Клаудия Грэй - Into the Dark

Reath took a moment to consider this. “Doesn’t that separation keep us safe?”

“Does it?” Master Cohmac said. “Or does the divide only make the darkness darker, more dangerous, than it ever would have been in a state of nature?”

“I don’t know,” Reath admitted. He hadn’t thought abstract philosophy would be a major part of training—but it seemed it would be with Master Cohmac. At least, it would be if he took Reath on. “I only know that our work is good work. That we save lives, end conflict, and bring peace.”

Master Cohmac smiled at him. “You are sure of your path, Reath Silas. Never let anything shake you from it.”

“I only thought I was sure before,” Reath confessed. “But before I left for the frontier, Master Jora asked me a question. She said when I knew the answer, I’d know why we needed to leave Coruscant. She asked why no Jedi can cross the Kyber Arch alone. Now I understand. No one crosses it alone because the arch itself wouldn’t exist without all the Jedi Knights that have gone before. Both the ones who fell in battle and the ones who built the arch for others to remember. I was giving the Order only as much of me as I wanted to give. It was all about me . Not about us . From now on, I’m putting us first.”

“Jora Malli was a wise woman,” said Master Cohmac. “I doubt I could match the profundity of her teachings.”

That sounded suspiciously like goodbye. “So,” Reath began, “are we—”

“I still have much to learn,” Master Cohmac said. That sounded even more like a no until he added, “And there is no better way to learn than to teach. You will be my first Padawan, Reath, and perhaps my greatest instructor in the Force.”

Weeks later, Starlight Beacon officially went online. Its beams shone out through the galaxy, bright as any supernova, in a wordless message of the Republic’s promise of guidance, protection, and prosperity.

As the beams were illuminated, applause rang out aboard the station from the many parties present: the senior Jedi Avar Kriss, Elzar Mann, and Stellan Gios; other Jedi such as Sskeer and Burryaga; Republic officials; various diplomats; and delegations from nearby worlds—

And one Padawan who’d made the last choice he would ever have expected just a few short weeks before.

Reath Silas clapped along with the rest. For a moment he wished Master Jora were there to celebrate with them—to stand in a position of honor up on the dais. She had wanted this for Reath, this place on the frontier where anything and everything could happen but nothing could be taken for granted. At long last, he recognized the value of what she had wished to give him, and he had resolved not to refuse his late master’s final gift.

No, he didn’t care for adventures. They were dangerous, messy, and best avoided; the Amaxine station had proved that beyond any doubt. Reath still preferred for adventures to remain in stories, where they belonged.

But someone had to live the stories before they could be told. Someone had to tell the tales. Maybe Reath was meant to be one of the tellers. All he knew was that he was ready to serve the means of the Force, whatever—or wherever—they might be.

There had been various speeches and performances throughout the ceremony, and those would continue for some time to come. The next, however, seemed to draw special attention—an older woman with vivid silver streaks in her black hair was ascending the dais to cheers and applause. Her sumptuous cloak and glittering coronet testified to her royal status even before it was announced, “To address the crowd, Queen Thandeka of Eiram!”

The queen lifted her chin, and the entire crowd fell silent. She was the wife of the ruler of a nearby planet, as Reath understood it, but something about her presence gave her a greater authority.

“We welcome the Republic,” she said, her voice ringing out over the crowd. “Twenty-five years ago, we had sealed ourselves off from the rest of the galaxy. We didn’t trust the Republic, or the Jedi, or even each other. All that changed when the Jedi came to rescue me, and the late Monarch Cassel of E’ronoh gave his life for mine.” She bowed her head slightly when she said Cassel’s name. “After that, our worlds began to listen to each other more. We dared to learn more about the galaxy beyond our narrow confines. We learned that independence is an illusion—that no one truly stands alone. We regained the courage to trust, without which we could never have moved forward. To trust is to hope, to believe in a better future and believe that others will work with us to make it possible.”

Many people clapped. Reath joined them.

“It is in memory of Monarch Cassel, and of the Jedi Master who died on our rescue mission, that the decision was made to place Starlight Beacon so close to the planetoid where the crisis took place,” Queen Thandeka continued. “We celebrate their memory here, today and forever.”

More applause, and the queen descended from the dais as a choir assembled to perform. Reath, never a music lover, was relieved when his new master began steering them away from the center of the ceremony. “What comes next?” Reath asked.

Master Cohmac, beside him, continued applauding. “I believe what follows is the grand feast.”

“Good. I’m starving .”

That made Master Cohmac laugh, which Reath considered a good sign.

After the musical performance, as they began walking with the crowds toward the banquet, Reath said, “What happens after this, master?”

“Anything could happen,” said Master Cohmac. “And that is the joy of it.”

Half a galaxy away…

Nan knelt before the leader of the Nihil. The leader—the Eye—Marchion Ro, a figure so high above her she’d never have presumed to dream of any meeting. She would’ve prostrated herself before him; never had she felt so unworthy of her stripes. But her emotions were less important than communicating the facts.

“My guardian, Hague, was killed by the Jedi’s trick,” she said. “Along with so many of the others. I only survived because I had returned to the lower tunnels to make sure they were clear of other Drengir.”

Marchion Ro nodded; the light shimmered dully on his metallic gray skin. “You are not to blame,” he said. “Their deaths are the responsibility of the Jedi. And the Jedi will pay.”

The anger in his voice restored Nan, gave fuel to the vengeful flame inside her. And yet she had to caution him. “I fear the Jedi are very powerful. They have abilities unlike anything we’ve ever encountered before.”

Marchion Ro merely smiled. “You are wise to fear the Jedi and the Republic. But they should fear us in return. For the Nihil will be the destruction of the Jedi.”

READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT ANOTHER EXCITING HIGH REPUBLIC ADVENTURE, COMING IN SUMMER 2021!

Sylvestri Yarrow looked at the balance sheet before her and tried not to scream. Why hadn’t anyone warned her how expensive it was to own a ship? Between the rising cost of fuel and the Nihil threat forcing them to alter their routes, she and her crew were barely scraping by. Once the shipment of gnostra berry wine—the most lucrative cargo they’d had in months —was delivered, there would still be a slight shortfall from their last fuel pickup in Port Haileap. Not to mention the bill they still owed on Batuu. At this rate she was going to be in debt to half of the galaxy.

And she still hadn’t paid her taxes from the last couple of hauls.

Syl leaned back in her seat in the cockpit of the Switchback , her pride and current frustration, and watched the peaceful blue of hyperspace stream by. The cockpit was dark enough that she could clearly see her own reflection in the glass, and the dark-skinned face that looked back at her was long past worried. It was positively distraught, and if her copilot, Neeto, saw her he would know things were bad. Syl took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and forced herself to think.