Tales from the New Republic (35 page)

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’ve 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 Heights, 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.

“
Uhl Eharl Khoehng. Khoehng
is Old Corellian for king. The
eharl
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 blankets and remaining baskets of food, Fable held on to to Jaalib’s hand as they sprinted over the ridge. Their voices and laughter reverberated against the hollowed side of the mountain, as they slid down the precarious face of the moss-covered bank and into the shadowy protection of the antiquated theater.

An overhanging eave of solid rock covered the main stage and the first few rows of the audience pit. Cob-webbed and damp, the ancient structure stood in a silent tribute to its creators. Ragged tapestries hung from the rock walls, covered with mold, grime, and clay from the decaying structure. A few prop swords and robes were arranged on the inner panels of the stage and a multitude of candles and pedestals stood to either side of the audience pit, centuries-old relics left behind by a more playful, tolerant age.

“I used to come here as a boy,” Jaalib confessed. Extending his arms to either side, he declared, “Now this was true theater, by candlelight, in an age which understood and coveted its artisans.”

“
Uhl Eharl Khoehng
,” Fable whispered dubiously. “What’s it about?”

“It opens on a distant world, in a kingdom built in the center of a dark forest. After many years of ruling this kingdom, the good, wise king dies and his handsome son,” Jaalib winked, “the Edjian-Prince, takes the throne.”

“I thought you said this was a tragedy.”

“It is a tragedy,” Jaalib scolded, “and that becomes apparent when the Edjian-Prince decides to expand the kingdom and begins sending expeditions into the forest to mark trees for felling. The men he sent never returned.” He narrowed his eyes, moving his face very close to hers. “And that is when the older folk began whispering about
uhl Eharl Khoehng.
”

“Stop it!” Fable hissed, batting his hands away as he tried to frighten her.

“The Edjian-Prince was intrigued. He began sending daily messengers into the forest, carrying his invitation to the Eharl Khoehng to dine with him in the palace. None returned. When there were no more messengers, he sent small armies, keeping only the best and strongest warriors to guard the kingdom. They did not return. When the townspeople demanded a halt to this dangerous ambition, the Edjian-Prince ordered his remaining army to drive them all into the forest. None, not even the soldiers, were heard from again.” Lighting two candles, he moved the pedestals into the center of the stage. “Only the Edjian-Prince and his faithful old hunt servant remained.”

“He sent the old man?” Slapping Jaalib’s thigh, Fable hissed, “This is a terrible story! What happened to the Edjian-Prince after the old man left?”

“When his servant did not return, the Edjian-Prince barricaded himself in the palace. Without his armies or his subjects, there was nothing to stop the Eharl Khoehng from attacking. One quiet night,” Jaalib whispered, “the Eharl Khoehng did come, invading the Edjian-Prince’s dreams. He promised safe passage through the forest. Eager to make peace, the Edjian-Prince went into the wood, where he remained for nearly a decade.”

“What!”

“The Eharl Khoehng tricked him. While he did have safe passage through the forest, food, clothing, and shelter, the Eharl Khoehng held him prisoner, using illusions to trap him in the labyrinth of the forest.” Jaalib blew out one of the candles. “Ten years of guilt took its toll. The prince thought he heard the voices of his subjects crying out to him. Then one day, he was startled by the spirit of his beloved huntsman. The old man reported that the Eharl Khoehng had turned the townspeople into trees and left them there in the woods, conscious, but unable to move or speak, except when the wind blew through their branches.”

“And then?”

“And then,” Jaalib whispered, “unaffected by the Eharl Khoehng’s illusions, the huntsman led his master on a journey to the outer edge of the forest, where the Eharl Khoehng was waiting for them.” A malevolent shadow fell over his face as Jaalib stepped into the center of the stage, posing beside the lit candle. “‘Worship me and call me master and all that I have shall be yours, including your kingdom,’ the Eharl Khoehng said.”

“And what did the Edjian-Prince do?”

“He went mad,” Jaalib began in the narrative voice. “He ran back into the wood and set fire to it. By the time he was finished, there was nothing left, not one tree. ‘This is the only kingdom I deserve to rule,’ he declared, ‘and the only kingdom that the Eharl Khoehng can claim.’” Taking one of the blackened tapestries from the wall, he threw the thick material over his left shoulder and continued the narration. “Dressed in the rags of his former life, hands and face blackened with soot, the Edjian-Prince went before the Eharl Khoehng, falling to his knees in homage. In his loudest, most humble voice, he cried, ‘Long… live… the king.’”

Visibly moved, Fable applauded, shaking her head with wonderment. “Your father played that part?”

“The Edjian-Prince was my father’s greatest role,” Jaalib said absently. “No one has been able to bring the same dignity to the role.” He sat down on the edge of the stage. “And when the time is right, we’ll produce it again and I will be the Edjian-Prince and he shall be my nemesis, uhl Eharl Khoehng himself.”

Fable chewed anxiously at her lower lip. “Jaalib, why didn’t you become a Jedi?”

“All I ever wanted to be was an actor,” he remarked, swinging his legs against the stage. “And that’s exactly what I’ve become. I’ve learned the lightsaber and other meditations of the Jedi, mostly to appease my troubled sense of loyalty. Beyond these, my father seems reluctant to teach me any more. And I’m reluctant to ask.”

Staring at the rows of candles, Fable was reminded of the wax cylinder exercise. “The lightsaber exercise, the one using the ball bearings? Can you do it with candles?”

Jaalib shrugged. “That’s how he taught me. I never used the wax cylinders until much later.”

“Can you show me your secret? Your execution is almost flawless, elegant and equally effective.”

Assembling the pedestals in the familiar circle, Jaalib motioned for her to step inside the exaggerated diameter. “May I?” he teased, gently embracing her from behind. He placed his hands on top of hers and ignited the lightsaber. The elongated shaft pulsed with magnificence and power, throwing light across the stage and the first few benches in the pit. Fable stiffened for a moment, feeling his body so intimately against her. But as he guided her through a slow rotation with the lightsaber, she relaxed and concentrated on his directives. “What do you see?” he whispered.

Staring down the line of unlit candles, Fable’s eyes traced the straight, angular path. “No,” Jaalib whispered, reading the expression of her body. “This is why you’re having such a hard time.”

“You’ve been watching me?” she hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Jaalib laughed softly. “You’re trying to think in linear terms, spatial dimensions. It’s not like flying a starship. You can train your eyes, which you’ve done quite well, but sooner or later, he’ll catch you.” Moving her gently to the side, he added, “You may let your eyes dictate where the lines begin, but let the Force guide you. It’s not like clearing a room and then moving on to the next. There is no sequence, except the one you create as you move along. There are always several paths, right to left, top to bottom, any combination.”

He removed the lightsaber from her hands and began the cadence. His movements were slow and deliberate so that she could follow him, but even these motions were faster than her most frenzied attempts to complete the exercise. As the lightsaber swept over the tops of the candles, the small wicks exploded with flame, but the wax tips remained unscarred by the weapon. Quickly moving around the circle to blow out the flames, Jaalib handed the lightsaber back to her. “Now you try.”

Fable swallowed doubtfully, wondering how she would follow such a flawless performance. Igniting the lightsaber, her eyes traced the several lines of candles as they extended out in every direction. She arced swiftly through the circle, feeling the confidence of her former self return. Ten, fifteen, eighteen. As she reached the last movements of the cadence, she lost control, pitching forward as she spun frantically on her heels.

“Easy,” Jaalib crooned, catching her in his arms. “You were doing wonderfully until you lost your concentration.” Blowing out the candles, he said, “Try again. And this time, remember, the Force is a waterfall. Nothing can stop or turn it off. Nothing can divert the flow.” Scolding her with a stern finger, he added, “Doubt and uncertainty form barriers, but only if you let them.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like your father.”

In response, he bowed ceremoniously, then motioned toward the candles. This time, as she moved through the circle, Fable allowed the rain to guide and open her to the Force. The steady beat of the drops against the stone benches steadied her concentration and she completed the cadence without incident.

She disengaged the lightsaber, trembling slightly as she turned from the center of the circle. The Force was flowing through her, still channeling her conscious mind. Jaalib was behind her and Fable could feel his heart racing above the gentle vibrations of the Force. Before her nerve could fail, Fable turned and kissed him passionately.

“Shall we try it again?” he whispered.

“Rogue!”

Jaalib grinned, winking mischievously. “The cadence, I mean.” His grin deepened as he stepped into the circle and began to blow out the candles.

The Force was with her and Fable felt it, flowing through her mind and body. She imaged the power channeling through her arms and hands and grasped the lightsaber from her belt. Visualizing the path in her mind, she moved through a series of precise parries and feints, disintegrating the first several balls with faultless execution. As she began the second half of the cadence, Brandl whispered, “Execute each motion as though it were your last. Someday, your life may depend on it. Or the lives of others.”

For nearly two hours, Fable worked through the first cadence and was moving onto the second. Obviously fatigued, she began making poor judgment errors and scorched the tops of the last ten cylinders, slicing through the last one at the conclusion. She stepped back into the ready stance, gasping for breath.

“As you progress, you will learn the limits of your abilities,” Brandl stated. “You are excused for the remainder of the day.”

Bowing respectfully, Fable pulled her jacket from a nearby branch and started on the trail back to the theater. Jaalib was waiting for her with a sweet cake and the promise of a bath and a kiss. “How did it go?”

“I made it to the second cadence!” she whispered with excitement. “And Jaalib, I think I saw him smile.”

“Now
that
is good news.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she winked at him. “I think I’ll go to bed early tonight, as a reward. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Father and I are working on the last act of the play.” He smiled pleasantly, betraying his affection See you in the morning.”