Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi V: Allies

by Christie Golden

  Her hand, slick with warm blood, clamped down on his arm. She was shaking. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “… p-poison …”

  Ben felt as though someone was squeezing his heart as he swore violently. He hadn’t seen anything to indicate that the spikes on the roots were poisoned, but Vestara had been here before. If she thought the barbs were poisoned, Ben wasn’t about to take a chance. He glanced over at his father even as he rifled through his pouch for something, anything, that would help.

  Abeloth was surrounded by five powerful Force-users: Luke Skywalker, High Lord Taalon, Saber Gavar Khai, and two others Ben didn’t know. It was almost like a dance, with the combatants leaping, somersaulting in midair, tumbling aside. The cries of curses in the musical Keshiri tongue, the unique sound of the sizzle of lightsabers batting back Force lightning, the smell of sulfur all combined to unsettle Ben.

  And even as he watched, Abeloth suddenly was not there.

  The ring of five enemies was now inadvertently battling one another. Gavar Khai grunted in annoyance as his red blade sliced cleanly through not the monstrous Abeloth, but one of his fellow Sith. Luke had to Force-leap straight up to avoid the blade’s follow-through, landing lightly on his feet and looking about for their escaped enemy. Mocking laughter seemed to echo from all directions. They sprang apart, and then there she was again, at the far end of the courtyard, laughing as the four raced toward her. Their comrade lay dead and ignored, and as Ben watched, the vines reached to latch on to the corpse and started to pull away the pieces.

  Again, the three Sith and Luke encircled Abeloth, and this time they seemed to be wearing her down. Ben ached to help them, but Vestara—

  Gavar Khai surged forward, bringing his lightsaber down on the whirling, dancing figure that was the laughing Abeloth. At the last moment, he diverted the blade, and Ben watched in horror as it swung, not to the agreed-upon common enemy, but at his father. At the same moment, he felt the net being woven high above them tighten.

  The Sith had betrayed them.

  Ship was good. It had taken Jaina two tries before she was able to prevent Ship from redirecting the shadow bombs she fired at it. In the meantime, she contented herself with laser cannons, smiling grimly as she simultaneously saw and felt the blasts strike the Sith vessel.

  Its self-created weapons fired in return, steady and rapid. Jaina pulled back on the stick hard and was slammed back against her seat. Rowdy toodled in distress.

  WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?

  Jaina didn’t have breath to answer, taking the StealthX into a roll that brought it underneath the spherical vessel, where it didn’t have suddenly sprouted cannons, and launching a volley of torpedos.

  Except now it did have suddenly sprouted cannons there, and they were firing. Jaina’s blast tinting darkened instantly and she hung on as her ship spiraled out of control, struggling to bring it back in line before it was too late.

  “Dad!” Ben screamed. Luke heard him, and just in time got his own blade up. Red and green clashed, sizzling.

  “Ben, please, I need—”

  Ben shook off the clinging hand and gave Vestara a single scorching look of naked loathing before leaping into the fray to help his betrayed father. He Force-launched himself on Gavar Khai from behind, knocking the Sith off balance and then leaping free as Khai got to his feet.

  Vestara had played him. And the bitter knowledge, the righteous fury of it all, lent Ben strength. Surprise and admiration flickered in Gavar Khai’s dark eyes as Ben pressed the attack.

  “You’re good for a whelp,” Khai said.

  “Should have done this the first time I saw you,” Ben snarled. He leaped backward, not quite in time, the red blade cutting a horizontal slash in his black tunic. He winced as it grazed the flesh beneath it. Khai feinted and then came at him again. Luke had returned his attention to Abeloth, and Ben was glad of it. He wanted Khai all to himself. He wanted to kill this piece of Sith spit, to cut him into sizzling chunks, for what he had made of Vestara.

  In his anger he grew reckless, overextending his reach and having to again leap clear of Khai’s return stroke. He landed on one knee, catching the blade with his own, then executing a roundhouse kick that almost caught Khai unaware.

  “Better,” Khai said. “Let the anger flow. Hate me all you like. It is what feeds the dark side within you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Ben had heard this song before, and he wasn’t having any of it. The words had the opposite effect, calming the young Knight and clearing his head.

  The Sith had betrayed them. Vestara had used her injury to try to play on his feelings for her, to keep him out of the way while her father attacked his. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Taalon and the other remaining Sith using the Force net technique—the technique Vestara had suggested—not to try to stifle Abeloth’s powers, but to try to trap the now seriously struggling Abeloth, even as Luke was using his own mastery of the Force to destroy her. And it was with a fierce sense of pride and love that Ben realized that, despite the odds, his father was winning.

  The net was working. It was starting to stifle her ability to use the Force. He could see it in the terror on Abeloth’s face, feel it in the wild flickering of her Force aura. And Luke was fighting as Ben had never seen him before, pain and love and duty grim on his face, darting and leaping, moving his lightsaber so swiftly it was a blur. Ben let out a shout of delight and continued to press the attack on Gavar Khai, who no longer was smirking and gloating, but instead felt genuine concern that he might not make it out of this alive.

  A sudden shock wave hurled Ben into the sky. He felt paralyzed for a second, unable to use the Force to direct his fall, and landed hard. He blacked out briefly, and when he came to he heard shouting. Ben got to his feet, grabbing his lightsaber from where it had fallen.

  Abeloth was gone. He realized, as everyone else did, what must have happened. She had gathered her strength to send out a powerful Force shock, to throw her attackers off her briefly, and disappeared.

  “Where’d she go?” Ben cried, ignoring Khai for the moment.

  Luke had recovered faster than he and didn’t reply. Instead, he raced down the tunnel at full speed, even though Ben could see he had been at least slightly injured in the attack.

  Their division among themselves forgotten, Ben and the Sith followed. Ben heard Vestara following him at a distance, could feel her pain and mingled regret and resolution in the Force. Wincing, he shut her out.

  The three Sith that Taalon had left to aid Dyon had already been dispatched. There was no obvious damage to the corpses, but they all had looks of terror frozen on their faces. And now, Abeloth had returned to Dyon to finish the job she’d started earlier.

  Dyon lay on his back, his face contorted in fear. Abeloth straddled him in a horrible parody of lovers, her tentacle fingers pressed to his face, her huge, grinning mouth a centimeter from his. Glowing golden energy wrapped about them. As Luke emerged from the cave, Abeloth hissed, sensing his presence, and turned to look at him.

  Her features rippled, melted into those of Callista. She turned to Luke, hand outstretched, imploring.

  “Luke—please. You don’t understand. It really is me. It’s Callie, your Callie. I love you. I’ve never stopped. Please—”

  She is never what she seems.

  And then Luke understood. She wasn’t Callista.

  She wasn’t even Abeloth.

  Trusting his feelings, as he had so many times before, Luke brought his lightsaber down.

  On the writhing body of Dyon Stad.

  “Abeloth” recoiled as the bright blade went straight through Dyon Stad’s chest, through the stone floor of the cave. He arched his back and cried out, clawing frantically at Luke’s face.

  “Dad! What are you doing?” came Ben’s voice. The Sith were shouting something, too. Luke ignored them all, his blue eyes peering into Dyon’s.

  The wide, imploring, human eyes of Dyon Stad changed. They became tiny, hard pinpricks
of light, like stars in a dark well of nothingness. The hands clawing at him became tentacles, the mouth wide and gaping. Luke felt one more attack from her, a crashing wave of dark side energy, and braced himself for the assault.

  She died halfway through. He felt it. Felt her wink out of existence, strangely small in death. He moved off the body and sat on the floor for a long moment, catching his breath.

  Ben was there. “Dad? You all right? Is she …?”

  Luke lifted his head. It felt like it weighed a kiloton. He smiled a little as he saw Dyon Stad lying to the side, unconscious, but breathing, and looked again at the monster that had worn first Callista’s face and then Dyon’s.

  “Yes,” said Luke. His throat was dry, the words a whisper. “She’s dead.”

  ABOVE ABELOTH’S PLANET

  DIRECT HIT ON ENGINE NUMBER TWO, ROWDY INFORMED Jaina.

  “Stang,” Jaina swore. Ship was opening fire again. The vessel stopped its spiral and she was able to get it back under control just in time to veer out of the path of the next round of torpedos.

  “Target Ship,” she barked, juking and jinking to avoid the attack.

  Targeting array damaged.

  Another hit. The StealthX shuddered.

  Targeting display offline.

  Jaina pressed her lips together grimly. She still had the Force. Ship twirled, spinning around rapidly but in full control of itself, and she felt its dark gloating. It came to an immediate stop and seemed to be impaling her with its “eye.”

  Ship has us target locked, Rowdy informed her.

  “I can see that,” Jaina snapped. “Ready—”

  She felt the oppressive attention vanish. And a second later, Ship was gone. It was moving, not down to the planet presumably to help Abeloth, but away from the planet, into space.

  “What is it doing?” she asked aloud.

  RUNNING AWAY BECAUSE IT IS SO OBVIOUSLY OUTMATCHED PERHAPS.

  “I wish,” Jaina said. With only three engines and a useless targeting array, she had been at a serious disadvantage. No, something else had happened. She just didn’t know what. At least the vessel wasn’t down there firing on Luke and Ben.

  “Okay, Rowdy,” she said, “let’s head back to the Rockhound and see if there’s any news.”

  ASYLYM BLOCK, JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

  Cilghal’s heart was heavy as she made her way to the asylum block. As a healer, she mourned every loss of life, and Kani’s murder on the very steps of the Temple infuriated and saddened her profoundly. It had been, as it had doubtless been calculated to be, a severe blow to the morale of the besieged Jedi. There was still no luck in finding anything that could be utilized as an escape route, although the Solos’ ingenious idea to send in badly needed medication on vermin-back had helped lift spirits somewhat.

  Still, small creatures could carry only small vials. They had merely staved off the inevitable. The chrono was ticking on the siege deadline. One way or another, something would shift.

  Although the ysalamiri prevented usage of the Force in close proximity of the patients, Cilghal used it now to calm herself. It was time for another dose of the sedative; they would be alert and awake, and if they could not sense her in the Force, there was still body language and voice inflections. The calmer she was, the calmer they would be.

  There were three of them, now, Sothais Saar, Turi Altamik, and Kunor Bann. Each of them had his or her own comfortable living area, the walls made of transparisteel, with cams that were usually turned off in the more private areas, but could be activated if need be. When they were alert, Cilghal found Saar raging violently—he was the one most in need of the sedative—Altamik clawing at something, and Bann rocking back and forth with tears pouring down his face. She slowed and came to a full stop as they came into view.

  Shul Vaal, her Twi’lek colleague, approached her. Normally tranquil, Vaal seemed to be suppressing excitement. “Master Cilghal,” he began, “there’s something—”

  Cilghal lifted a hand and Vaal fell silent.

  Sothais Saar was sitting calmly at the small table. Datapads and holovids had been provided to all the patients, but they seldom made use of them except to break them. Now the Chev’s heavy-browed head was bent over the datapad, and he seemed to be, quite peacefully, engrossed in reading.

  Turi Altamik was brushing her hair. Her expression was strained, tired, but reflected none of the madness that had turned her pert, pretty features into scowls or glowers. And Bann—he stood gazing out the transparisteel, hands clasped behind his back. As soon as he saw Cilghal and Vaal, he lifted his hand and waved, smiling uncertainly.

  “I don’t believe it,” Cilghal said slowly. “It’s not possible … is it?”

  They looked … sane. All three of them.

  “It could be a trick,” Vaal said. “Seff Hellin tricked the Solos before. They could simply be pretending to be sane.”

  “All three of them? At once? They couldn’t possibly have coordinated this, there’s no way for them to communicate.”

  Hope rose within her, almost unbearably bright. She forced it down. She had no proof yet. She would not rejoice until she knew, for an absolute certainty, that all of them had returned to their normal selves.

  And then … then she would have something that would lift the Jedi’s spirits to the skies and beyond.

  Armed with stun sticks and a tranquilizer pistol, they ascended to the catwalk on the upper level of the cellblock. Cilghal desperately wished that she had all the ill Jedi here now. It would be interesting to see if Valin Horn, the first one to display the madness, would also show these positive signs if he were not encased in carbonite. For now, though, she supposed she should be grateful she even had these three.

  “Jedi Saar first,” she told Vaal, who nodded thoughtfully. “He’s been the most violent, and of the three, he’s been ill the longest.”

  They paused in front of the door to the transparisteel cell. Vaal rapped gently. Saar turned and saw them. He smiled, a stiff, formal smile—completely typical for him—and rose.

  “Sothais?” said Tekli. “We’d like to come in.”

  “I am so glad to see you,” he said. “Please, please, do come in.”

  The two healers exchanged glances, then Cilghal entered the code. He made no rush to attack or escape, simply stood by the table, still holding the datapad. “I remember everything,” he said. “I’m terribly embarrassed. I’m so sorry I attacked you, Master Cilghal. And I must apologize to Chief of Staff Dorvan as soon as possible.”

  “You … remember? You don’t think we’re imposters?” Cilghal asked.

  Color rose in the Chev’s cheeks. “I did, at one point. It seemed … right. I can’t explain it better than that. Even when I knew what to look for—when it happened, it seemed completely believable.”

  Tekli gestured to the datapad. “What are you reading, Sothais?”

  “Updates on my treatise,” he said. “Apparently, there has been an uprising on Klatooine. I am most gratified and I hope this will inspire other oppressed beings to take their destinies into their own hands.”

  That certainly sounded like Saar. Cilghal made a decision. It was risky, but she was willing to chance it. “I’d like you to come with us to the infirmary. We’d like to run a few tests.”

  “Certainly.” He did not move.

  “Jedi Saar?”

  “I assume you are going to secure me in some fashion,” he said, slightly puzzled.

  “No,” Cilghal said. “Come along.”

  The center of her back itched, waiting for the blow.

  Hamner was in his office. Normally, it was a tidy, orderly place, but now it was strewn with datapads and half-drunk, cold cups of caf. Hamner himself was unshaven and exhausted. He was poring over old blueprints of the Temple, and jotting notes about his conversation with Bwua’tu. If only the Bothan would act! Get Daala to call off this siege, this terrible siege that was causing them all so much harm.

  His comm chimed. He clicked it. “Ha
mner.”

  “Master Hamner?” It was Cilghal. Her voice was higher pitched than usual.

  “What is it? Is everything all right? Have you run out of sedatives?” He rubbed at his aching, gritty eyes.

  “Everything is more than all right,” said the Mon Calamari, her gravelly voice filled with pleasure. “I am … delighted beyond words to report that all three of the ill Jedi appear to have made a full recovery.”

  The exhaustion fled. “What? All of them? How?”

  “I’m not sure, but it seemed to happen to all of them simultaneously. We’ve run test after test; all three of them seem to be back to their old selves. My best guess is that, somehow, Master Skywalker was successful in his quest to find the cause and effect a cure.”

  Hamner’s throat closed up and he couldn’t speak. He lifted a hand that trembled to his forehead for a moment.

  “Master Hamner?”

  “That’s wonderful, wonderful news, Cilghal. News we sorely needed. News … I sorely needed. Thank you.”

  So, Ben thought, glancing at the several Sith who stood by, staring at the corpse of their mutual enemy. What now? He didn’t turn off his lightsaber.

  Luke got to his feet, and went to check on Dyon. “He should recover, but he needs care, right away. Ben, take him to the Shadow.”

  “But—”

  Luke shot him a look and Ben fell silent.

  “My daughter is injured as well,” said Gavar Khai, moving to Vestara’s side and examining her injuries. Vestara was pale, but she was doing her best to show no weakness, even now. “I will take her back to my ship and—”

  “I don’t think we’ve decided what’s going to happen yet, Khai.” The words, unexpectedly, were spoken by Taalon. The Sith High Lord looked thoughtfully at Luke. “There’s still the body to examine.”

  “And this place, and the others that I saw Beyond Shadows,” said Luke, nodding. “And I’m certain you’re every bit as interested as I am in learning what Abeloth was.”