His partner nodded. "She can find her own way back," he said, and gestured her through without another word.
In fact, Tahiri did know her way back to her rooms, but that wasn't where she was heading. She was 1etting her instincts, not her head, guide her again. Someone else had stayed in these rooms-she was more convinced of this now than she had been before. She half closed her eves to shut out the distraction of her physical senses, walking where her feelings led her, reaching out with the Force to make sense of her suspicions. Whoever it was who had been the Fia's guest, she could feel their echoes and shadows all around her in the walls, the carpets, the gilt-edged cornices, the carvings . . . ' She moved along the corridors, the feelings becoming stronger with each step she took, finally reaching their peak when she turned into one long passage leading to a wide viewport. The viewport itself looked directly out into the clear skies of Galantos, the sunlight through the decorative and colored glass casting rainbow hues across the numerous doors that lined the passage.
She stepped uneasily forward, her hands reaching out to touch each door in turn as she passed. They all seemed devoid of anything out of the ordinary, and yet the a ridor rang with an odd, discordant resonance. The feel-ing was so strong now, in fact, it was almost tangible. Someone
She stopped abruptly. Her entire body tingled as her fingertips came into contact with the door at the far end of the corridor. She wasn't normally able to sense individuals so strongly, particularly in the ambience of an unfamiliar world. So what made this one so special? Why was her stomach churning at the thought of opening this door? What exactly was it in these echoes that disturbed her so intensely?
You are being foolish, she chided herself. You are a Jedi Knight and that is an empty room. There's nothing in there to be frightened of, but fear itself.
The door slid open when she touched the keypad nothing to hide, it would seem, or else the door would have been locked. But the mysterious presence hit her like a wave of stale air, making her flinch.
Somewhere in the distance she thought she heard voices calling her, so, despite her apprehensions, she stepped into the room. Her movements were slow and awkward as though she were trying to take strides in a Mimban swamp.
As expected, the room was unoccupied. It was far from being empty, though. The feelings were so strong now that her entire body felt as though it was about to explodeand, such was the discomfort they were giving her, right then she would have been happy if it had.
Still allowing her instincts to guide her, Tahiri stepped over to the bed, lifting the quilt covering it to look underneath. Finding nothing, she lifted the entire mattress.
There.
At full stretch, she could just manage to get her fingers on the tiny silver object that lay on the dusty floor. And the moment she touched it, a shock went through her that sent her reeling. She lay on the floor, clutching the object, panting to catch her breath and fighting to hold the darkness at the back of her mind from sweeping in.
This was it this was what had been calling to her. Just like the voices were calling to her now. . .
"Mistress Veila! Are you all right?"
Was it a Fia who had called her name? She couldn't be sure; she was too busy trying to stay conscious.
"You must come with us, please," the owner of the voice continued. "You should not be here!"
She felt herself actively complying with the request, even though she seemed to have no real control over her body. It was as if she were lost in a vague fog, her movements as clumsy as a puppet's.
Turning, she saw three Fia guards at the door, one stepping in to take her arm and guide her out into the corridor. There, the other two took position close behind her. They were speaking, but she couldn't quite make out the words, as though she were disassociated completely from her body, looking down from above on all that was happening. And it was all because of the thing in her
hand. . .
She brought the pendant up to examine it more closely. It was silver in appearance, but fashioned from a substance unfamiliar to her, and molded in the shape of a bulbous-headed, many-tentacled jellyfisha bizarre cross between an Umgullian blob and a Sarlacc.
But she knew what it was. Although she'd never seen anything quite like it before, she recognized it immediately.
It was an image of the Yuuzhan Vong deity Yun-Yammka, the Slayer.
A wail came bubbling up from inside her, crying out in a language she wasn't supposed to know Ukla-na vissa crai!
Tahiri clutched the totem to her chest as the world grayed around her and plunged her, finally, into black.
In the week following the telling of the Rapuung story, Nom Anor accompanied I'pan on his missions to the upper levels. Using his knowledge of security codes and resource management, he was able to appropriate many of the raw materials the Shamed Ones needed to build their new home, things they hadn't previously been able to gain access to. Slowly but surely this ragtag bunch of Shamed Ones was becoming indebted to him, living a life they would not have been able to had he not been introduced to them. He had given them the lambents that Supplied them light when the bioluminescent globes failed, and the arksh that gave them warmth during those colder nights, as well as the h'merrig, the biological processor that produced a significant percentage of their daily food. He had stolen the materials in good conscience, not caring how the thefts might hurt Shimrra's war effort. For now, all that concerned him was engendering the trust of his new companions. And while his small contributions had helped in this, it hadn't been enough to win over everyoneespecially the likes of Kunra, who remained suspicious of his motives.
None of that mattered right now, though. He was on another mission with I'pan, and this time collecting equipment and gaining the Shamed Ones' trust was far from his mind. This time, he had a different agenda.
"How much farther?" His tone was full of irritation as he squeezed himself between two enormous conduits.
"Almost there." I'pan looked around to get his bearings, then headed for a small hole in one of the walls. On the other side was a ferrocrete tunnel originally intended to give maintenance droids access to a seemingly endless stream of cables and pipes bunched overhead. The tunnel curved away slightly to the left and had no entrances or exits other than those that had been knocked through the ferrocrete by other explorers. For all Nom Anor could tell, it might have circumnavigated the entire wretched planet.
They came across the corroded remains of a droid halfway along their journey. It was slumped on its side, burned out and stripped of all its useful parts. The expression on its blackened, empty face was a hideous parody of life. Nom Anor kicked it over, stepping on the fragments for good measure as he passed.
Soon they reached a narrow crack in the side of the tunnel, and I'pan put a knobby finger to his lips, calling for quiet. Then he slipped awkwardly but soundlessly through the crack. Nom Anor waited anxiously in the tunnel, fearing a trap. There was nowhere to hide in this endless, abominable place.
I'pan's hand suddenly reemerged from the crack and waved him through. "They're not here yet," he said. "We'll have to wait."
Nom Anor followed I'pan into the sub-basement. Despite years of infiltrating the infidel societies, he still felt slightly hemmed in by the sharp edges, flat planes, and impossibly perfect corners that characterized such rooms. Nothing in nature exhibited such properties as these artificial monstrositiesor at least not simultaneously, anyway. It felt as though their very design was intended to suck the life out of those who occupied them, as if in some vain attempt to fill their terrible emptiness.
The room's only door was locked from the outside. If he was patient, he told himself, he would soon be safely back in the reassuring jumble of the deepest levels, where the weight of all the buildings above warped the edges, bowed the planes, and thwarted the corners sufficiently to fool the mind into thinking it might almost be natural. Almost.
I'pan collapsed bonelessly into a corner, appearing in the shadows to be little more t
han a pile of rubbish under all the rags. Finding a spot in the center of the room, where someone had unsuccessfully attempted to soften the room's harshness by planting a vurruk carpet, Nom Anor concentrated on breathing exercises to pass the time. He was much fitter than he had been before Ebaq 9. He hadn't noticed how the years of stress had racked his body until a few weeks of a solid, simple exercise regime washed it clean. His pulse was again strong, and the gash across his fingers had healed perfectly into a ragged, attractive scar. He felt younger than he had in decades. Nom Anor's self-imposed exile may not have advanced his return with any great speed, but physically it was doing him a world of good.
The sou nd of scuffling from the far side of the basement's door broke his meditation. Nom Anor and I'pan rose to their feet together as the lock clunked, the door opened, and three people stepped through. The leader, a tall man with no eyesacks to speak of, stopped in front of I'pan but stared critically over at Nom Anor. He held a sack in one hand, which he passed to I'pan without a word.
I'pan took it. "Aarn, T'less, Shoon-mi," he said when the door was safely shut, addressing each of the strangers in turn. "I have brought someone who wishes to learn more about the Jeedai."
The three Shamed Ones studied Nom Anor closely. It was clear they didn't recognize him. He knew their type well. They carried an air of toil with them, as though subservience was an atmosphere that could be bottled. I'pan had explained in advance that these three didn't belong to a rogue group such as the one Nom Anor had stumbled across; such were rare, even following the spread of the Jedi heresy. These three were properly employed workers operating under cover.
"His name is" I'pan started, but was stopped as Nom Anor stepped forward, pushing his companion aside.
"I am Amorrn," he said. The false name was intended ostensibly to avoid alarm over his former existence, but mainly to reduce the chances that word of his survival would reach Shimrra.
The tall one nodded. "I am Shoon-mi," he said, "Niiriit's creche-brother. When she fell from grace, it was I who freed her from the priests' cells and allowed her to escape. She has told you about me?"
Niiriit hadn't, but Nom Anor could see in the man's sad eyes a yearning for acknowledgment. He knew this sort, too his immediate family would have been Shamed along with Niiriit, and he was brave enough as a result to resist the established order in small ways, yet too cowardly to abandon it entirely.
"She has told me many things," he said. "She tells me that you, too, follow the ways of the Jedi."
This was mostly true; she had spoken of a person closer to the surface who believed in a slightly different version of the heresy. She and Nom Anor had had many conversations on the topic of the Jedi, but she had never once mentioned her relationship to Shoon-mi. He wondered if her devotion to the heresy had burned out all other concernsperhaps even any feelings for Kunra that might once have existed.
"I pay heed to what I hear," Shoon-mi said cautiously. "Will you tell me what that is?" One of Shoon-mi's companions looked nervous. "This is neither the place nor the time," she said. "We are due back in"
"You go, T'less," Shoon-mi said with an edge as sharp as the room's corners. "Tell Sh'simm we were held up in the yorik nursery. This is more important." He looked directly at Nom Anor, his narrow eyes studying the ex-executor intensely. "And this is as good a place as any."
The one called T'less nodded, glancing at Nom Anor before hastily slipping out of the room.
"Don't let us get you into any trouble," Nom Anor said ingratiatingly.
"We won't be missed," said the Shamed One I'pan had named Aarn. "Things are chaotic on the surface. Whatever it is that afflicts the dhuryam still causes great discomfort. There is confusion and instability. Many are joining our ranks as they are blamed for mistakes or inefficiencies caused by those higher up, and this influx makes it easier for us to slip through the cracks."
Nom Anor listened with stunned amazement. Aarn clearly suffered from a different kind of heresy that of rebellion. He'd had no idea that such things were discussed at any level of Yuuzhan Vong society, even among the Shamed Ones.
"I'pan has told me the story he heard on Duro," Nom Anor said, swallowing his surprise. "But he tells me also that there are differences between his story and yours."
Shoon-mi nodded. "In the version he tells, it was Mezhan Kwaad who killed Vua Rapuung. But I have heard that he survived her blow, and that he sacrificed himself directly so that the Jeedai could escape. And I also heard that it was his brother who killed him. Hul Rapuung was willing to consider that Mezhan Kwaad had Shamed him intentionally, but could not go so far as to accept the Jeedai as allies. When Vua died, his supporters fell on Hul and killed him, and it was during this confusion that the Jeedai escaped.""Even so," Nom Anor said, "the message is essentially the same, is it not?"
Shoon-mi shook his head. "There are differences there, too. The Jeedai stands accused of using fire in his attack on the Yavin Four installation. That is an abomination of the first order. Most people who hear the story shy away from it, preferring to ignore it as an awkward detail rather than try to examine it and thereby come to a better understanding of the Jeedai's way. But understanding is the key. Anakin Solo proved himself to be more than just an infidel tool user. Later, when his creche-mates were in danger, he sacrificed himself in glorious combat so that they might live. He did not shy away from death. You and I both know that these are not the actions of primitive infidels. They are adaptive strategiesstrategies we can learn from."
Nom Anor nodded, absorbing what he'd been told. This story of Vua Rapuung's death rang closer to his memories. There was no mass uprising in the records, no clash between warriors with different ideologies, as I'pan had related it. But Shoon-mi had not mentioned the slaughter of the Shamed Ones on Yavin 4, either. In the mythic sense, clearly the deaths of a thousand Shamed Ones were irrelevant compared to the death of a single significant one.
The fact that Nom Anor had once turned down an invitation to duel with the great Anakin Solo would never be known. The executor had killed an entire squad of warriors with an infidel's blaster in order to keep that particular secret from getting out.
"Where did you hear this story?" he asked. "From me," Aarn said, stepping forward. The relatively youthful Shamed One had narrow features that spoke of generations of Shame before himso much so, in fact, that Nom Anor found it an affront to his dignity even to be in the same room as the man, let alone talk to him.
"I heard it from one of us who served on Garqi."
"And where did they hear it?"
Aarn shrugged, his craggy face pinched into a frown. "I'm not sure," he said. "Why do you need to know?"
Nom Anor shrugged this time. "I am merely curious how there came to be two stories that differ so dramatically about the same event," he said. "It's not as if it happened that long ago. One of the stories must be partly falsebut that doesn't necessarily mean that the other is entirely true. If one should be false, why not the other, too?"
"They overlap enough to convince me that the foundations, at least, are true," Shoon-mi said. "You know how quickly rumors change. Word of mouth can distort truth in a very short space of time. But that does not change the essence of the story."
Nom Anor nodded thoughtfully, pretending to consider the point Shoon-mi had made. "But which, then, is the most true? Which Jedi do I listen to? The one who uses fire, or the one who doesn't?"
"You must follow your instincts," Aarn said.
Nom Anor glanced at the Shamed One, briefly and with a hint of a snarl at the corner of his mouth. It incensed him to have to associate with the likes of the man, when a few months back it would have been beneath him to even waste a thought on his kind.
"I'd rather hoped to follow the story back to its source," he said, speaking directly to Shoon-mi. "To the one who took it off Yavin Four in the first placethe one who saw it with his own eyes and was brave enough to repeat it."
"I don't have that one's name," Shoon-mi said. "I don't know t
hat anyone does, either."
"He was never named in your version of the story?"
Niiriit's brother shook his head. "I'd remember if he had been. That person would be as famous as Vua Rapuung."
He'd also be dead, Nom Anor thought to himself. Going around telling stories about heretics was one thing, but admitting who it was who disobeyed War-master Tsavong Lah's direct order was another thing altogether. It could have been anyone, though a warrior might have smuggled out a favorite slave; the shaper Nen Yim might have spoken of her experiences on Yavin 4; or someone belonging to a domain rivaling Kwaad might have even spread such rumors. The possibilities were numerous.
"Are there any other differences between the stories, then?" he asked, hoping to sound more like an innocent student of the Jedi rather than someone with an ulterior motive.
"There's some discrepancy over when the events occurred," Aarn said.
"Yes, I know. One version suggests that all this happened when Yavin Four was still in the hands of the Jedi. Doesn't that bother you?"
"Not really," Aarn said. "Stories do change of their own accord. I would be more suspicious if all the versions were exactly the same."
"Do you know of any others who tell tales like this, then?" Nom Anor asked.
"A few," Shoon-mi said. "Everyone tells a handful of trusted friends, and each of those in turn tells another handful. That is the manner by which rumors spread. Not knowing who told who more than one or two reiterations ago may be frustrating, but it certainly makes things safer for all of us."
That much was true, at least, Nom Anor thought. Without that fact working in its favor, the Jedi myth wouldn't have filtered far enough to reach his ears. At the same time, though, not being able to trace it back would hardly work in his favor. Shimrra wouldn't be happy with only half the information, if Nom Anor decided to divulge it. Unless the Supreme Overlord could be assured of wiping it out at its source, he would never believe that it had been completely eradicated. This would undoubtedly frustrate him, and that would make Nom Anor the source of this frustration.
Star Wars - The New Jedi Order - Force Heretic I - Remnant - Book 17 Page 18
