On Distant Shores (XVI)

Let any of us who has slain a fellow Jedi or who has sought to slay another Jedi, in anger or in vengeance, be utterly expelled from our ranks – from the Precepts of the Jedi Order

Qui Gon dropped the shuttle outside the pike wall, and bounded down the ramps. His boots waded through the stinking remnants of carrpi, skirted craters blown in the soft beach, avoided the viscous puddles of themane soaking into wet sand. The Force splintered and eddied, a dizzying kaleidoscope of passion and terror and destruction. The Dark stained everything, lying over the village and this reeking battlefield just as the sun's first rays lay glittering on the seas.

"Master Jinn!" He was greeted at the gates by the Duchess, and a wide-eyed host of Nautolans. "You must go – quickly! They are in the jungle – the mountain."

He steadied her with one hand. Her face sported a purple bruise, an ugly mark spread over one high cheekbone and her delicate jaw. Her hair had come loose again, and cascaded over both shoulders, fretted with leaves and grit. "Which way?"

She pointed, while several of the older Nautolans shouted directions and exclaimed over the duel in loud voices. Children clung to their elders' legs, mothers stood and wept. Tip Haaleh pushed forward. "Up the aoli grove side," he said. "I saw them go, fast like hunting birds. Ke Wan and Ke Adah are fighting with their light-swords, Ke Gon! You must stop Ke Adah! He is going to kill Ke Wan and all of us! He is an evil liar!"

"That way leads to a cliff on the northern side," Kor rumbled. He stood tall above the others. "You must take your sky ship and go there, Ke Gon."

The Jedi was already dashing back to the ship when he heard his name again, and rapid footfalls. "Master Jinn! I am coming with you!"

She barely made it up the ramp before he had closed the hatch and was firing the thrusters. Heedless of her cries as the ship tilted and soared in a tight curve around the island's perimeter, Qui Gon hurtled toward the spot. It lay not far ahead – a sweeping cliff, falling in a single sheer drop to the storming tide below. Jagged remnants of the rock-face scattered at its feet; the pounding surf thrashed and spattered among them, the frothing mouth of a titanic monster. The trees ended a short distance from the cliff, leaving only an exposed bluff of short grass and sand overlooking this fearsome promontory.

And there, at the teetering edge of this miniature world, two figures battled, light clashing against light, in a mortal contest.

At the edge of the aoli grove, Obi Wan stopped. Before him lay only a short windswept expanse of rock and grass, and beyond that a sharp drop off the island's northern edge. He could hear the pounding of surf on jagged rocks far below, the seething of the tide as it hurled itself against the island's unyielding shoulder. It was by no means ideal terrain for a fight: no cover, uneven footing, and a deadly fall on one side. He leaned against the last straggling tree, pulse drumming in his ears. Adah was not far behind, The rising sun cast long shadows slantwise across the flat plateau, grasping purple fingers stretching away to the cliff's edge. Like the far-reaching grasp of Adah's bottomless anger.

He felt his tunic clinging damply to his back, sweat streaming down his neck and shoulders. He was shaking from head to foot. Not good. How long he could hope to hold off the maddened Jedi when he was so far from his normal self, he could not say. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, finding his center. The Force was here, all around him, golden and serene, the invisible source of the light on the waves, of the sun, of the stars. He could fight as long as that light still shone within him. And when that ethereal warmth set and faded from his limbs, then he would fall. That was all. There is no fear, and no death. There is only the Force.

He wheeled about as a twig snapped above him. Adah dropped out of the branches, saber blazing in a swift, deadly attack. The old man's long beard flew behind him, a comet's tail. His hat he had long since discarded, and his robes were torn and singed from the battle. They hung in tatters about him like the wild rags of a legendary forest guardian. Obi Wan parried and blocked, and backed away, driven by his foe's storming rage onto the open field at the cliff's top. His feet slid over loose shale and stone, and he stumbled across the uneven earth, his whole mind absorbed in the battle- in the sheer and simple act of fending off Adah's limitless strength. His back throbbed and burned, and his limbs ached. They fought, and he retreated, until he could feel the gusting wind sweep up to caress his hair. He stood on the brink of the cliff. A pebble dislodged by his boot sailed over the precipice and was gone.

"You are weak," Adah scoffed. "Broken. You are not meant to be alive. Submit."

They clashed together, blades scraping a terrible discordant note across the morning's stillness. They broke apart, and exchanged blows in a thunderous storm, then locked together again. Adah reversed out of a bind and thrust his saber's pommel into the young Jedi's jaw, knocking him to the ground a meter from the precipice. He held out a hand, pinning his foe down. His boot came down on Obi Wan's sword arm, stamping hard. The Padawan's weapon rolled from his loosened fingers, and he writhed, helpless, as Adah stood over him, livid with untamed rage.

The ancient Jedi lowered his thrumming saber, still holding his left palm downwards, the Force crushing the young Jedi to the rocky earth, immobile. He dropped to one knee. Every line of his face was furrowed deep with age, beaten by sun and wind. His eyes were black embers set in the craggy mountain range of his visage. "You insolent, stupid man," he spat. "You wish to use the Force for destruction? You wish to use your gift to channel death and violence? I grant your wish."

The old man tapped two fingers against his prisoner's forehead – and set the world resounding with a devastating gong-note of pain. Obi Wan gasped in agony as the golden light of the Force seemed to implode, turn in upon him and flow backwards through his veins like liquid fire. His spine erupted into blazing fury, and every nerve screamed, as though still being devoured by tiny B'Omarri probes. He saw the blue sky wheel overhead, black at the edges, saw Adah raise his saber for one last blow, his face contorted with unspeakable cold satisfaction –

-and saw Qui Gon's green blade clash menacingly against Adah's upraised saber. The two weapons swung and flashed, faster than thought. Obi Wan twisted, reaching through for his own weapon, stretching out his hand through a fiery wall of pain to touch it with the Force…and pulled it into his grip. Adah sent Qui Gon flying backward, on a wave of Dark energy, and pivoted round snarling, ready to destroy his apprentice. Obi Wan blocked the strike, barely, still lying sprawled on his back. The heat of his own blade seared close to his cheek as he staved off death. Adah leaned in, pushing harder, bringing the two pulsing blades closer, closer…Obi Wan brought his feet up, tight against his chest with a sob of pain, and kicked Adah in the solar plexus, sending the crazed old warrior somersaulting over his head.

Silence. Obi Wan's saber dropped from his numb fingers. He rolled on his side, lost to the world.

Qui Gon's footsteps pounding past his head, stopping at the cliff's edge.

The roar of the surf, pounding and tearing at the rocks below.

A great gust of splintered shadow and light in the Force – a star imploding into nothingness.

Satine's hair, brushing against his cheek, Her breath warm on his skin. Hands pressed to his face, softly.

Clouds drifted. He drifted, on an ocean of pain. It ebbed, slowly. Slowly.

Qui Gon again. "Obi Wan." Strong hands pulled him into a sitting position. "Adah is gone. He plummeted over the cliff."

A breath. Two breaths.

"Are you all right?" Satine's voice. The pain ebbed away further. The sky wheeled overhead. Adah was gone. It was over.

"I didn't kill him." He needed her to know. "I didn't mean to." It came out a whimper. Shameful. He sat up straighter. A Jedi draws his strength from the Force.

"I know." She knew.

"Can you walk? The ship is just over there."

Qui Gon was like the Force, a source of strength, serenity. The pain ebbed. It would all ebb away in time. Like the tide. He found his feet, and they limped down the lonely slope together, in silence, under the gentle morning sun.

Patience, younglings, patience. Time cures many ills and sets new beginnings in motion. Abide in the Force with an open heart, and have hope. – Jedi Master Chakora Seva

Satine stood on the beach with Ke Muma and many of the others, gazing over the waves at the glittering trail of sun on the water. Sea birds hung motionless on the breeze, and shredded clouds festooned the sky's dome, festival banners for the great event. The fishermen of the tribe had spotted the first of the returning whaladons early that morning. The mighty beasts had migrated all the way to the equator, and their long-sought return was to be celebrated in the village with a joyous feast.

Po Tikkoro and Tip Haaleh had spent the last three weeks learning to fly the shuttle. They had taken on the role of ice-watchers, and would patrol the polar region every winter, keeping open the channels lest the whaladons become trapped again. Tip especially looked upon the task as a high honor, and seemed to have matured at least ten years since the day she had first met him.

Besides a large quantity of fuel, the Jedi had also retrieved communications equipment from the debris field around Merrid Altus. After several days' tinkering with the outdated circuits and transponders, they had punched a distress signal through to Glee Anselm and received a coded message in return. A Galactic Relief ship was scheduled to be sent here. It would bring the Nautolan colony on Merrid Altus supplies and news form their mother-world, as well as a fast Republic transport for the Jedi team.

Watching the women and children of the clan prepare the meal and the colorful decorations for the night's celebration, Satine realized with a pang that she would miss these people. The month they had spent here would forever be engraved upon her memory. The terror of the carrpi attacks, and the terror which had originally driven them to these shores; the madness of Yervei Adah and his horrible demise – crushed on the rocks of the seashore like a hardshell dropped by a bird; the trials and discomforts of life on the primitive, uncivilized island: none of these would sully the memory of the fiercely loyal and generous Nautolans, nor of the peace and calm which had settled on the island in the wake of Adah's death.

She had often before imagined what true peace would look like. What life could be for those who did not know the ways of war. But now a new dream had taken root in her heart. Again and again her thought strayed back to Mandalore. She had been gone too long. The insurgents would think by now that they had succeeded at least in driving her to permanent exile, if not in actually killing her. She had spent so many months, on planet and off, running and hiding and fighting. Four hundred days in the exclusive company of her people's hereditary enemies, the Jedi.

She no longer considered them anything but friends.

A cheer broke out among the children of the tribe. A few jumped up and down, whistling and laughing. Satine stretched onto her toes to see the source of their excitement. Just coming round the bend of the shoreline, where the rocks jutted out in a natural jetty, came the running figures of the two Jedi. They sped along the sand in a flat out race, the tide splashing at their feet as it surged over the beach. As they reached the great boulder which sat, lonely, in the center of the flat delta, they bounded over it on one flying leap, a mighty spring of impossible height. The Nautolans grinned as Qui Gon Jinn cleared it smoothly, landing in a crouch on the wet sand beyond. Behind him, Obi Wan vaulted to its top, pushing off his hands in a beautiful spiralling motion, and dropped to the beach in front of Qui Gon , a cocky grin of exhilaration lighting up his face. He took off at a renewed sprint, the tall Jedi at his heels, and dashed over the finish line a half-second ahead of his mentor, adding a few superfluous travelling backflips as an ending flourish.

Qui Gon bent over, hands on knees, and snorted. "I'm too old for this," he smiled, watching his Padawan saunter smugly back up the beach, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of small Nautolans.

"No, no," tip Haaleh assured him. "That was prella good time. All the way round before the hour glass emptied twice. And the swimming part, good that was too – for humans. Not as good as me, but still okay. You and Ke Wan, both of you are men of the tribe now."

"Well, that's a fine consolation for being beaten by my own apprentice," the Jedi master remarked, accepting a drinking skin and draining it in one thirsty gulp. "I won't have to hang my head in shame."

Obi Wan appeared at his side, now adorned with the victor's wreath of fragrant chirrpa blossoms. "That can still be arranged, master," he smirked.

"If you require a lesson in humility, Padawan. I would be happy to oblige you."

The young Jedi's expression softened, and he made a bow to his teacher. "I am well content," he replied, formally.

Qui Gon placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Let us join the feast. I'm famished."

Satine walked behind them as they ascended the beach toward the village. Obi Wan strolled confidently along beside Qui Gon, no trace of pain or hesitance in his graceful stride. Three weeks of quiet rest and meditation, and careful, patient training, had restored him to full health. His gait was no longer faltering or slow. It spoke of wellness, of strength and fluid power. In fact, now that she was paying attention, she decided that his habitual movement bordered on being an arrogant swagger.

Charming, really.

Three days later, the Galactic relief transport rose into the skies of Merrid Altus. The waving Nautolans below dwindled into specks and their island disappeared into the sea of clouds. It was time to journey onward. Qui Gon Jinn sat behind the pilot's console, gazing at the floating asteroid and debris field as they edged closer and closer to clear space beyond the planet's gravitational pull.

"It is time, " the Duchess announced. "I have had enough exile. No more running and hiding."

Both Jedi turned to her, though with expectation, surprise, or alarm, she could not fathom. As ever, they were inscrutably calm.

"I am ready to return to Mandalore," she said.

"The insurgents are still well established," Qui Gon answered. "Unless they are uprooted, your exile will never end. Nor will the cycle of war on your world."

"Then I shall bring peace," she stated, firmly. "Or I shall perish there, in the striving."

The Jedi master inclined his head, acknowledging her determination, promising to fulfill his duty to protect her. He entered the coordinates into the nav computer, with a grave face.

Beside her, Obi Wan's fingers curled around her hand. "We will help you," he promised in turn. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Or perish in the striving, they seemed to add. My lady.

She held that gaze for a long time, unaware of passing time, or of Qui Gon, or the ship, or the stars in the heavens. They eased into hyperspace, beyond light, into a new beginning.

Author's Note: Our heroes, and the Duchess, will indeed return to Mandalore. But, alas, their exploits will not be in readable form until mid-December. Until then, I suppose, we must abide in patience and wish them well. The last part of this trilogy will be titled Before the Throne.