"You disagree?" Fable asked, stepping into the center of the wax
cylinders.
"Where there is smoke, there is fire." Brandl straightened, staring down
his nose at her for a long moment. "Viaico is a coward. His tactics are mere
illusions, prey for the weakminded."
Brushing off the possible insult, Fable shrugged. "But he is powerful."
Shaking her head remorsefully, she whispered, "I can't beat him. At least, I
don't think so."
"Losing is not an option... it's a conscious decision. You will not know
until you try."
"Trying isn't good enough! I have to succeed or-was
"Or he may succeed in his attempts to lure you to the dark side? How do
you know that I will not turn you?"
Fable felt a tremor down her back. "I don't."
"The student's greatest achievement is attained through succession,"
Brandl began, "a succession which requires the destruction of the Master. This
is what the dark side teaches us. But what you must always remember is that
when we embrace the darkness, we are already masters in the design of fate,
humbling ourselves as students." He leaned heavily against the massive stone
tomb. "When we seek the dark side, we seek our doom. Too often, we are
successful."
"So you'll help me?"
"Viaico's undoing is inevitable. Even I have seen this."
"So I'll win, right?"
Brandl gently tugged at the clasp of his robe, loosening the collar. "If
you're looking for visions. Fable, sit quietly and dwell on your past. Now
prepare yourself. See the ball bearing directly ahead of you, sitting atop the
wax cylinder? Draw your lightsaber and strike it. Destroy only the metal
bearing. Leave the wax unharmed."
Fable hesitated, deliberately slow in assuming the ready stance.
Breathing with effort, she stared at the ball bearing, her wounded hand
tingling from her last experience with the lightsaber.
"The dark side's influence is stronger in moments of weakness. Do not let
yourself be distracted. Now strike."
Fable drew the lightsaber from her belt, concentrating on its ignition.
Swinging in a wide arc, she struck at the ball bearing, elated as it
evaporated into nothingness,
leaving the wax cylinder slightly scorched but unharmed. She disengaged
the weapon and resumed the ready stance, unable to hide the arrogant smirk
etched across her features.
"When climbing great mountains, it is always best to begin at a slow
pace," Brandl remarked quietly. "Now strike for two."
Without waiting to focus on the pedestal's position, she ignited the
lightsaber and struck two blows, swinging the blade toward the ball bearings
and disintegrating them as the cylinders remained untouched. Overwhelmed with
confidence, she again disengaged the weapon and resumed the ready position,
eager to begin the next phase.
"No gain comes without a price. I will be your mentor and you my pupil.
You will forever carry the distinguish ment of my presence, as well as the
taint," he stumbled over the word, "the traits of my own Masters."
"You mean the Emperor," Fable whispered, "don't you?"
"I chose the path that led me to this life," Brandl continued, "I will
lead you on a parallel course, where I will show you the glories of the light
and the majesty of the dark." He nodded, indicating the next alignment of wax
cylinders. "Now strike for ten."
Fable faltered for a moment; then fresh with the assurance of her
performance, she ignited the lightsaber and charged, working her way through
the line. As she reached for the fourth cylinder, she felt herself
floundering. Furiously struggling to the fifth, she sliced neatly through the
cylinder and knocked the ball bearing at her feet. In a failed attempt to
rally for the sixth, she tripped and fell into the wet earth, taking several
Brandl slowly descended from the mound, stepping just inside the
perimeter of the training circle. Shamefully rising to her feet. Fable
flinched as he drew his lightsaber and moved toward her. With a resonating
power that spread out from it in all directions, the lightsaber became a smear
of brilliance as Brandl worked his way through the wax cylinders. He destroyed
one ball bearing after another, leaving no perceptible mark on the wax. Fable
watched in awe as the weapon danced through a score or more of ball bearings
before Brandl completed the cadence and disengaged the weapon. Gawking at the
craftsmanship, she turned to Brandl. "You really are a Jedi Master."
"Only fools admire what they see," he hissed evenly, brushing past her.
"I know... for once I was a fool." The first drops of rain began to fall,
quickly covering the barrows with a slick film of water and loose earth. "You
will continue this exercise until you have mastered it properly. Only then may
you return to the theater."
"And if I can't," Fable insisted.
"You know where your ship is docked. Don't hesitate to go back to
wherever it is you came from." He left her alone, with no further comment.
Nearly eight hours later, Fable walked through the stormy deluge of rain,
listening to the frigid drops against her shoulders. Every chafing step
brought her closer to the theater and closer to a temper tantrum of monumental
proportions. Jaalib was waiting for her at the door with a modest smile and a
warm blanket. "He asks the impossible!" she hissed.
The actor draped the blanket over her shoulders. "Your dinner's getting
cold."
Fable pushed through the door other room, startled to find a heavy
plasteel tub in the center of the floor, steaming with hot water. "A bath?"
she whispered wearily. "Oh," she groaned, stumbling across the floor,
discarding boots, socks, and belt as she moved across the room. About to pull
the muddy shirt over her arms, Fable hesitated, feeling a draft from the door,
where Jaalib stood, watching her. "Do you mind?"
Flushing with embarrassment, he stepped back into the shadows. "I'll
bring your dinner later," he stammered and closed the door behind him.
As its orbital axis began its seasonal tilt, Trulalis was thrust into a
tempestuous season of torrential rainfall and thunderstorms. Dawn showers
became steady downpours by the afternoon, flooding the gutted lowlands with
muddy water and the persistent rumble of thunder. Above the biting autumn
breeze, the hum of a lightsaber was interrupted by the rattle of falling
pedestals, wax cylinders, and ball bearings as Fable blundered through the
exercise.
Brandl watched with mounting dissatisfaction. As the last pedestal fell
to the saturated earth, he stormed down from his high mound. "You little fool!
Do it again!"
Fable braced herself against the malevolent voice, glaring at the ground,
too frightened to meet Brandl's cruel eyes. Despite a streak of improvement,
she was steadily losing ground and his frustration was proof of that, as were
the whispered obscenities spoken vehemently under his breath. She watched his
broad, swaying shoulders as the Jedi Master started back up the mound to his
stony, sarcophagus throne.
"How eager you young upstarts are to give yourself to the Force,
demanding tribute from it, as if you were the source of the power. The Force
does not thrive on the basis of whether you live or breathe! It exists because
it has always been so! Begin again!"
Grateful to the rain for hiding her tears of humiliation, Fable tucked
the lightsaber into her muddy leggings and started up the opposite mound.
Defying Brandl's command, she headed for the dark solace of the theater, where
Jaalib would be waiting for her with a warm blanket and a much-needed kind
word.
Enraged by her failure to comply, Brandl pursued her, throwing
accusations and threats of retribution. Though Fable had seen only traces of
beginning of Brandl's descent into the Emperor's power. And though she felt
numb from the onslaught of his dreary emotions, she had transcended his mental
barriers and become an admiring witness to the dedication and devotion that
had kept him whole through the trial of his life. He was a man who would stop
at nothing to accomplish his goals and he would kill her in an instant, if it
so suited his purpose. And the time they had spent together, learning and
growing, would hold no bearing on his decision. Sickened by the thought, Fable
found herself in a position to admire and loathe the fallen Jedi.
Fable slowly pushed through the door of the theater. It was early and
Jaalib was not there as she had expected. Emotionally spent and demoralized,
she nearly collapsed right there at the threshold, desperate for the young
actor's support after yet another dismal day of training. As she stepped from
the rain, Brandl was right behind her with another scathing assault. "The
Force is your enemy! Turn your back on it and it will destroy you! It is your
lover! Lust for it! Spurn it and it will devour you in fire. But go to it, as
a child to its mother, make yourself humble before the omnipotence of its
existence and it will guide you beyond the shallow confines of this mortal
world!"
Alarmed by the commotion, Jaalib hurried into the antechamber, placing
himself between Fable and his father. Bordering on obvious hysteria, she
stumbled into his arms, dampening his shoulder with well-deserved tears.
Putting the blanket over Fable's trembling shoulders, Jaalib gently sent her
off to her room. "Your bath is waiting," he whispered quietly. "I'll be there
in a moment."
Waiting for the girl's shadow to dissipate in the adjoining darkness,
Brandl hissed, "She's impossible!"
"Odd," Jaalib chuckled, handing his father a steaming cup of broth, "she
said the same about you."
"She is so charged with emotion and sentiment!" he growled, allowing his
emotions to show through the aloof veneer. "It's as if your mother never-was
his voice broke off abruptly, "as if your mother never left us."
"She didn't leave us," Jaalib replied matter-of-factly. "She died,
defending me from stormtroopers. Stormtroopers and Jedi hunters who came
looking for you." He sniffed at the absurdity of his mother's devotion to the
man who had abandoned them, only to return eight years later, bringing the
darkness of his life with him. "When they didn't find you, they found a way to
justify the cost of their visit by obliterating the village."
"Courtesy costs little, Edjian-Prince, and discourtesy can rob even the
richest man of his fortune."
Feigning anger, Jaalib drew away from his father, recognizing the famous
line. "Courtesy?" he declared impishly. "Then no more call me Edjian-Prince.
Dress me in rags and let me be a poor, rude man."
Brandl's face brightened with the spontaneous performance. "You've been
practicing! Excellent! You're finding the right voice for the part. Come," he
whispered eagerly, pulling Jaalib against him, "we should use this moment to
complete the final act." Together, they vanished into the shadows of an
adjoining corridor.
Relaxed and warm beneath the downy comforters. Fable resisted the notion
of rising. She laid very still, waiting for the inevitable knock on the door.
"Come in." "You're awake?" Jaalib remarked, peering inside. "I'm usually
awake," she chuckled. "I just pretend to be asleep so you'll feel sorry for
me."
"Why would you want me to feel sorry for you?" "Come on," she rolled her
eyes. "You're father is the most difficult man I've ever known, Jaalib."
Sitting up on her elbows, she teased, "Look what I've been going through and
then tell me you don't feel some sympathy."
"Consider yourself fortunate. He was a lot worse, believe me."
"Worse?" she scoffed. "What do you mean?" "In the last five years, he had
to be a father, a mother," Jaalib sighed sadly, "as well as a mentor. It
changed him."
"I knew I would have to work hard," Fable said, "but I was certain that
all the work would be keeping him from luring me to the dark side."
"Has he tried?"
"I don't think so. Every time I feel it coming on, he stops me and tells
me to make the right choice. My choice." She yawned, throwing the comforter to
the side. "I'd better go."
"My father's not here," Jaalib said. "He's going to be away for a few
days; so there's no training, unless you do it on your own." He forced himself
to face her openly, allowing himself only the solace of the shadows about them
to conceal his apprehension. "I was hoping you might go on a picnic with me.
To make up for my behavior."
"Your behavior?"
"You remember, when you first arrived." He laughed softly. "I all but
attacked you. It was inexcusable."
"And perfectly justified. You were protecting the person who is most
important to you. I would have done nothing less." Patting the side of the
bed, she beckoned him to sit down beside her. "My mother was a Jedi. She
trained my father and then watched him die at the hands of a rival. After
that, we spent most of our time running from the Emperor." Fable shook her
head sadly. "I was only a baby, but I remember it well. Living with a Jedi,"
she paused thoughtfully, "you learn to hide your emotions, especially the
hurtful ones. My mother never knew how I felt." Fable sighed as the strain of
those emotions returned. "Then one day, I picked up a lightsaber and let go!"
She giggled. "I don't know who was more surprised, my mother or me. That's
when I began my training, whether I liked it or not." Fable shrugged away the
arduous memories. "Now about that picnic, I'm starving."
"We'll have to hike, I'm afraid. The Empire didn't leave much behind in
the way of transportation. Not even a bantha. Do you mind?"
"It'll be relaxing. Come on."
The Khoehng Heights were located nearly five kilometers outside the
perimeter of the Kovit Settlement. Long overgrown by wild wheat, the trail
leading into the mountain pass had narrowed, no longer marked with the
footsteps of the farmers who once tended it. It was a rare, clear morning.
Storm clouds loomed in the distance, held back by a persistent wave of warm
breezes blowing through the lowlands. From the Heigh
ts, Fable scanned the
panoramic view of the countryside. She could see the winding trail that led
into the base of the lower mountains. The footpath climbed to give her
inquisitive eyes the full benefit of the view.
Fable sighed with immeasurable pleasure, her stomach full of warm sweet
cakes and honeysticks. She endured Jaalib's gentle caress at her cheek, as he
playfully wiped the excess sweet powder from her face. "I've been in space too
long," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "It's so beautiful here."
"After they left," Jaalib whispered, "we were cut off. No supplies, no
medicinal goods, nothing. There was plenty of food ready for harvesting, but
there was no one left to do it."
Fable hummed a melancholy tune. Shivering in the mountain air, she turned
to Jaalib and held his gaze as he draped his cloak over her shoulders. "Why do
they call this place the Khoehng Heights? Is that Old Corellian?"
"There's an outdoor theater built into the side of this mountain," he
replied, indicating a slight, stony ridge. "This place is named for the first
play ever performed there nearly five hundred years ago."
"Five hundred years ago?" she gasped. was Uhl Eharl Khoehng. Khoehngis
Old Corellian for king. The ehad comes from Socorran mythology." He shrugged
uncertainly. "It means elf or trickster."
Reminded of her Socorran companion, Deke, Fable felt a pang of remorse
for leaving him. Her thoughts were abruptly diverted by a clap of thunder
overhead. The skies released a deluge of cold rain. Frantically gathering the