to cool her scalp. Her long fingers busily re-braided it, properly this time, as she continued to speak, while Ahri shook grains of purple sand out of his own white, shoulder-length hair. just training,” she shot back. She deactivated her training lightsaber, hooked it back on her belt, and tossed Ahri's to him. The Kes.h.i.+ri youth caught it easily, still looking disgruntled. Vestara undid her hair and fluffed it for a minute, letting the air penetrate to the roots to cool her scalp. Her long fingers busily re-braided it, properly this time, as she continued to speak, while Ahri shook grains of purple sand out of his own white, shoulder-length hair.

”How often have I told you that? Say that in the presence of one of the Masters and you'll never make it beyond a Tyro.”

Ahri sighed and rose, nodding to acknowledge the truth of what she said. Neither of them had been formally chosen as an apprentice yet, although they had been training in cla.s.ses under the tutelage of various Masters for years, their strengths and weaknesses in the Force noted and a.n.a.lyzed and pushed.

Vestara knew that, at fourteen, it was still possible, even likely, that she would be chosen by a Master as his or her formal apprentice. But she chafed horribly at the delay. Some Tyros were chosen at much younger ages, and Vestara knew that she was strong in the Force.

She reached out for a flask of now warm water and the canteen resting on the sand floated to her, the lid unfastening as it moved. Vestara gulped down the liquid thirstily. Sparring at the height of the sun was exhausting, and Ahri always muttered about it, but she knew it toughened her. Vestara handed the canteen to Ahri, who also drank.

She regarded him for a moment. He was a nearly perfect physical specimen of a species whose physical strength, agility, and harmony of features and form had become an ideal for her own people. He could easily pa.s.s for a member of her own species-he would make a striking human, but a human nonetheless-were it not for the pale purple cast to his skin. His eyes, too, were slightly larger than a human's; large and expressive. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and there was not an ounce of superfluous fat on his frame. His face, though, was flushed a darker purple than usual because he was overheated, and his hair had far too much sand in it.