The Last Jedi

Thirty-Six


The Jedi starfighter was beautiful, Magash admitted. Even her faded and scored finish did not detract from the sleek lines and arrowlike profile.

The Zabrak Witch was not the only member of her community who found the vessel intriguing; there were several sisters—even a handful of children—observing the Jedi vessel from a safe distance.

Magash felt a niggle of irritation. By the Mountain, they were afraid of it! Well, she would not be. She marched up to the ship and stood in the shadow of one backswept wing, wishing that the visitor had left his landing ramp down. She would not have hesitated for a moment, she told herself, to walk up it and peer into the cowled cockpit.

She considered a Force jump up onto the foredeck but backed away from such a bold move. Male he might be—stranger he might be—but he was a guest of the Matriarch. Such an act would be a breach of courtesy. So instead, she merely raised a hand and caressed the forward surface of the wing where it melted into the fuselage.

A tingle of something like dread coursed up her arm. She pulled her hand back with a sharp intake of breath.

What was that?

She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the timid ones who stood watching her. Had they felt her involuntary withdrawal? Did they read it as fear?

Clenching her teeth, Magash reached up and laid her fingertips against the shiny metal. The whisper of dark energy returned, making her suck in another breath. She murmured the words and melody of a calming spell—

“I call on thee, O Unformed.

“Let no harm befall me in times of trial.

“In moments of danger, guide my steps.

“Inspire me. Purpose me.”

She kept her hand in contact with the ship’s hull until she thought her every nerve would scream out with the urge to shut out that whisper of dark power. Then she withdrew it casually, as if her jaws did not hurt from the clenching of her teeth—as if she did not want to snarl with unnamable distress.

She stepped away from the ship, turned, and strode back into the citadel, taking care that no one could see her compulsively wiping her hand on the front of her tunic. She had gone past curiosity. Now she wanted desperately to know what haunted the Jedi’s vessel.



Jax Pavan seated himself upon the divan Clan Mother Djo indicated and considered how to answer her question: why had he come to them?

I don’t want to put a name to what brought me here, he thought, but that was not an answer she would accept … nor would he, ultimately, because he knew it was a dodge.

“I was led here, mistress. In part, by my mate, Laranth—a Gray Paladin.”

Augwynne Djo’s gaze was serene, but Jax felt a sudden sharpening of her focus on him. “You mentioned her before. Her death. Yet you say she led you?”

“I had a vision of her—no, less than a vision, an impression—while I was in contact with my Cephalon allies. Their message was: Seek sisters. Other than Laranth, herself, only the Witches of Dathomir might be called ‘sisters’ of the Jedi.”

Djo’s regard intensified. “You were in contact with Cephalons? We have heard of these beings. It is said they live outside of time.”

“I don’t know if they live outside it, but they certainly have a different perspective on it.”

Jax leaned toward the Clan Mother, willing her to an openness he knew must be difficult for her, given her circumstances. The Witches of Dathomir were essentially a community in exile on their own world.

“Clan Mother Djo, while I was still immersed in this contact, I was forced to lay in a course rather hastily. I didn’t think about what course to set, I simply did it. When I dropped out of hyperspace, I realized that I’d set a course for Dathomir.”

Djo’s eyebrows rose toward her coronet. “Seek sisters,” she quoted softly. “Yes, I see. But what do you expect to find here?”

“I’m not sure. I only know what I need.”

“And that is?”

“A tool. A weapon. A strategy to use against the Dark Lord. I also mentioned that I lost my own leader to him. I can’t bring Laranth Tarak back from the dead, but I must free Thi Xon Yimmon.”

Augwynne Djo nodded. “And you believe you will find that … weapon … here?”

“Yes. And I think it may have something to do with the ruins out on the plain.”

The Clan Mother stood and paced away from him, but he had seen the fleeting distress in her expression, and he felt it as ripples in the fabric of the Force that stretched tightly between them.

“The ruins of the Star Temple? We avoid them. Assiduously. You believe what you would find is there?”

“There’s some residual energy, possibly from the Infinity Gate. Some … eddies in the Force … possibly in time, itself. I … I feel the need to understand them.” He didn’t mention the Sith Holocron or its reaction to the ruins of the Gate.

“Then you intend to go there—to visit the ruins?”

“If you will permit it, Clan Mother.”

She turned back to look at him, a tiny spark of humor in her pale eyes. “And if I were to say no? If I were to deny you access to the ruins?”

He stood. “Then I’ll go away. I’ll find another way to … to discover whatever it is I need to discover.”

“No other clan can grant you access to that place. We are its guardians.”

“I know.”

She considered the proposition silently, never taking her gaze from his face, never breaking the Force connection she had established with him since he had been ushered into the roundhouse.

“You may visit the ruin, Jax Pavan, but you must have one of the Sisterhood with you.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you, Clan Mother.”

Augwynne Djo turned toward the doors of her chamber. Jax saw the filaments of Force fly from her—bright fibers of energy, issuing a summons. Then she returned to her seat. She’d no more than resettled herself when her chamber door opened to admit her human lieutenant—the one she had called Duala.

“You summoned me, Mother?” the woman asked.

“I have granted our guest permission to visit the ruins.” She tilted her snowy head toward the plain that lay beyond the city walls to the northwest.

The younger Witch threw Jax a startled glance, but all she said was, “Yes, Mother Augwynne.”

“I wish him to have a companion from among the Sisterhood. The ruins are … a dangerous place.”

“It will be difficult,” Duala said, “to find someone willing to go with him.”

“I will go.”

Jax, Augwynne, and Duala all turned at the sound of the voice. Djo’s Zabrak lieutenant stood in the doorway, her gaze on Jax. The intensity of that gaze caused the Jedi to raise a cautious shield.

“Are you certain, Magash?” asked her mistress.

“I am curious about the ways of the Jedi,” the Zabrak said. “I would like to understand them better, that perhaps I might learn something of value to the clan.”

“A noble sentiment,” Djo said approvingly, then addressed Jax. “It is past midday. When the sun sets, the temperature will fall and the ruins will become more dangerous, even to those immersed in the Force. Will you go there now, or wait until morning?”

“Time, Clan Mother, is not something I have to waste,” he said. “I would go now, if that is acceptable.”

Augwynne Djo nodded her permission. Then she held out her hand, Jax’s lightsaber balanced across it.

He raised his own hand and called the weapon to him. It settled against his palm with a comforting weight. He secured it to his belt.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be careful,” said Djo.

Jax smiled. “No, Clan Mother. You don’t.” He bowed to her and started for the door and his unsmiling guardian.

“Jax Pavan.”

He turned back at the sound of the Matriarch’s voice.

“If you should find something in that ruin that might be of benefit to us …”

“Rest assured, Mother Djo, that I will share anything I learn that can serve the Sisterhood.”

Jax went first back to the starfighter to retrieve the Holocron. He had no idea how he would explain it to Magash and her sisters, and wondered if he might somehow conceal its presence.

The Aethersprite extended her ramp to him at a thought and he went up into the cockpit. He secreted the Sith Holocron in the deep pocket of his surcoat, calling on his memory of the miisai tree to help him create a Force veil to dampen the artifact’s signature. Then he rejoined Magash Drashi on the rocky plateau.

She gave him a strange look as he reached the bottom of the landing ramp and triggered its retraction. He was mystified when she stepped briskly forward and touched her fingertips to the vessel’s wing.

She pulled her hand back and turned on him. “It’s gone. What have you done with it?”

“What’s gone?”

“The Dread Thing,” she said, and he felt a prickling sense of what she meant.

He bit the inside of his lip. The Witch was incredibly sensitive to the texture of Force energy.

“I’m not sure what you mean—the Dread Thing?”

She made an impatient gesture. “It was aboard your vessel—or it was part of your vessel. A dark flutter, like the tread of a predator you cannot see. It was there. Now it’s not.”

Jax glanced about. They were the focus of attention from a number of women who had come out to watch them.

“Not here,” he told his guardian. “I’ll explain later. Now, what’s the best way to get down to the ruins? Do we have to walk?”

“Yes. That is, unless you wish to try riding a rancor beast. They suffer the sisters to ride them. To my knowledge no man has ever tried … successfully.” She smiled, showing sharp, white teeth.

Jax’s answering smile was wry. “We’ll walk. Which way?”