Luke came to a stop some twenty meters from the temple. He drew his lightsaber but did not light it, not yet. Ben emulated him, feeling his father’s own heightened attention in the Force. For a moment, they all stood, subconsciously forming a row, and regarded the temple.
It was solid stone, gray and massive, and heavy with banked threat. The darkness emanating from it was almost like a sound so deep that one could not hear it, but could feel it in one’s bones or blood. Ben could well believe that in its presence blasters and other mundane energy weapons and technology would be rendered useless. The lightsabers were both simpler and more complex; the technology was simpler, but because of their deep heritage with the Force, they were far more complicated than a blaster.
In the murky light, the four couldn’t possibly miss the pair of giant, golden statues of hooded figures, hands folded across the pommels of swords. The figures were more disquieting in this dark, dank place than the ones Ben had seen in Korriban’s desert. Painted vines with ominous blossoms and probably deadly thorns twined about the base of the temple.
“What do you sense?” Luke asked quietly, his head turning as he looked around.
“That nexus,” Jaina said promptly.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “And … some Dark Force manifestations, but not close. Not yet, anyway.”
“It’s … so strong,” Vestara breathed. Ben glanced over at her. Her brown eyes were wide, and her voice was a mixture of horror and attraction.
“Vestara,” Luke said, sharply but not angrily, and she blinked as if coming out of a daze. “Do you sense any signs of the Sith or Abeloth?”
She shook her head, looking more like her usual alert self. “No. That nexus pretty much drowns out anything else.”
“Agreed,” Luke said. “Let’s look for more ordinary clues. Stay in the courtyard, where we can all see one another. If anyone finds anything, comm me. Stay away from the direct entrance to the temple, though. When we go in there, I want us to do so together.”
Ben found the instructions a relief. They moved forward, the ground beneath them giving way to carved, inlaid flagstones as they entered the courtyard proper. As on Korriban, these were etched with disconcerting images: eyes, five-fingered hands, claws. They had been created with ritual and infused with dark-side energy, and Ben felt as though he were stepping on ice with bare feet.
Luke and Jaina wandered off to the left exterior side of the temple, each taking a different corner. Ben and Vestara found themselves on the right. Vestara went a little ahead to examine some ancient braziers, and Ben lowered his gaze to the sinister flagstones. He was not looking at their art; he was looking for footprints, fresh mud, or stones that jutted upward as if they had been stepped on recently.
“These braziers haven’t seen fire in a long time.” Vestara’s voice came to Ben over his comlink, even though she was only a couple of meters away. Ben realized that since they had drawn near the temple, they had spoken in quiet tones. Of course, part of his brain reasoned; if Abeloth or any Sith were lurking nearby, none of the Jedi—nor, apparently, Vestara—would want to announce their presences by shouting. But he knew there was another reason.
The dark side was here.
“Yeah, I’m not seeing any signs here that anything has been recently disturbed. No markings other than our own.”
A few more minutes passed. Ben felt irritation and frustration begin to chase away his alert apprehension. He clicked his comlink again, this time speaking to his father.
“Nothing here, Dad.”
“Nor here,” came Luke’s reply. Ben caught Vestara’s eye and nodded, and they walked back toward the center of the courtyard. Jaina and Luke, Jaina looking like she’d like to punch something and Luke looking disappointed, met them.
“I don’t like this,” Luke said without preamble. “More than half a dozen places searched and no one’s found anything. Nothing at all.”
“Well,” Ben offered, finding himself in the unusual position of wanting to reassure his dad, “the galaxy is a fairly large place.”
“Of course,” Luke said, “but we should still be finding something. If nothing else, I’m surprised Abeloth hasn’t … taunted us in some way. She needs an audience. This absolute inability to find anything at all, about either her and Ship or the Lost Tribe—” He shook his head. “It’s not adding up. She’s not hiding from us because she’s afraid. She’s hiding because she’s planning something. Combine that with the same inexplicable disappearance of the Lost Tribe—I’m willing to bet that they’re working together. They’re planning something. And when Abeloth and the Lost Tribe drop out of sight to plan something—it’s going to be very big, and very bad.”
Everyone, even Vestara, looked unhappy at his words. Ben sighed. “Well, I don’t think we’re going to find them here.”
“I think,” came a rich, deep voice, “you already have.”
THERE WERE TEN OF THEM, SITH SABERS ALL, MOVING DOWN THE STEPS of the temple. Their lit lightsabers bathed their smirking faces in a sinister red glow. At their head was a man whom Luke had hoped never to see again.
Gavar Khai.
Ben whirled on Vestara, activating his own lightsaber in the same movement. He didn’t know how she had done it, but somehow she must have gotten word to her father. He should never—
Her own lightsaber was lit, as were Luke’s and Jaina’s. But Gavar Khai’s beautiful and treacherous daughter wasn’t facing Ben, or even Luke. She was facing her father, her eyes wide and face pale with shock and … fear?
And Gavar Khai’s gaze, his eyes narrowed and angry, was on her.
“You’re so predictable,” Luke said. “You should try varying treachery with actual trustworthiness on your future infiltration missions.”
Luke’s eyes were on the Sith. He hadn’t seen Vestara’s reaction, perhaps hadn’t even felt it.
“Dad—” Ben began.
“I didn’t,” said Vestara. Now Luke apparently did sense her terror, for he spared her a quick glance, still poised for an attack. Beside him, Jaina, dark brows drawn together in concentration, trembled like a leashed creature, more than ready to decorate the temple with pieces of Sith.
“My embarrassingly malleable daughter does not lie,” Khai said. “Such promise. And such disappointment. Your mother is dead, Vestara.”
Truth, undeniable and powerful, slammed into Ben. Vestara gasped. “What?” Then, with dawning horror, “Did—did you kill her?”
“No. But I did not stop her from being killed,” Khai said. “I will start fresh. A new wife, a new child. Both are easily replaced.” Vestara, usually a master of her emotions, jerked slightly as if slapped. “Take them.” Before Ben could even register this, Khai Force-leapt down the stairs and charged.
At Vestara.
Ben moved toward Khai, but sensed that he himself was under attack. At the last minute he Force-leapt straight up, turned a somersault, and kicked out with both feet. One boot impacted a Sith’s face with a satisfying crunch. The other Sith ducked in time. Ben heard the sizzle of a lightsaber moving and jerked his foot up just in time to avoid having it sliced off, but the move forced him to land awkwardly. He hit the flagstones with his body half turned and tried to roll out of the way as the lightsaber slashed down. He was half a heartbeat too slow, and he hissed as the red blade seared his shoulder.
Ignoring the pain, Ben leapt upward, back on both feet and in a crouch as three Sabers turned on him. Their Force auras blazed with confidence. Ben smiled to himself. He parried the two blades with his lightsaber clutched in one hand, whipping back and forth between the two foes. With the other hand, he Force-hurled the third into the air. Alert and attentive, he unerringly directed the Sith’s flight toward Gavar Khai, who was bearing down on his offspring so forcefully their blades were a blur.
Ben was rewarded with a grunt from Khai before he had to return his full attention to the remaining two Sabers. His gaze flickered rapidly back and forth between one and the other, keeping their eyes on
him as he used the Force to dislodge a flagstone and bring it down with a terrible final smash on the left one’s skull. The Sith dropped, his head a bloody mess, and Ben felt the first stirrings of apprehension as he turned on the last one.
Luke and Jaina were fighting back-to-back. The Sith attacking them had two advantages. One was the fact that they outnumbered the two Jedi. The second was that they were being reinforced by the emanations of the dark-side nexus within the temple. It surged forth like psychic sewage, clogging the Jedi’s reflexes as it fueled their enemies.
But Luke had fought the Lost Tribe before, and he knew their style. He knew, too, that because until very recently they had only sparred and perhaps dueled among themselves, they had a lot to learn. But even Luke Skywalker would be foolish not to completely focus on a battle against six Sith.
He felt Jaina in the Force, strong and calm, her back to him but not quite touching his. Bonded by blood and the Force itself, they performed a duet of death to the half dozen Sith pressing in for the attack. They leapt and swung, ducked and kicked in such swift, perfect harmony that an observer might have thought their moves had been choreographed. More than once, an overly confident Saber charged, only to end up slashing at his fellow Sith. In short order two were on the ground, and the odds were now a mere two to one.
Luke could hear the sizzle of lightsabers clashing behind him, only centimeters away, and then the acrid stench of burned flesh as Jaina’s blade struck home. Calm, focused, Luke feinted and then came up under one of his adversaries, slicing off both legs in an almost serene manner. The Sith crumpled, but did not cry out. Luke looked at the single remaining Sith who had targeted him, gazing without anger into the Keshiri’s narrowed eyes, and felt the first brush of real fear from his opponent.
“I will be as swift and sure as I may,” Luke assured her, almost compassionately, and bore down intently.
* * *
For a precious instant Vestara was so stunned at her father’s actions, she hesitated as he sprang at her.
Surely it was a ploy, to distract the Jedi so that the Sith could destroy them. Once they had been dispatched or captured, she would explain everything to her father. He would be in good spirits with such a victory and—
This is not “Papa.”
This is Father. And Father has come to kill me.
With the barest fraction of an instant to spare, Vestara brought her lightsaber up and blocked what would surely have been a single, killing blow. He stared at her with loathing, his dark eyes piercing her mere centimeters from her face, and spat on her.
“You have disgraced my name!” he shouted. “Perhaps you are not even my get!”
Vestara’s mind flashed back to the theoretical discussion she’d had with Ben—what she would do if her mother had ever had an affair. Anger rushed through her at his implication. Her mother loved her father. She would never betray him.
But Vestara would.
Hadn’t she already? Was betrayal in actions, or in thoughts? Were her “letters” to a fictitious Jedi parent betrayal?
She shoved the distracting thought aside, focusing on the hot anger, channeling it and using it—as he had taught her to do. He sensed the change in her and smiled contemptuously.
“Now you listen to my lessons,” he snarled, “but it is too late for you to save yourself.”
He sprang up and leapt over her head, turning as he went to slash out with the lightsaber, attempting to carve through her skull. Vestara ducked and struck upward with her own glowing red weapon, shoving it aside so that Khai had to twist to avoid striking himself. She was surprised at how easy it was. Was she really that much better a fighter after her time with the Skywalkers?
“Very good,” he said. “Your skills have improved. But not your loyalties.”
And suddenly Vestara understood what was going on. Why he seemed so out of control; he, Saber Gavar Khai, who had prided himself on using his emotions as he saw fit, who would never surrender to them. Her own sense of outraged betrayal surged through her at the realization.
“Where does your loyalty lie, Father? Not with the Lost Tribe, I think!”
Shocked, he dropped his guard for a moment. She took advantage of the opening and charged, feinting left and then sweeping right with the glowing red blade. Lithely he dodged, recovering quickly. Their blades clashed and he twisted hard, using both the torque of the blade and the Force to nearly snap her wrist. She dropped her lightsaber and he closed in for the kill.
Her heart shaking her with its pounding, Vestara shoved one splayed hand out in Khai’s direction and extended her other hand. Her lightsaber flew toward her as her father, Force-shoved, stumbled back. He looked—surprised. A fierce grin twisted her mouth and she sprang on him, raining blows and shouting wordlessly. More surprise came from him as he was forced to use all his years of expertise to block her.
Vestara was a mixture of surging emotions. Rage, hatred, hurt, love—she gathered them to her and used them all. Her father had loved her, but still had used her for his own ends. And when she had stumbled, he had not forgiven. He had not forgiven, because he was Sith, and Sith do not make mistakes and live. She had turned her back on the Tribe, letting her heart wander to Ben, and yet she had been a dutiful daughter. All the contradictions, all the logic and illogic—she used them as fuel to the fire of her intense desire to survive.
Khai recovered quickly. “So be it,” he said, acknowledging her renewed, laser-keen intensity, volatile and violent. “I am done with you.”
No. She was done with him.
Vestara’s world constricted to this, and nothing but this: the blending of body, will, and passion, and the centimeters of space between two living beings … one of whom would be dead soon.
Ben drew more and more heavily on the Force—it was difficult here, so close to a dark-side nexus, and it took more out of him. Two of his foes were down. One was dead. The other, having nearly been cut in two, was lying thrashing on the flagstones, her face twisted in a silent scream.
His senses were sharp, extended, focusing not just on battling the Sith but also on observing how his father, Jaina, and Vestara fared in the fight. As he had expected, the uncle–niece team of Skywalker and Solo were doing just fine. He could see the corpses strewn about, and with a flash of black humor thought the Sith, now potential tripping hazards, were more of a threat dead than alive.
Vestara’s voice rang out over the sound of battle. “Where does your loyalty lie, Father? Not with the Lost Tribe, I think!”
Gavar Khai’s reaction was strong. So strong that the Sith fighting Ben paused as if buffeted by it. It was only an instant of inattention—but when Saber and Jedi Knight battled, an instant was all that was needed. Ben didn’t hesitate, but plunged the blade forward into the Keshiri Sith’s chest. She died with a look of surprise on her face.
Ben whirled, glancing first at his father and Jaina. They were more than holding their own, so Ben turned to Vestara. He had just spun around when he realized he needn’t have bothered.
Vestara had never looked more beautiful, nor more deadly. Her long brown hair was flying with the speed of her movement, her lightsaber a blur as she pushed the attack. Gavar Khai took one step back, then another and another, even with a state-of-the-art prosthetic arm clearly having difficulty countering his daughter’s savage attack.
Vestara cried out, sharply, wordlessly, her voice raw as she swung with all her skill and speed.
Her red blade sliced through robes and flesh, cutting through him from right shoulder to left hip. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Vestara reached out a hand. His still-lit lightsaber, sizzling on the flagstones, sprang to her. Panting slightly, her skin gleaming with sweat and the moist air, she clutched a lightsaber in each hand. Her eyes met Ben’s and their gazes locked.
Lost in that piercing gaze, Ben heard, as if from a great distance, the sound of lightsabers being extinguished and knew that his father and Jaina had won their fights. He turn
ed to them as they approached.
“You okay?” Luke asked.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “A burn on the shoulder, but should be all right. You?”
“We’ll need the bacta salve, but otherwise fine.” Luke regarded Vestara with an expression that was both cautious and kind. “I don’t think your father agreed to die just to convince me you’d betray him,” he said, and his voice was gentler than Ben had ever heard it when speaking to Vestara.
She blinked, as if coming out of a daze. “I—I had to kill him,” she said. Her voice was thick. “I had to kill my father …”
Ben stepped up to her, wanting to comfort her, not knowing how. All the phrases he could say fell far short. Sorry about your father. You did the right thing. It’ll be all right. They were all hollow in comparison to the vastness of pain and shock Vestara was feeling.
The right words came from an unexpected source. “I had to kill my own brother,” Jaina said quietly.
Vestara looked over at the Jedi, listening, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I knew it was the right thing to do,” Jaina continued. “I did it to save my own life and the lives of many others. I still miss him. You’ll miss your father, too.”
“I … I had no choice.”
“No. You didn’t. Other than be cut down yourself,” Jaina continued. “It was the right thing for you to do, too. But you’ll still miss him … and wish there had been some other way.”
Vestara nodded, looking at Jaina gratefully. She took a deep breath and Ben felt her aura in the Force steady. He reached out and touched her arm gently. She gave him a shaky, broken smile.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension Page 18
