CHAPTER SIX
OLD MYTHS
No one can fight without balance.
—Master Rupe, Stav Kesh, 8,466 TYA
Stav Kesh. The name itself inspires a shiver of anticipation, a frisson of excitement. For Lanoree, Qigong Kesh was a place of contemplation and immersion in Force Skills, nursing and nurturing them, and considering what the Force meant to her. At the Martial Arts Temple of Stav Kesh, she will learn to fight.
It is dawn as Lanoree and Dal approach the temple. They’d camped several kilometers to the north, and breaking camp when the sun rose above the eastern horizon is an incredible moment. The air here is thin, the mountains high, and they are both dizzy with breathlessness. But the thin air seems to purify the amazing colors of dawn.
Dal seems excited. He was always good in a fight, as several arguments with the children of other Je’daii at Bodhi Temple had proved. Lanoree hopes that he will find the Force here and truly welcome it at last. When he sees what it can do … when he feels how it might help …
“This is my time,” he says as they stand on a rocky cliff path, a shallow ravine to their right. Snow had fallen in the night, and a light covering softens their harsh surroundings. “Don’t try to be my teacher here, Lanoree. And don’t try to be Mother and Father. You’re my sister, that’s all. Whatever happens to me here is my responsibility.”
“Our parents made you my responsibility.”
“We’re not children anymore. And I’m my own man.” It’s a surprising thing for Dal to say. But as he walks ahead of her toward the temple, and she sees the strength in his stance and the determined set of his shoulders, it does not seem ridiculous at all.
The breeze is picking up. Snow dances through the air. The landscape is harsh, weather likewise. Lanoree knows that Stav Kesh is never an easy place to be.
“My name is Tave, and I’m one of the Masters of the temple. We’ve been expecting you. How was your journey south from the sea?”
“No problems,” Dal says. He does not mention the fire tygah, and when Master Tave glances at the healing burns across his forearms, Dal says nothing.
After a brief pause, the Noghri Master smiles. “Good. Wait here and I’ll send a droid to show you to your quarters. You have the morning to perform breathing exercises, acclimatize to the altitude. After lunch your training begins. This afternoon, Force breathing.”
“Breathing?” Dal says. “I thought this was the Martial Arts temple.”
Master Tave stares at Dal, glances at Lanoree, then turns his back on them both.
“Dal!” Lanoree whispers. “Don’t be rude!”
“Rude?” he asks, but at least he’s keeping his voice low. “But—”
“Don’t you think Master Tave knows what he’s doing?”
“Yes. Well. But breathing?”
“I’m sure it’ll all make sense.” She walks past Dal and between the wide temple doors, suddenly afraid that they will swing closed and shut her outside. Perhaps this is how Dal sometimes feels, she thinks. Her brother follows her inside, and together they take in their surroundings.
She has seen plenty of holos of Stav Kesh, and heard many stories from those Journeyers who visited there before Bodhi Temple in their own Great Journeys of learning. But nothing could have prepared her for the real thing.
The strength of the Force, for a start.
Lanoree can feel the Force here as an almost physical presence, Ashla and Bogan exerting a gravity upon her that seems to stretch, pull in all directions, and give her body an incredible lightness. It is easy to let herself fall into the flow, and the talents she honed at Qigong Kesh feel even more refined here. The Force is close, and it takes so little effort to become one with it.
She glances at Dal. He is looking about him in wonder, and she hopes that some of it is recognition of the Force. But after what he said outside, she will not ask him.
Stav Kesh does not so much cling to the mountainside as form it. Rocky outcroppings are visible here and there, but most of what Lanoree can see above her are buildings. They start at her level and rise up the slope of the mountain, projecting out over heavy buttresses and elsewhere forming sheer cliffs of smooth gray stone. Windows pock wide facades, and balconies held up by slender, incredibly strong supports stretch out over long drops. Canvas window shades are already flapping in the dawn breeze, lending splashes of a dozen colors to the sandstone city. A waterfall tumbles from high above, leaving glittering icicles on the buildings and rocks it passes by. A series of wheels are driven by the fast-moving water. Spray hazes the air, and the newborn sun casts several rainbows across illuminated parts of the city. As Lanoree watches the sun line move around the mountain’s girth, the rainbows seem to be driving shadows before them. The scene is beautiful, and she remembers at last to draw a breath.
On the mountainside below them sits the Tho Yor. They passed it on their ascent, mysterious, enigmatic, and the recent snowfall coated it with a glittering layer.
“Bet our room’s right at the top,” Dal says. Lanoree laughs more than the comment warrants, because she is so pleased at hearing even a hint of humor from her brother.
A floating droid arrives and utters their names in an electronic buzz. They follow. By the time they reach their quarters, Dal is laughing hard, and panting, and perhaps crying just a little.
“One thousand three hundred,” he says, gasping. “I lost count of the steps after that.”
“Good training,” Lanoree gasps. They glance into their room—beds, benches, little else. Their training robes are laid on the beds, and she can already tell how rough they are, and how cold they will be wearing them. Toughening us up, she thinks. She asks the droid where their afternoon session will take place.
“Master Tave always takes his classes in the lower training levels,” the droid burrs.
“Of course he does,” Lanoree says. “Of course.”
“Attack me,” Master Tave says, “with anything you can.”
The students are hesitant. Even Lanoree pauses, though she knows that the Master will not suggest anything he does not mean.
Then she walks to the weapons rack, picks up a slingshot, and fires a stone at the Master’s head.
He steps aside and it misses.
She pushes a Force punch his way and he defects it with a flick of his fingers.
Lanoree dashes to the left, and her sudden movement seems to bring the room to life. There are six Journeyers in the training courtyard, including her and Dal, and they take her enthusiasm as permission to attack.
The Cathar twins go at Master Tave with heavy spiked chains that he easily avoids, leaving them tangled and useless. Dal darts in low and fast, swinging a mace at his legs … which are no longer there. Tave shoves Dal onto his back and kicks the mace aside. A Wookiee roars and swings two short, heavy clubs that Master Tave ducks and swerves around before planting a boot in the Wookiee’s rump and sending her spilling to the floor. The last student to attack is a Twi’lek, who fires a Force punch so powerful that it even takes Lanoree’s breath away.
Master Tave deflects the punch back against its originator, and the Twi’lek staggers back with a bloodied nose.
The large courtyard rings with their heavy breathing, their bodies still unused to the thin air. The fight drives their hearts, pumps blood, sharpens senses. But it is far from over.
“Again,” Master Tave says. He is not even breathing hard.
This time Lanoree, Dal, and the Wookiee attack simultaneously from three different directions, gasping, grunting—Lanoree trying to sweep Tave’s legs from beneath him with a sly Force punch, Dal aiming a flying kick at his head, the Wookiee clumsy yet strong with her deadly clubs—and within moments they are all on the floor, clasping bruises and wallowing in wounded pride.
Lanoree and Dal lock eyes, and her brother grins.
They go again. The courtyard is a confusion of spilled bodies and bloodied noses and swirling snow, and as Lanoree is casually cast aside for the third time, she sees the Twi’lek go at Master Tave with a surprisingly adept combination of Alchaka moves, the vigorous Force martial art. Tave seems to never be where a punch lands or a foot kicks, and moments later the Twi’lek spins through the air toward a far wall.
The Master raises a hand and softens the flying boy’s impact.
Lanoree is sweating even in her thin robe, her heart racing, breathing hard. Dal looks the same, but he also appears more alive than he has in a while. It’s good to see him like that, but worrying, too. Each of his attacks was traditional—not once did he try to channel the Force.
“You all try too hard,” Master Tave says. He walks among them with his hands behind his back, and there’s no sign at all that he has expended any strength in holding off their attacks. “You give in to effort and let it rule your moves.” He points at the Cathar twins. “You both held your breath as you attacked, and your hearts will not like that.” At the Wookiee. “A roar will not distract an enemy strong with the Force, but it will steal your breath, empty your lungs, tire you quicker.” And at Lanoree. “And you. You stumble, rather than flow. With every move you expend three times the energy you should.” He stands in the middle of the scattered, panting, bleeding students and sighs. “So. Breathing.”
For the rest of that afternoon Master Tave teaches them how to breathe. To begin with, it feels unnatural and goes against everything Lanoree thought she knew, because breathing is something she never thinks about. She has done it forever. It simply happens, like her heart beating, her blood flowing, her mind working both when she is awake and asleep. But by the time they stop at midafternoon for drinks and a handful of local fruit and nuts, she realizes the truth. Tave is showing them how to breathe with the Force as well as with air. Perhaps later she will have to revisit her heart, her blood, her thinking.
The students enjoy the session, but Lanoree does not allow herself to draw too close to the others. Usually gregarious and willing to make friends, she feels the pressure of her responsibility for Dal. And now that he has emphasized his independence from her and their parents, that pressure feels even greater.
Dal also remains somewhat aloof. He’s enjoying the training, she can see that, but he is also selective about what he is taking from it. The more Master Tave tells them that the Force is their friend, their protector, the balance that they must find, the more she perceives Dal’s attention wandering.
Perhaps he’s simply way out of balance, she thinks.
And once she grasps this idea, Lanoree lets it grow. It’s uncomfortable, but something she understands. Something that can be resolved. In her mind it’s far better than the alternative.
That Dal truly hates the Force, and is doing everything he can to tear himself away from it.
“Your first training session in Stav Kesh is almost at an end,” Master Tave says later that afternoon. “This evening you will prepare food, scrub the kitchens, and then return here to clear the training yard of snow and mud. You might also visit the Tho Yor and meditate for a while. Meditation is a part of fighting. Centering yourself, finding and ensuring your balance. And so attack me once more, with everything you can.”
This time there is little hesitation. Lanoree and Dal are the first to react. Lanoree uses the Force to send a piercing whistle at Master Tave’s ears, upsetting his physical balance, but her follow-up attack with an Alchaka kick combination is parried and countered, and her face meets the stone pavement. She feels her nose gush blood—the second time that day—and rolls onto her side in time to see Dal spinning through the air, victim of a Force punch from Tave.
The others attack, too, using combinations of the Force and the physical. This time there is no panting and roaring, groaning and grunting, and the only sounds echoing across the courtyard are the rustling of loose robes, the whisper of bare feet on snow-covered stone, the impacts of flesh against flesh. Master Tave stands tall and fights off every attack. His expression remains impassive, and his movements are fluid and confident.
It is Dal who scores the first and only hit of the day. With Tave warding off a sword attack from the Cathar twins, Dal feints a clumsy Alchaka assault, but then slides within Tave’s reach and delivers an elbow to his face. Master Tave takes a step back and his head turns to the side, spots of blood splashing his shoulder.
The courtyard grows suddenly still. Dal lowers his elbow, rubbing it slightly from where it contacted Tave’s heavy brow. There is a stunned silence.
Master Tave smiles. “Good,” he says. “Very good, Dalien.” He slings one arm over Dal’s shoulder and presses one clawed finger against his chest. “You’re learning to breathe well, deep and gentle from the stomach instead of the chest. You’re learning to control your body instead of letting your body control you. Now imagine what you could do if you were willing to let in the Force.”
The silence in the courtyard goes from stunned to awkward. Dal says nothing.
But Lanoree can read his expression, and his thoughts, as he looks at Master Tave’s bruised temple.
Who needs the Force?
“He let you get the hit.”
“No!”
“Of course he did. That’s Master Tave! You think he’d be fooled by a move more suited to a tavern scrap?”
“He was tired, he let his guard slip. I got him. I hit him!” Dal is angry, she can see that. But Lanoree cannot let him believe something like this. It will only add impetus to his fleeing the Force.
“I’ve heard stories about him. He can hide in the Force! Slip away. Come back again.” She smiles softly. “He wanted to let you gain confidence. You were the clumsiest of all of us there, and he didn’t want you—”
“Are you serious?” Dal asks. “Don’t treat me like a child, Lanoree. I might be younger than you, but I see more. I know more truths. And the truth is, strength doesn’t only come from your stupid Force.”
“My Force?”
Dal snorts. They are high up on the wild, windswept top of the temple. It’s night, and the views over the plains are amazing. But Dal looks at the sky.
“None of this is for me,” he says, and he sounds almost wistful. “None of this down here.”
Even as Lanoree walks away, Dal is still gazing at the stars.
For a long while Lanoree stared up at the night sky. Alone out in the Tython system she sometimes sat staring at the stars, letting the Peacemaker fly itself, and wondering what was out there. It was part of the reason why being a Ranger suited her. One day she would advance to Master, and then perhaps she would spend more of her time on Tython, contemplating the Force, instructing and guiding others, and eventually becoming an elder Je’daii. But youthful curiosity still drove her, and being alone in space she had the time to dream.
Besides, she liked the adventure. In that regard, perhaps she and her brother were alike.
She glanced back into the living area and saw that Tre Sana was asleep. A pang of annoyance hit her that he slept so easily on her cot. But it was the best place for him right now. As they powered across the Kalimahr sea toward the Khar Peninsula, Lanoree needed to report in. There was much to tell.
She lowered the volume on the flatscreen and then keyed in Master Dam-Powl’s code. The soft chiming went on for some time, and then the screen flickered and Dam-Powl’s face appeared.
“Ranger Brock,” Dam-Powl said. She looked as though she had been asleep. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”
“Master Dam-Powl,” Lanoree said, bowing her head briefly. “I have a quiet moment. And there is progress. Troubling progress.”
After the brief time delay, the Je’daii Master heard her words and appeared suddenly more alert.
“My brother Dalien is aware that I’m pursuing him,” Lanoree said. “He has his spies, and they followed me from the moment I landed. I’m on the way to one of the Stargazer temples right now. I believe he might be here, right on Kalimahr.”
“Did you make contact with Tre Sana?”
“I did.”
“He’s proved useful?”
Lanoree considered this for a moment, then nodded. She chose not to mention Dam-Powl’s genetic manipulation of Tre. It seemed irrelevant, and perhaps even intrusive. She was a Je’daii Master, after all.
“Have you questioned any of those close to your brother and the Stargazers?”
“Yes, a woman called Kara. Rich, revered in Kalimahr society. Something of a hermit, though she seems very aware of any events that have interest for her. She funds the Stargazers. Didn’t seem concerned about letting us know that.”
“Hmmm,” Dam-Powl said. “It’s from someone like her that we received some of what little information we have. It seems not all those who fund the Stargazers agree with what they’re now attempting.”
“I think Kara does.”
“She said as much?”
“Not in so many words. But we searched her apartment. And I found something.”
Dam-Powl shifted as she became more interested.
“Master, are you familiar with the tales of Osamael Or?”
“Should I be?”
Lanoree smiled. “Perhaps not. A story my parents used to tell me when I was a little girl. He’s something of a myth, from at least nine thousand years ago. An explorer from the very early days of our ancestors’ time on Tython. It’s said he developed an interest in the Old City and disappeared down there, never to be seen again.”
“And the relevance?”
“He was real. And when I searched Kara’s apartments, I found a secret room that contained several very old books. There was trouble—her security droids came, and I had to make a creative exit. But I took one of the books with me.”
“And?”
“And it’s Osamael Or’s diary from his time exploring the Old City. One of them, at least.”
“One of them?”
“It’s incomplete. But it contains something that …” She pursed her lips.
“Ranger?”
“It seems he found something of the Gree down there,” Lanoree said. “And if my translation of the diary’s obtuse wording is accurate, the technology your spies heard about—the dark matter device—might well be of Gree origin.”
Dam-Powl was silent for a while, and she did not hide her shock.
“It contains instructions?” she whispered.
“No,” Lanoree said. “Much of what it says is obscure and does lead me to believe the stories of Osamael’s madness. But there are three mentions of something that translates as ‘step to the stars.’ And toward the end of the diary—it’s very short, and I suspect much more once existed—he says he’s searching for designs.”
“Did he find them?”
“Right now there’s no way of knowing.”
“Designs for a device to initiate a hypergate,” Dam-Powl said.
“So does it exist?”
Dam-Powl did not answer. It was as if she had not even heard the question. “Very little is known of the Gree,” she said instead. “If these Stargazers do have technical plans for something of Gree origin, they’re toying with technology way beyond us.”
“You really believe that?”
“Even though the Gree have been gone for millennia,” Dam-Powl said, “technology that old might as well be ten thousand years ahead of us instead of ten thousand behind. It’s obscure. Arcane. Not to be touched.”
“I’m doing my best to track him down.”
“This might be worse than we thought,” Dam-Powl said. “I must speak with Temple Master Lha-Mi, and he will want to contact the Council.”
“There’s one more thing,” Lanoree said. “The Kalimahr, Kara. I think she was once a Je’daii.”
“Once?”
“It’s confused. I couldn’t read her at all. But not in the same way that I can’t read Tre Sana.”
One corner of Dam-Powl’s mouth lifted in a half smile. Unspoken acknowledgment of whatever was between her and Tre.
“She claimed that the Force was stale within her.”
“Her name, again?”
“Kara. That’s all I have. Human, perhaps seventy years old. And big.”
“Big?”
“Huge.”
“Did she fall hard?”
“Master, I didn’t kill her.”
“Then how did you search her apartments?”
“We have your friend Tre to thank for that.”
Dam-Powl nodded, but she seemed more distant now, mind working. “Lanoree, take care,” she said. “I have heard of such people, but they’re very, very rare. Most end up on Bogan for a time and then come back to us. One remains.”
“Daegen Lok.”
“Yes, him. But a few … we in the Council call them Shunned. People in whom the Force can never settle, nor find balance in light or dark, and who develop a disgust for the Force itself. Most of them flee way out into the system, broken mentally and physically, die.”
“I’ve never heard of the Shunned.”
“Few have. They’re not a group … just a name.” Dam-Powl stared from the screen for a moment, smiling uncertainly. “Your own studies?”
“On hold,” Lanoree said. “But … Tre Sana is impressive.”
“He has his uses. Dangerous, damaged, there’s a lot of good in him. Drowned by selfishness, unfortunately.”
“Well, he’s suitably annoying,” Lanoree said.
“Tell him he’ll get what he’s promised.”
“And will he?”
Dam-Powl seemed surprised. “Of course, Ranger. You think I’d not keep a promise?”
It was Lanoree’s turn to smile instead of reply.
“Find your brother,” Dam-Powl said, leaning closer to the screen. “Stop him. Any way you can, and however you must.”
“You’ll be guarding the Old City, just in case?”
“Just in case,” Dam-Powl said. “May the Force go with you, Ranger Brock.”
“Master Dam-Powl,” Lanoree said, bowing her head.
The screen flickered to darkness. The Peacemaker’s nav computer chimed softly. Tre Sana woke up.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Closer to the Stargazers,” Lanoree said. She heard the static-filled mumble of contact from Khar Peninsula’s landing towers, but she turned them off and took manual control of the ship. There was no time for political niceties now. “According to the computer there’s only one old Dai Bendu temple in this quarter no longer used by them. If anything Kara said was true, that’ll be where the Stargazers are.”
“So we land and get transport there,” Tre said.
“No. I’m landing us on the temple.”
“On it?”
“Strap yourself in. This might get bumpy.”