Into the Void: Star Wars (Dawn of the Jedi) (4 page)

The feeling of being watched came from elsewhere. The Je’daii Masters. They were waiting
for her departure.

“Okay, then,” Lanoree said, and she walked up the ramp into the comforting, familiar
confines of her own ship.

But she was distracted. This short time on Tython, and hearing of Dal’s mysterious
survival, was waking those troubled memories once again.

In your early years, the flow of the Force might seem frightening, shocking. Find
balance between its light and dark facets, and the flow will become a powerful stillness.
Struggle against the Force, and your body rebels; fight with the Force and you have
the universe on your side
.

—Temple Master Vor’Dana, Stav Kesh, 10,441 TYA

Two years
, Lanoree thinks.
It’ll be at least that long before I see Mother and Father again
. But such is the training of a young Journeyer. Their time at Padawan Kesh over,
teenagers now, she and her brother Dal are embarking on their Great Journey. And they
have returned home to say good-bye.

Close to the sea on the southern coast of Masara lies Bodhi Temple and its surrounding
settlement, her home since birth. Her parents are Je’daii and they teach at the temple,
instructing young Force sensitives in the arts. Her mother specializes in music, prose,
and poetry. Her father is a talented sculptor and artist. They made their own Journeys
years before Dal and Lanoree were born—indeed, they enjoy telling the story of how
they met as Journeyers—and they were both drawn
to Bodhi, the Force exposing and celebrating their particular talents and strengths.

Now it is time for Dal and Lanoree to journey across Tython to the other Je’daii temples,
there to learn the ways of the Force. Science and combat, meditation and healing,
the raw talents Lanoree has now will be honed and practiced throughout the coming
two years. She is excited and nervous. And when her mother calls her close and asks
that they walk across the grassland until they are alone, she almost knows what to
expect.

It is a fine, sunny day, and the sky is clear. Tythos blazes above, giving them heat
and light. The Force binds her and her surroundings together, and she wears her Je’daii
training sword on her hip. Though nervous, she is at peace. Until her mother begins
to speak.

“Look after your brother, Lanoree.”

“I’m only two years older than him, Mother.”

“True. But the Force is
strong
in you. You welcome it, and it nurtures you. Your father and I both sense your strength,
and we also sense Dal’s weakness. He and the Force … there’s little love lost.”

“He’ll learn, Mother. He has you and Father to look up to. You’re powerful Je’daii,
and he’ll be the same.”

“You are destined to follow us, I believe,” her mother says. She smiles at Lanoree,
but there is little joy here. “But my worries for Dal are genuine and heartfelt. His
interest in the distant past, our ancestors and history outside the system, places
on Tython like the Old City … I’m afraid his fate leads away from the Force. Away
from Tython.” Her voice hitches, and Lanoree is startled to see tears in her mother’s
eyes, glistening on her soft brown cheeks.

“I’ll make sure that
doesn’t
happen! I’ll guide and help him, I promise. That’s what we’re traveling for, after
all.”

“You’re traveling to learn to control and expand your powers. If the Force isn’t there
to begin with—”

“It
is
there,” Lanoree says, interrupting her mother. “I see it in his eyes. I think Dal
just has trouble letting go.”

“He wants to be his own master.”

“And he will,” Lanoree said. “You know the teachings, Mother. ‘The Force is neither
light nor dark, master nor slave, but a balance between extremes.’ Dal will find balance.”

“I hope so,” her mother says.

Lanoree frowns, pouting slightly. It’s a little unfair, she knows, using the look
that her mother can so rarely resist. But it might be the last time. She is leaving
as a child, and when she returns she will be a woman.

“Fine, Lanoree,” her mother says, smiling. “I’m
sure
he’ll find the balance he needs.”

Lanoree smiles and nods, and a little while later she and Dal take the first symbolic
steps away from their parents. They look back along the river several times and their
mother and father remain there, watching them go and waving them on their way.

Dal says nothing. Neither does Lanoree. Lost in their private thoughts, hers are troubled.
I’m sure he’ll find the balance he needs
, her mother said of Dal.

Buried deep beneath her childish enthusiasm, in truth Lanoree is far from certain.
And yet unsettled by whatever future her brother might face, she also leaves her parents
and home behind with excitement burning in her heart. This is the start of a real
adventure, and one that every Je’daii on Tython has to undergo at some point during
their training.

Balance in the Force is essential to become a great Je’daii, and to achieve that one
must also gain balance in one’s abilities and talents. Being adept at Force skills
is nothing if you do not know how to use them. Having a great talent in channeling
the Force through writing and art is fine, but if you cannot also protect yourself
in combat, then you will never reach the heights of Je’daii Master. Ashla and Bogan
cast their light and dark shadows upon the surface of Tython, and true balance exists
within as well as without.

Lanoree can feel the Force thrumming through her sometimes, matching the beating of
her heart or, perhaps, vice versa. And she is looking forward to every day that follows.
She and Dal often wander together, and they’re very familiar with Bodhi, the nearby
ocean, and the lands around it. But other than their time at Padawan Kesh, they have
never gone beyond.

The start of their journey will take them northwest across the large island continent
of Masara to the other coast. A flight by Cloud Chaser eight hundred kilometers over
the Thyrian Ocean will follow; and after their arrival on Thyr, they will journey
across rocky plains and
through extensive forests until they reach Qigong Kesh, the Temple of Force Skills.
It lies beyond the forests and three days’ walk into the Silent Desert, that mysterious
place where sound is soaked up by some unknown quality in the constantly drifting
sands. The winds are relentless there, and it’s said that some of the sand sculptures
that persist sometimes for mere seconds are sentient, part of a species that has existed
on Tython for millions of years. No contact has ever been made with these sculptures—indeed,
there are those who believe they are simply another unusual quality of the Silent
Desert. But Lanoree is always ready to believe.

Beneath the desert, in deep caverns, they will undertake the first lessons in their
journey of learning.

They crest a gentle hilltop around midday and turn to look back down upon Bodhi Temple
in the distance. The sea shimmers beyond it, constantly moving yet at peace. The Tho
Yor at the temple’s center reflects the bright sunlight, and the river snaking inland
is a dancing rainbow of light.

“When we return we’ll be real Je’daii,” Lanoree says. “Aren’t you excited, Dal? Isn’t
it just thrilling?”

“Yeah,” he says. He grasps her hand and squeezes, but never quite meets her gaze.

“Mother and Father will be so proud.”

Dal shrugs. “I suppose.”

Lanoree knows of their parents’ hopes—that their journey will imbue Dal with more
of the Force, that he will come to know and love it, and that perhaps he is simply
a late starter.
It happens
, they said.
Sometimes it just takes time and experience
.

But Lanoree also knows that a Journeyer has to
want
it to happen.

“Come on,” she says. “Race you to that fallen tree!”

They run down the slope, and soon Bodhi is out of sight behind them. Neither of them
comments on the fact. And for a while, as they race each other through long flute
grasses and listen to the gentle hum and hoot of the breeze around them, they are
young children again.

Lanoree let the Peacemaker’s computer fly them out of Tython’s atmosphere, and this
gave her time to look down upon the planet that
had once been her home. To reach escape velocity they passed over Tython’s largest
continent, Talss, and even from this distance she could see the vast wound in the
land that was the Rift. Six hundred kilometers east of the Rift was Anil Kesh Temple,
and it was here, on her Great Journey, that she had truly found her peace with the
Force for the first time. It was also here that her brother’s doom had been sealed.

But she wished she could look down upon Masara, home to Bodhi, the Temple of the Arts.
There, her parents still lived and taught. They mourned the son they had believed
dead, but who now seemed to have become an enemy of the Je’daii and a danger to everyone.
Her parents now knew that he yet lived, of that she was certain—Master Xiang’s comments
about their understanding the circumstances made that obvious. But she would have
liked to speak to them and tell them to continue mourning their son. Whatever the
outcome of her mission, the Dalien Brock they had known and loved was no more.

He had shunned his family, and let them continue for nine years believing he was dead.
Not everyone is lucky enough to finish their Great Journey
, her mother had said to her at Dalien’s memorial ritual. It seemed now that luck
had little to do with it.

“Little shak,” Lanoree said. She laughed bitterly. She’d used the term before to describe
Dal, but only to herself, when he got his own way with their parents or infuriated
her so much.

The ship shuddered with its efforts to tear itself from Tython’s pull, and she wondered
why leaving did not trouble her equally. She’d spent four years believing it was because
she was a wanderer, a seeker of knowledge and enlightenment, and the farther she went,
the more she knew. A large part of that was true; her passion in the Force made it
so.

But she also suspected that in ranging beyond Tython, she had left behind the lingering
guilt that Dal’s death had been her fault.

Where could such feelings reside now?

She withdrew the message pod from her pocket and slipped it into the ship’s computer.
The flatscreen snowed and then a picture faded in from the darkness. Master Dam-Powl’s
face, though this time she seemed more tense than before.

“Lanoree, I’ll be brief. By the time you view this message you’ll have stood before
me and other Je’daii Masters and been given a mission.
What I offer you now—privately, the reason for which I’m sure you will understand—is
help. Your ship’s computer now contains all we know of your errant brother and his
intentions, though, as you will see, that’s precious little. A rumor, a warning, a
few words of worry from our Rangers and spies out in the system. On Kalimahr you should
proceed to the city-state of Rhol Yan, where you will meet a Twi’lek called Tre Sana
in Susco’s Tavern. He lives close by, just ask the tavern’s owner. Tre will tell you
more. He’s not a Je’daii. Indeed, many of his interests are on Shikaakwa, and on any
other occasion you might seek to arrest him rather than take his advice. But he’s
served me well several times before. Greed drives him, and I pay.”

She sighed, and looked for a moment incredibly sad. “I hate to go behind the backs
of the other Je’daii Masters in this, because no one on the Council wanted a non-Je’daii
involved. But I justify doing so in the knowledge that it will help. You’ll know more
than most that some on the settled worlds don’t trust the Je’daii, even though perhaps
they hold us in awe. Some actively dislike us. A few harbor hate, still nurtured and
fresh following the Despot War twelve years ago, and I suspect it is these levels
of society where your investigation will take you. Tre might help you past this mistrust.
He
knows
those levels. But … be wary of him. Stay alert. He has his own interests at heart,
and only that. He’s as dangerous as … Well”—Dam-Powl smiled—“almost as dangerous as
you.”

She touched the corner of her mouth with one finger, a habit Lanoree knew well—the
Master from Anil Kesh was thinking. “I hope your studies go well,” she said softly.
“I hope you’re still learning. I’ve never seen such potential in anyone. Go well,
Lanoree Brock. And may the Force go with you.”

The message ended and the screen faded to black. The computer ejected the message
pod, but Lanoree sat for a while in the cockpit, seat turned away from the windows
and the amazing views beyond.

“Kalimahr it is, then,” she said. Over four years spent mostly alone, the habit of
talking to herself—or Ironholgs, which was almost the same—had grown. “But I don’t
like the idea of a
partner
.” She liked her own company. Sometimes she spoke to the second, empty cockpit seat
beside her, though it had never been occupied.