Tigris rose, then hesitated.
Lord Hethrir cannot have forgotten the reception tomorrow morning, Tigris thought. Is he testing me again? I long to serve him some other way than carrying messages! I long to earn the right to be purified. I’m not afraid of the danger!
Perhaps, Tigris thought, Lord Hethrir believes I forgot the reception. Perhaps he thinks my hopes are so arrogant that I cannot remember my duties.
“Is a member of the Empire Youth in residence, my lord?”
“Certainly not. They are all working for the Empire Reborn, undermining the New Republic.” Lord Hethrir sounded impatient.
“Then, sir, shall I ask the Head Proctor to negotiate with your guests?” Tigris asked.
“My guests—?” Hethrir said. “The Head Proctor?”
“Tomorrow morning, sir.”
Hethrir paused.
“I’d no more leave the Head Proctor to receive my guests than I’d leave you, foolish Tigris!” he said sharply. “I have no intention of departing before my guests arrive! Why did you think I might?”
“I misunderstood.” Tigris said quickly. “I beg your forgiveness.”
Hethrir sighed. “You continually apologize, but you never change in such a way as to make apology unnecessary. That is what you must strive for!”
Tigris hung his head. He could not think of anything to say, except that he was sorry, and he did not want to say he was sorry again. He was aware of the depths to which he had disappointed Lord Hethrir. He picked at the cuff of his ragged brown robe, knowing how far he was from replacing it with the rust-colored tunic of a helper, or the light blue jumpsuit of the Proctors.
Hethrir rose. His white robes rustled. The soft fabric slid across itself as the Lord moved. The sound made Tigris shiver.
The whining hum of Lord Hethrir’s lightsaber filled the room, and the silver-gray light of the blade cast shadows on Tigris’s empty hands. Tigris raised his head, to gaze in wonder as he always did at the radiance of Lord Hethrir’s saber.
The blade vanished.
“Try once more.” Lord Hethrir said, and gave the handle of the lightsaber to Tigris.
The handle of the saber felt warm in Tigris’s grip. The lightsaber was too large for Tigris’s hands, but he clasped it as best he could.
He knew what Lord Hethrir wanted him to do.
The blade of Lord Hethrir’s lightsaber could only be activated by the use of the Force. Hethrir would not accept anyone into his inner circles who could not complete the circuit and generate the blade.
Tigris tried, how he tried, to make a connection to the Force, to extend himself, to create the blade.
The child Anakin raised his head and watched with interest.
Nothing happened. The saber remained cold and dead.
“Mine!” Anakin said, stretching his hands toward Tigris.
Lord Hethrir smiled fondly at Anakin. “No, little one,” he said. “You have no need of my lightsaber,”
He returned his attention to Tigris, and sighed again. He took back his saber and fastened the handle to his belt, beneath his outer robe. Tigris caught a glimpse of the second lightsaber he carried, a smaller one, which Tigris had never seen him wield. Tigris was convinced that if Lord Hethrir would let him try that lightsaber, the smaller one, he would be able to succeed. But Tigris had tried to hint at the possibility, just once. The memory of his lord’s abrupt silence kept Tigris from ever again making such a suggestion.
“Go,” Lord Hethrir said.
“Yes, Lord Hethrir,” Tigris said.
He had disappointed his mentor. He had disappointed himself. And he was frightened.
Children who could not touch the Force did not deserve to remain in the presence of Lord Hethrir.
Jaina woke up because she was so hungry. It was very dark! Where were the moons and the stars?
Maybe it’s all cloudy, Jaina thought.
And then she remembered what had happened.
She gasped and sat up. She stuck her hands out in front of her—Jacen had been holding her hand, hadn’t he?—but she could not see him and she could not hear him and she could not find him.
The soft place in the floor turned solid again. Startled, Jaina jumped up. The spot the room used for a bed had disappeared.
She felt her way to the door. It was still the same splintery wood. The hinges were outside and so was the latch.
“Let me out,” she said. The door did not respond. “Open,” she said. “Please.” Nothing happened. She tried a couple of other languages. None of them made any difference.
She sighed.
I didn’t really think it would work to ask, she thought.
She was scared to use her abilities to explore the door latch, but she was more scared not to try.
The moment she reached into the latch, the heavy cold blanket of Hethrir’s power fell around her.
Jaina flinched and pulled away. She had managed a brief glimpse of the latch. It was simple but very big and heavy. A handsbreadth of wood stood between the latch and Jaina.
I could take it apart, she thought. I know I could. If I could just get to it. I could even put it back together and not have any pieces left over.
She shivered again. Hethrir’s blanket lay cold and wet around her. She guessed it would go away again, if she was good. She pushed her cold hands into her pockets. She just wanted to get warm.
Her fingers closed around her multitool.
She snatched it out of her pocket.
How could I forget? she thought. She opened the wood tool. She touched it to the door. She was not supposed to use her multitool on houses or furniture. But surely this was different.
A few splinters fell away.
The door cracked open. Dull light washed over her. She jumped back and shoved the multitool into her pocket to hide it.
“Ow!” It was so dark in her room that the light hurt. She squeezed her eyes closed.
“Come out,” Tigris said. Jaina could not see him but she recognized his voice. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, she came outside.
Tigris closed the door behind her.
She saw Jacen across the room, standing in front of his door. His shoulders drooped.
She ran toward him. Tigris grabbed her and stopped her. She wriggled but she could not get away. He made her stand in front of her door. She looked around the room. A child stood in front of each door, all different children from all different worlds. None of them moved. They all looked scared and tired, and their clothes were ragged.
Older children in rust-red tunics stood straight in a double line in the middle of the big stone room.
“We do not run, here,” Tigris said. “We wait for permission from the Proctor.”
Tigris pointed toward the front of the big room. A tall young man wearing a light blue jumpsuit stood at the entryway, watching everything. He folded his arms.
“And then the helpers show us how to line up, and we walk where we are told.”
The helpers fanned out, precise and expressionless, spacing themselves as if they were herding the ragged children. The children turned obediently to face the Proctor. Across the room, Jacen stayed stubbornly where he was.
Jaina glared at Tigris and did not move.
“Why?” Jaina asked. “I want Jacen! Where’s Anakin?”
“I told you we are not impertinent here!”
“I wasn’t, I don’t even know what it means!”
“Turn!” Tigris said sharply.
Jaina glared at the floor, just like Jacen across the room.
“Do you want your breakfast?” Tigris asked.
Jaina looked up. “Yes!”
“Then do as you are told.”
Jaina scowled and looked at the floor again. Tigris had to push her around. One of the helpers did the same to Jacen.
“Walk!” Tigris said. The other children walked forward, all in step. Tigris pushed Jaina along with them.
But she did not walk in step.
Jaina scu
ffed her feet on the concrete. Tigris tightened his long sharp fingers around her shoulder. But he did not tell her to stop, so she kept scuffing. The noise came in between the regular tramp, tramp, tramp of the other children’s marching feet. A second scuffing added itself to the sound. Out of time with her own!
Jaina shot a glance across the room. Jacen grinned at her. Then the helper beside him turned Jacen’s head straight forward.
But the damage was done. Jaina skipped a few steps, one foot, hop! the other foot, hop! All around her, other children broke step and hopped and skipped and jumped.
A red-gold centauriform child tapped her hoofed feet in a quick dance. She cantered in place, flicking her long tail across her spotted flanks. She raised her head and yodeled a joyful howl, and both Jaina and Jacen answered her.
Tigris hauled Jaina back.
“Stop! Be quiet!”
His fingernails dug into her skin.
“Ow!” she shouted. She could pretend it did not hurt, but she saw no reason to pretend she was not outraged. “Stop it! That’s mean!”
His grip opened for a moment, then tightened again, even harder. He made her stand still. Her abilities trembled at the brink of exploding, but she controlled herself. Hethrir’s power had begun to ease away. She was scared it would come back.
The other children stood still. Across the room, a Proctor clamped one hand around Jacen’s arm.
“We all must accept discipline,” Tigris said. “You’re a child. You can’t know what’s right for you. You must obey me, as I obey the Proctors and Lord Hethrir.”
“Why can’t I skip? Why can’t I run? Why can’t I shout?”
“Because it is bad discipline. You must learn to control yourself.”
That stopped her. Classes with Uncle Luke were mostly about learning to control what she could do.
“But Uncle Luke let me run and skip!” she said. “That didn’t have anything to do with—”
“Luke Skywalker is dead,” Tigris said.
“But—”
“No more argument!” Tigris said. “Stand in line quietly and follow the child in front of you.”
Jaina was glad Tigris had interrupted her. She had almost told him she knew Uncle Luke was alive!
And Mama too, she reminded herself, and Papa, and—
Suddenly Hethrir was beside them. Jaina imagined that she could see silvery symbols on his robe, across his shoulders and his chest.
“Lord Hethrir!” Tigris exclaimed. He fell to his knees.
“What is this commotion?” Hethrir demanded.
“I was explaining our ways to the child,” Tigris said, keeping his gaze on the floor.
“Do not explain,” Hethrir said. “Command.”
“Where’s my brother?” Jaina said. “Where’s Anakin?”
“You have behaved badly,” Hethrir said. He raised his voice so all the children and the helpers could hear. “I have canceled breakfast because of the behavior of this child. You will all proceed directly to the study hall.”
“That isn’t fair!” Jaina cried. “No breakfast—no breakfast for anybody—because I skipped?”
“Hush!” Tigris whispered.
Hethrir strode from the room without speaking to her again. His white robe swirled across the floor.
Jaina was so hungry her stomach growled. She and Jacen had had nothing to eat since lunch yesterday. Her mouth watered when she remembered the chowder and sandwiches, and the fruit for dessert …
“It isn’t fair!”
“You broke the rules.” Tigris climbed to his feet. “You’re part of a group. The rules apply to the whole group.”
“But—”
“Be quiet,” Tigris said. “Lord Hethrir hasn’t canceled lunch—yet.”
Jaina looked around at all the other children. She thought they would all be mad at her. No one said anything or looked at her. She saw, for the first time, how thin they all were, as thin as they were ragged, and she thought how hungry they must all be. She wanted to say she was sorry. But she was afraid if she spoke, Lord Hethrir would take their lunch away too.
She subsided. When the line of children moved forward, she walked along with everyone else.
But her steps were a little out of time.
Jaina was so hungry she could hardly think, and so bored she could hardly stay awake. She did not understand why she had to sit in this tiny cubicle with no sunlight and no fresh air, memorizing information that popped up in the air in front of her. Most of it she knew already, like her letters, and her times tables. The stuff she did not know, she could not understand why she would want to know. She stopped bothering to remember it. The score of wrong answers mounted in big numbers hovering over her head. She did not care.
She fell asleep.
“You must be a very stupid little girl.”
Jaina jumped, wide awake. She had not heard Tigris come up behind her. She stood and glared at him.
“I am not! I’m smart! Why are you so mean?”
He stabbed one finger into her ghostly score of wrong answers. His fingernails were dirty and bitten.
“You mustn’t think of me as mean,” Tigris said. “I’m only helping you learn discipline.”
“You act mean.”
“If you don’t want me to act mean, then you have to answer the questions.”
“They’re stupid questions!”
“You’re an impertinent child. Do you think you know what’s better for you than Lord Hethrir does? You’re very ignorant!”
“I’m not! I’m not! I like to learn things! These are dumb things!”
“How high is the highest waterfall on the world of Firrerre?”
“I know how to decide what stream is the headwater of a river,” Jaina said hopefully. “I know how to figure out how high a waterfall is, even if you can’t get to the top!”
“But Lord Hethrir didn’t ask you those questions,” Tigris said. “He asked, ‘How high is the highest waterfall on the world of Firrerre?’ ”
“I don’t know. That’s a dumb question, too—who cares what the answer is? I can look it up.”
“It is one thousand two hundred sixty-three meters high. Lord Hethrir thinks all educated people should know these facts. Sit down at your screen and learn what he offers.”
She could not see that she had any choice.
“It’s still a dumb question,” she whispered.
Chapter 4
Leia dreamed in sounds. She was surrounded by darkness, but whistles and warbles came to her from all directions. The voices formed shapes in the night. She cried out, reaching for the shapes, three small figures, so fragile and precious.
Leia gasped and woke with a start. She had fallen asleep in the chair. The lights sensed her motion and brightened.
What a horrible nightmare, she thought.
Then she remembered: it was not a nightmare.
At her side, Artoo-Detoo whistled plaintively.
“Oh! You frightened me,” she said. “What’s the matter, Artoo? Is there news—?” There was not. “Did you wake me up to go to bed?” She smiled sadly. “I don’t think it matters where I am anymore.” She pushed herself to her feet. Tension stiffened her neck and her back.
She felt lethargic and groggy. It was the middle of the night. Still hours till dawn.
“Mr. Iyon did drug me!” she exclaimed. She shook her head, trying to fling away the daze of sleep. “Why, I’ll—!”
Then she remembered that Chamberlain Iyon had drunk the tea along with her. That was why he had yawned, that was why he had stumbled. And perhaps he had hurried to his room and collapsed into drugged slumber.
She was angry to have been sedated without her knowledge. But considering his beliefs, and his fears, she could hardly blame him.
Artoo-Detoo rolled toward the doorway.
“Good night,” Leia said.
Artoo-Detoo rolled toward her, then away again.
“What’s the matter?”
The droid whistl
ed peremptorily. It whirred toward the door.
It waited.
“Where are you going? Do you want me to go too?”
Artoo-Detoo scooted through the doorway.
Leia followed.
“But where are we going? Is Chewbacca awake, is that it?”
She followed Artoo-Detoo into the corridor. The castle was silent and dim. In the corners of her vision, the carven figures on every surface shifted and played out their stories. When she looked at them straight on, they remained still, mere carvings in the stone.
Artoo-Detoo did not take the path to the surgery.
“This way,” Leia said.
The droid rolled off without stopping. Curious, troubled, Leia hurried to follow.
Balmy night air flowed around her as she followed Artoo-Detoo out of the castle. She had not even known this doorway existed. The castle was so big, so labyrinthine, that she had only memorized routes to the places she needed to reach.
Above, the several moons of Munto Codru waltzed in the sky. The cries of night creatures eased the silence.
“Where are you going?” Leia whispered.
Around her, all sounds ceased. She stopped, spooked by the change. She stood quietly, and the night sounds slowly began again, first distant ones, then nearer cries, finally small chirpings almost at her feet.
Artoo-Detoo whistled. The droid’s voice blended with those of the night creatures. They continued their calling, unafraid.
Artoo entered the woods and rolled along the trail that led to the meadow. At the edge of the field where the children had disappeared, Leia hesitated, then plunged ahead. When she entered the woods on the other side of the clearing, she suddenly gasped for air. She had been holding her breath.
You’re acting like a scared child, she said to herself. Then added, Or a terrified mother …
Soon she realized where Artoo-Detoo was going. She caught up to the droid.
“What’s at the field? Artoo, do you know where the children are? Are they hidden in one of the ships?”
A few spaceships stood in the small landing field on the castle grounds. Larger ships had to put down at the main spaceport, for the facilities here were primitive. But if the kidnappers had access to one of the local ships, they might have hidden here. No one would have thought to look, because they could not take off. Not without clearance from the main spaceport, and the main spaceport was not giving clearance to anyone.
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