Destiny's Way Page 29

  The others watched the Barabel for a long, silent moment. Then Luke said, “I think we should send Jedi.”

  Kyp raised a hand in halfhearted protest, then dropped it. “Very well. But they should be warned about the Bothans’ declaring ar’krai.”

  “Agreed. And while training with this meld, they should consider what to do if the meld is ever misused.”

  “Master Skywalker,” Cilghal said. “You have throughout the war warned us of the dangers of aggression. But now you send Jedi to war under a commander who will use them aggressively. Have you changed your mind?”

  Cilghal had been watching him with those bulging eyes, Luke thought, and had sensed his mind within the Force. She was never less than acute. “I have changed my policy, yes,” he answered.

  At once he had Kyp Durron’s full attention. “How?” Kyp asked.

  “I’m willing to give my blessing to those Jedi who wish to act offensively against the Yuuzhan Vong, provided that they confine their objectives to military ones.”

  Kyp’s eyes flashed. “You could have saved us both a lot of grief if you’d told us that a couple of years ago!” He waved his arms. “For years you’ve been warning me about aggression leading to the dark side! I didn’t listen, and over and over and over again reality whacked me on the side of the head! Finally I decided you were right! I watched someone else go to the dark and it was worse than I could have imagined!” He pointed a finger at Luke. “You finally convinced me! I’ve been a good little Jedi for—for months now! I’ve been telling everyone who would listen that Master Skywalker’s been right all along! And now you tell me that you’ve changed your mind?”

  Now this was the Kyp that Luke knew.

  “How dare you?” Kyp demanded. “How dare you?”

  It was all Luke could do to keep from laughing out loud.

  “At the beginning of the war I didn’t have the same information that I have now,” Luke said. “Perhaps you did, however.”

  “What information?” Kyp crossed his arms and glared at Luke with grudging patience.

  “At the beginning I was deeply disturbed by the fact the Yuuzhan Vong couldn’t be found in the Force. It seemed to me that they might be a mockery of the Force, a deliberate profanation of life, and that I would be destined to lead a dark crusade against them.” He looked along the table, meeting every pair of eyes. “It would have been a dreadful thing,” he said. “So many Jedi would have turned against the light in a war like that. I might not have been able to resist the darkness myself.”

  “What changed your mind?” Kyp’s gaze was wary.

  “New information.” Luke looked up. “From Jacen Solo, and from Vergere. It’s now possible to understand that the Yuuzhan Vong aren’t some exception to the rules of creation. If we can’t see them in the Force, it’s our fault, not theirs. We can fight them without wanting to wipe them from existence. We can fight them without hate, and without darkness.”

  Luke looked across the table at Kyp. “If you knew this two years ago, I apologize for doubting you. But in the meantime I’m not sorry that I was cautious.”

  “I couldn’t have known any of that,” Kyp said. “You know I couldn’t have known it.”

  “There was so much at stake. I didn’t want anyone to turn to the dark side because I misread the situation.”

  “You …” Kyp accused, pointing. “You …” He banged his hand on the table in frustration and looked at the others. “Am I the only one here who simply wants to punch Master Skywalker in the nose?”

  Again Luke concealed laughter, and he sensed that he wasn’t the only one. Cal Omas looked from Luke to Kyp and grinned. “I won’t throw any punches,” he said, “but I’m willing to be entertained.”

  Kyp threw up his hands in frustration. “I think Skywalker does this for his own entertainment!”

  “If you want the practical argument, Kyp,” Luke said, “the Chief of State has now given us his full support and made a place for the Jedi in the government. It seems only polite to support the government that is supporting us.”

  “That’s all very well,” Kyp said. “But your warnings about aggression weren’t without foundation. It’s still possible for the darkness to take our people. I know. I’ve been there.” He looked at Luke, pain in his eyes. “And very recently I’ve watched it happen to someone else.”

  Now you know what it’s like, Luke thought. He had watched Kyp fall into darkness without being able to stop him. Now Kyp understood, when Jaina let the dark take her, what it was to feel that helplessness.

  “The Jedi Code is made confusing by the fact that aggression is never defined,” Luke said. “So I’m going to define it right now. Aggression is making an unprovoked attack, or taking something that doesn’t belong to you, or aiding someone else in doing one of these things.”

  Kyp nodded thoughtfully. “That definition could have prevented a lot of misunderstanding between the two of us.”

  “It could have,” Luke said. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “The dangers are still very real,” Kyp said. “They’ll become even more real when we start sending our people into combat.”

  Luke shook his head. “We have to trust them. They’re Jedi. We trained them.”

  Let them all go, he thought. Vergere had shown him what he knew: he needed to trust that his training and his example would bring the Jedi through this crisis. Let them all go.

  “There iz no great danger with the meld,” Saba said. The others were startled by her complete certainty. “All Jedi together, and of one mind? Should one fall into darknessss, otherz would draw her back to the light.”

  Luke hoped this was true. “We have to trust the Jedi and their training,” he said. “We’ve given all the warnings we can. The meld is another tool we can try to use.”

  “What about the Great River?” Cilghal asked. She seemed in genuine distress. “We have painfully set up this conduit for refugees, agents, and information. Are we all to engage in warfare now, and let the Great River dry up at its source?”

  “Of course not,” Luke said. “Each Jedi must decide how he or she wishes to help defeat the Yuuzhan Vong. And unless there’s some pressing need, I intend myself to continue my work with the Great River.”

  Cilghal seemed reassured. Luke turned to Cal. “Have you had enough speeches for today?”

  “It’s been enlightening.” Cal looked around the table. “Somehow I expected that Jedi would have more certainty and less discussion.”

  “I always hope for that,” Luke said. “I hardly ever get it.”

  Other members of the council made reports concerning the Great River or other projects. Dif Scaur made a brief presentation concerning what he understood of current Yuuzhan Vong goals, and Triebakk spoke about the Senate, which seemed alarmed with itself at its boldness in electing Cal as Chief of State, but was otherwise fairly quiet.

  “Is that all, then?” Luke asked.

  Tresina rolled up her snout to allow herself to speak without being muffled. “I’d like to ask about the Jedi apprentices just arrived, with a refugee convoy, here on Mon Calamari,” she said. “They have no Masters or current duties. What are we to do with them? Send them to—” She hesitated, on the verge of letting a secret slip. “—to join the other apprentices at the hidden academy?”

  “Who are we talking about?” asked Cilghal.

  “Zekk and Tahiri Veila.”

  “All were with my son Tesar on the strike at Myrkr,” Saba said.

  All watched Anakin die, Luke thought.

  “They’re being looked after by Alema Rar,” Tresina said. “But Alema doesn’t feel ready to take an apprentice, let alone two of them, so she’s asked me to query the council.”

  Alema was right, Luke thought. Alema had lost her sister Jedi Knight horribly to a voxyn, and was very vulnerable even before the Myrkr strike, probably too vulnerable to spend her days looking after apprentices who had problems of their own.

  “They’re all warriors, then,�
�� Kenth Hamner said. “Veterans. They’ll all be needed.” He turned to Luke. “Perhaps we should promote them to Jedi Knight? Then they can decide for themselves where they’ll be most useful.”

  Luke hesitated, then spoke. “Tahiri is very young, not even sixteen. And she was a … special friend … to Anakin. I don’t know if she’s gotten over his death.” He shook his head. “Knighting her and sending her against the Yuuzhan Vong might be sending her straight to the dark side.”

  “Send them to Kashyyyk,” Saba said. “Send them to Tesar, and to the meld. Send Alema Rar az well. The Force-meld will save them from the dark side.” Her yellow eyes flicked over the group. “Just az melding with the Barabelz saved me, when Tesar’s hatchmatez Krasov and Bela were lost.”

  Saba’s sincerity was convincing. Luke nodded. “Very well.”

  “There are other apprentices who were with Anakin’s strike force,” Kenth reminded. “Jaina, Jacen, and Lowbacca, and of course Cilghal’s apprentice Tekli. Shouldn’t we promote them as well?”

  Luke felt embarrassment that he hadn’t realized this himself. “Of course.”

  “Don’t forget Tenel Ka,” Kyp added.

  Cal’s eyes lit up. “They’ll be the first Jedi Knights of the new order,” he said. “Shouldn’t you do something special when you knight them? A ceremony, or—?”

  “The Jedi have never engaged much in ceremony,” Kyp said. “Jedi do. Jedi don’t playact.”

  Luke laughed. “Do you want to make a speech so badly, Cal? There’s never been any ceremony in the past.”

  Cal flushed a little, but said, “Why not have one? They’re heroes, and people should know it. Bring them all here and I’ll pin medals on them and talk until their ears turn blue.”

  “Tesar and Lowbacca are on Kashyyyk,” Tresina reminded.

  “They’re in the military, aren’t they?” Cal said. “Jaina’s squadron? Reassign the squadron to Mon Calamari.”

  “Sir.” Sien Sovv spoke tactfully. “Admiral Kre’fey will hardly appreciate losing three Jedi just when he’s asked us to send more.”

  “Then tell him he’ll get more!” Cal said. “Tell him that he’ll send us apprentices, but he’ll get Jedi Knights in return!”

  “Tenel Ka has already been promoted,” Releqy pointed out. “To Queen Mother, in fact. I don’t know if we can persuade the Hapans to let her go just because we want to hold a ceremony.”

  Cal’s enthusiasm was undimmed. “Why should the Hapans object if we want to honor their queen? Besides, I’m sure she’ll want to be present when her friends are knighted.”

  Luke found himself grinning at Cal’s zeal. Perhaps a ceremony was in order, just to show everyone—the Jedi not least of all—that things had changed. That the Jedi now had a place in the galaxy, and were in the forefront of the struggle against the Yuuzhan Vong.

  Champions again of the New Republic, and of the billions of lives for which it fought.

  “… the brilliant leadership of Anakin Solo.” Cal’s voice, unusually formal and ringing and solemn, filled the darkened auditorium. “As we honor these young warriors, let us never forget the others who shared their mission but never returned. Ulaha Kore. Eryl Besa. Jovan Drark. Raynar Thul. Bela and Krasov Hara. Ganner Rhysode, who returned from Myrkr only to die later, in defense of a comrade …”

  As each name was called, an image of each Jedi was projected above the stage, floating as a kind of ghostly presence. In the orchestra pit before the stage, drums thudded out slowly, like a heart beating its last.

  “… and their leader, Anakin Solo.”

  Anakin’s image appeared. Luke, standing at stage right with the rest of the High Council, looked up at the grinning, boyish face and felt a lump rising in his throat.

  It had been Cal who had planned the whole knighting ceremony. Luke had objected to its theatrics but had been overruled. “Most people will never see a Jedi Knight in their whole lives,” Cal had said. “I want them to see Jedi Knights now, and I want them to see the Jedi Knights doing something meaningful.”

  Cal had been right. The slow invocation of the dead was affective and moving.

  Cal turned toward Luke. “Master Skywalker will now take the podium.”

  Cal left the podium and rejoined the High Council at stage right, his feet falling into the solemn rhythm of the drums. Luke, dressed simply in his Jedi robes, marched in the opposite direction and passed Cal along the way. Myrkr’s dead floated overhead like stars in a lost constellation.

  Luke reached the podium. The drums fell silent. Luke could sense the crowd before him—the auditorium was filled—but he couldn’t hear them. The silence was profound.

  Then a lone trumpet sounded three rising notes, the last held just an instant longer than the others. The notes were played again, in a different order, again the last held for the slightest bit longer than the others. And then the three notes repeated, again in a different order, again with the last drawn out. The sound was heartbreakingly pure, and somehow heartbreakingly sad.

  The drums rattled once, then stilled. The trumpet repeated the three basic notes in varying order, then built on them and took flight, rising high and swooping low, but overall climbing higher and higher until the instrument finally sang out one last, high note that rang high and perfect and seemed to sing in the mind forever.

  The images of the dead faded with the last echo of the trumpet.

  Luke looked at the invisible audience. He wanted to be anonymous. He didn’t want to be Luke Skywalker, hero and Jedi Master. He wanted it to seem as if any Jedi could be speaking these words.

  “The roll call of the Jedi goes back for many millennia,” he said.

  Luke spoke of the first who had realized the existence of the Force, and who had discovered and used its vitality, and who—realizing their power and its dangers—had devised a code for its use. The first Jedi Knights, sworn to serve, not to rule. He spoke of those who had driven the menace of the Sith from the galaxy, and then guarded the Republic against all dangers until betrayed from within. He spoke of those new Jedi who had risen with the New Republic, and who even now were standing against the invading Yuuzhan Vong, a thin bright line of fiery lightsabers directed against the enemy.

  “We are here to welcome nine new members into the order,” Luke said. “Each has felt the Force grow within him or her. Each has felt the sting of combat and the pain of a comrade’s loss. Each has searched his or her heart, and now stands ready to make the commitment to serve the New Republic for as long as life lasts.”

  Luke turned to the apprentices standing in their line at stage left. Each was dressed simply in a jacket, trousers, and boots.

  “As I name you,” Luke said, “may you step forward and be garbed in the robes of a Jedi Knight.

  “Tenel Ka!”

  The Queen of Sixty-Three Worlds, for good or ill, took formal precedence over the others. As the drums began a solemn march, she stepped from the line of apprentices and came to stand by the podium.

  “Remove your lightsaber, please,” Luke said. Two Jedi Masters, Kenth Hamner and Kyp Durron, stepped forward from the group of the Jedi Council carrying Tenel’s new robe. They pulled the robe around her, then buckled her lightsaber over it.

  Luke stepped away from the microphone. He hadn’t told Cal that he was going to do this, but he wanted a part of the ceremony to be a private thing, for the Jedi alone.

  He put his hands on Tenel’s shoulders and looked at her closely.

  “Yours is perhaps the most difficult task of all,” he said. “The path of a queen is different from that of a Jedi. Your duty as queen of Hapes will inevitably come into conflict with the simpler values of the Jedi.”

  He looked into her shadowed gray eyes. “I don’t tell you to choose one path over another. I only hope that you choose with your heart, and choose wisely.”

  Luke reached over Tenel’s shoulders, took her cowl, and drew it over her head. Tenel Ka returned to her place. Luke stepped back to the podium.

&n
bsp; “Tesar Sebatyne!”

  The Barabel came forward, and it was his mother, Saba, assisted by Kenth Hamner, who clothed him in his robes.

  Luke once again stepped away from the microphone. To Tesar he said, “The flame of a warrior burns bright in you, Tesar. You have shown that you will never falter or abandon a stricken comrade. May the Force guide you in all you do.” Tesar, yellow eyes burning with pride, returned to his place in the line.

  “Alema Rar!” Alema stepped from the rank of her comrades. Through the Force Luke could perceive her aura of sadness. While she was garbed by Tresina and Kyp, Luke considered the Twi’lek, what he knew of her savage childhood in the ryll dens and of the sister who had died in her arms, her flesh afire with the acid of a voxyn. Alema had also loved Anakin, and suffered at his loss. Luke touched her gently, careful not to contact the sensitive head-tails.

  “Fate robbed you of your childhood, and your only family,” he said. “Though the Jedi can’t replace either, I hope you will look to us for the love and friendship we can give you, and the strength we can lend you in times of need. Now go to Kashyyyk, join your mind with the others, and heal.”

  As he raised Alema’s cowl over her head, he saw tears glimmer in the Twi’lek’s eyes.

  “Lowbacca!”

  The ginger-haired Wookiee towered over Luke and looked down at him with a fanged grin. Luke couldn’t help but grin back.

  “You’re the one I’ve never doubted,” he said. “Your path has never veered from the right, and you’ve shown that it never will.”

  Lowbacca had to bow deeply in order for Luke to reach high enough to draw the cowl over his head. A murmur of laughter ran through the audience.

  “Jacen Solo!”

  Jacen stepped out in silence, and Luke could sense his readiness in the Force. He took Jacen by the shoulders. The young man looked at him from his startlingly bearded face—he had trimmed the whiskers that had grown in captivity, but not gotten rid of them entirely. Luke could sense his utter openness. His honesty. All the Jedi virtues he had maintained despite the trials and terrors of the last few years.