Dark Forces_ Jedi Knight Part 11

Kyle awoke to pain, more pain than he had ever felt before and more pain than he wanted to feel again. So much pain that it took a moment to realize that it belonged to him - and not his alter ego, Tal. The Rebel opened his eyes, saw stars twinkling high above, and felt cold night air enter his lungs. He tried to sit. What felt like a six - centimeter-long needle pa.s.sed through his skull and entered his brain.

He groaned and leaned on an elbow. That's when Boc shuffled forward - and Kyle realized that others were present. His heart sank. The Imperials had entered the Crow and dragged him clear.

The worm-head? It didn't matter. The female was present, her mouth pressed into a hard straight line, as was the Jedi Kyle had battled on Sulon and subsequently spared. The same one who had located the missing patrol? Yes, the personality felt the same. Their eyes met, held, and broke as Boc brought a lightsaber out from under his cloak.

"My, my such a nasty crash You're lucky to be alive... or are you? Oh, what's this? A lightsaber - no, not just any lightsaber, but your lightsaber, and a pretty piece of work it is."

Boc placed the weapon on a flat piece of shale, grabbed a rock, and raised it over his head. Kyle tried to rise, made it to one knee, and paused as pain filled his head.

Boc grinned.

"Yes? Did you want something? No? Well, let's see how st.u.r.dy this saber really is..."

So saying, the alien Jedi brought the rock down with all his strength. There was a crunching sound, and pieces of saber flew in every direction. Boc chuckled.

"Blast! They just don't make 'em like they used to... Oh well, it's not as if you built the weapon yourself. That would take brains."

Sariss drew her weapon and flicked the switch. The air popped and sizzled.

"Enough... Tell Jerec that we located Katarn and put him down."

Boc glanced from Sariss to Kyle and placed a hand over his mouth.

"Oops! That doesn't sound very promising, does it? But what did you expect? Milk and cookies?" The Jedi broke into peals of laughter, turned, and shuffled away.

Sariss turned toward Kyle and raised her weapon. Kyle looked into the glow and thought about Jan. Was she dead? Would they be together?

Sariss tightened her grip and brought the weapon down.

Yun saw everything in slow motion, felt himself respond, and wondered why. Had he made a decision? There was no memory of one... Not a single decision, anyway, just a long chain of seemingly minor decisions, which, taken together, added up to an important decision. The lightsaber seemed to ignite on its own.

If his aim was good, if the training paid off, he would nick his mentor's arm. She would miss - and Katarn would be spared. Not for long, probably - but he couldn't control that. Blood flew as energy sliced through flesh. Startled by the attack, and reacting instinctively, Sariss turned. Her lightsaber rose, fell, and sliced through Yun's shoulder. The younger Jedi looked surprised, gave a gasp of pain, and sank to his knees.

Sariss was horrified. Yun, her best student and the closest thing she had to a friend, was dying. Why? It was impossible, yet there he was, kneeling before her. She screamed for a medic, and the echoes seemed to mock her. Yun's head came up. His eyes saw through her.

"Sariss, can you see the light? How bright it is?" Then he was gone.

He leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground and then fell on his side.

Kyle saw Sariss turn her back in his direction, saw Yun drop the lightsaber, and used the Force to "grab" it. The weapon made a slapping sound as it hit the palm of his hand.

The Rebel pushed up through the pain, fought a wave of dizziness, and thumbed the unfamiliar switch.

Each lightsaber was as unique as the sentient who built it - and Yun's was no exception.

It came equipped with what Kyle's fencing instructor would have called a "modified pistol grip" - meaning that carefully cast projections echoed the human hand and gave his index finger a place to rest. Not only that, but the grip was made from a highly malleable "live" polymer that explored Kyle's hand and morphed into a solid, highly customized grip.

Kyle had never dreamed of such a thing but immediately fell in love with it. The Rebel raised the weapon into the traditional "on-guard" position and could almost hear the Academy's fencing instructor.

He had a squeaky, high-pitched voice: "Keep your head up, look at your opponent, and check your balance. The point should be at eye level - or slightly lower - like so..." A steel blade differs from a lightsaber, of course... but many of the same techniques apply.

Sariss turned. Her eyes burned with anger. There was more than enough time. No cut would be fatal in and of itself, but each added to all the rest would result in a painful death.

Then, after his life force had been released and his blood had mingled with the sand, she would take his head. Not that it would compensate for the pain in her arm or the ache in her heart.

Kyle swallowed, knowing his opponent was more experienced than he, and then suddenly reeled under the impact of a mental attack. This battle would be fought on two planes. One mental, the other physical - just like the ones in his "dream."

The Jedi accessed the knowledge gained from the long-dead Tal, blocked the mental strike and answered with an attack of his own. He launched a head cut from the third position, flexed his wrist, and extended his arm. Though a good deal lighter than its metal counterpart, the Jedi energy weapon possessed similar characteristics. It could penetrate like a rapier and cut like a saber. A double-edged saber.

Sariss blocked the mental blow, wondered where Katarn had garnered such knowledge, and found herself under attack. Her opponent's skill was a surprise - and reminded her that this was no ordinary Rebel. There were various ways to defend against his attack. Sariss chose parry five followed by a well-practiced riposte. Her blade pa.s.sed under Katarn's, buzzed as it pa.s.sed through the outer corona of the field created by his blade, and lunged toward his chest. Energy crackled and popped as the agent intercepted her blow - and disengaged.

The attack had failed, so Kyle selected another. The point-thrust was a relatively simple evolution. He dropped the point of his saber, extended his arm, and lunged. Sariss saw it coming, blocked the other Jedi's blade, and spotted an error. Katarn's wrist was too low, a little below the shoulder, opening the Rebel to a head cut.

She lunged as he pulled back, saw a thin red line appear on his right cheek, and felt a sense of satisfaction. The upstart had been lucky - but she would literally cut him down to size. Yun would be revenged.

Kyle saw a flash of color and heard the blade sizzle past his face. His nostrils were filled with the odor of burnt flesh. His own. Pain followed. Pain layered on pain. He knew the cut was a harbinger of things to come. He was tired, hurt, and less experienced.

The Dark Jedi intended to wear him down. What he needed was a quick, decisive conclusion.

The agent a.s.sumed the on-guard position and called upon Tal's knowledge. What would the ancient Master do if confronted with a similar situation?

Sariss sensed the other Jedi's hesitation, mistook it for fear, and launched a feint.

It was directed at Kyle's belly. He fell for it, saw her pull back, and knew the lunge would follow. He managed to parry, felt resistance as her saber clashed with his, and found the answer he'd been searching for... Tal had been a student of another no-less-formal school of swordsmanship that was half-physical and half-spiritual in nature. There were many evolutions, and many "cuts," but only one that "sang" with the moment. "The Flowing Water Cut" was for use when going blade-to-blade with an opponent.

Timing was everything... and as Sariss withdrew... Kyle knew that he should "expand," following with body and spirit, like water into a vessel. And there, within the calm, to cut slowly and release Sariss from her body. Action followed thought. His blade strobed through thee other Jedi's chest and the point emerged between her shoulder blades.

There was very little blood since the wound was cauterized as it was made. Sariss looked surprised. Her eyes went down toward the point of entry, up toward his, and then were gone. She fell over backward, hit the ground, and skidded on loose gravel.

Kyle just stood there, swaying slightly, struggling to absorb what had occurred.

He was alive, still alive, which both amazed and pleased him.

But what next? Find Jan? Search for Jerec? Both ideas had merit, but how?

Cliffs stood hard and black off to his left, but the sun had started to rise, throwing soft pinkish light onto a pinnacle of stone. The shadow fell downward - and pointed to the Valley below. Suddenly, and without knowing how he knew, Kyle knew where to go. He said good-bye to Yun, who had sacrificed his life for something he had just started to understand, and wished the Jedi well.

Gravel crunched under the agent's boots as he followed the shadow toward the opening and that which waited below. There were sentries to contend with, and a patrol on its way out into the badlands, but Kyle ignored them. A Commando saw him and stepped forward.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Kyle extended a hand.

"You have seen me many times before - and are aware of my authority."

The Commando nodded.

"Sorry, sir - I didn't realize it was you."

The Jedi nodded and proceeded on his way. The area around the opening had been cleared of debris. The stairs were wide enough to accommodate four men walking abreast. They were cut from solid stone and followed the curve of the wall. The light improved as the sun rose and sent rays of light down into the chamber.

The air thickened around Kyle's shoulders, and he heard a moaning sound, as if from a mult.i.tude in pain.

Alien hieroglyphics appeared on the walls - and the Jedi reached out to touch them as the stairs carried him downward. Light gleamed off something down in the murk. It attracted the Rebel's eye and made him curious.

What could it be? A piece of sc.r.a.p? An artifact? Kyle arrived on the chamber floor, made his way to the area where the reflection had appeared, and toed a pile of debris. Metal clattered as the Jedi spotted what he'd been searching for.

He knew the object by feel alone: A multi-tool, similar to the one he carried, but older. Anyone could have dropped the device - but something, he wasn't sure what, caused the Jedi to examine the object more closely. He turned toward the light and saw an engraving: "To Dad, from Kyle."

The Jedi felt a lump form in his throat as he realized that his father had made it this far and, while unable to free the spirits within, had set their rescue in motion.

a.s.suming that he lived long enough to complete the mission, that is.

What had his father felt? Having come all that way? And lacking the ability to go farther? Had he been frustrated? Fearful? There was no way to know, but one thing was for sure: The knowledge that Morgan Katarn had been there, and would expect him to persevere, strengthened Kyle's resolve. The multi-tool made a comfortable weight in Kyle's pocket as he moved forward. His senses were heightened - and a thousand impressions flooded his mind. He had originally viewed the Force in the abstract, as something outside of himself, but not any longer.

Now Kyle felt at one with the Force. It surged and seethed as if only barely contained.

It trickled through the pores in his skin, filled each living cell, and displaced pain and fatigue. He felt light, strong, powerful.

Was that good? Or something to be feared? The half-man's death still weighed on the Jedi's conscience and caused him to question his motives. Cautiously, because he was both unsure of himself and of what he might encounter, Kyle approached a heavily shadowed arch. He stepped through and into the Valley of the Jedi. A thousand tombs marched across the Valley floor. Each was different, as unique as the spirit to whom it had been dedicated, and a work of art. Years, perhaps hundreds of them, had been lavished on the vast memorial. Kyle was overwhelmed by the pure spectacle of the place. He wandered down a corridor from which narrower walkways branched to either side. He saw statues, some of which were modeled on humans while others depicted aliens, each rendered in astonishing, lifelike detail.

Here, captured in stone, was the Army of Light. Who were the artisans? And what happened to them? The bouncers seemed like the most likely candidates - although there was no way to be sure. A head appeared above all others, and Kyle walked in that direction.

It was Lord Hoth, his eyes focused on something Kyle couldn't see, a hand on his lightsaber. The Jedi looked so real, so powerful, that the Rebel half - expected him to speak. And there, just to the Jedi Master's right, stood another familiar figure.

The man stood tall in spite of the years that weighed on his shoulders. He wore a long, white beard, and even though a hood concealed most of the Jedi's face, Kyle knew who it was.

Still loyal, still at his master's side, Tal waited through the years. Hoth, and the manner in which he towered over the figures around him, gave Kyle an idea. He glanced around, spotted a tomb with a flat top, and made his way over to it. A ledge ran around the structure and served as a step. Gargoyles, their eyes bulging, functioned as handholds. Once on top, Kyle had an excellent view of the Valley. He saw a row of columns, realized someone had been tied to one of them, and knew who it was.

Jan was alive! Kyle felt his heart leap, crossed to the other side of the slab, and looked down. Another tomb stood two meters below. The top had been sculptured to resemble the Jedi within. Kyle landed on the warrior's forehead and jumped from there to the ground. The columns were clearly visible... and he jogged in that direction.

If the Rebel had been more deliberate and less focused on Jan, he might have noticed a statue unlike those around it. A statue that not only appeared to be alive - but actually was.

Boc followed Kyle with his eyes but was otherwise still. The other Jedi might have sensed his presence if it hadn't been for a carefully constructed mind shield.

Katarn was alive! But that was impossible... wasn't it?

Where was Sariss? Yun? Both questions were answered when... Boc spotted the youngest Jedi's lightsaber, a sure sign that they were dead. No great loss in Boc's opinion - but surprising nonetheless. The Rebel led a charmed life - but not for much longer.

Unaware of Boc and the nature of his thoughts, Kyle broke into the clearing. Jan saw him and grinned.

"Kyle! Nice of you to drop in." Kyle thumbed the switch on Yuri s lightsaber and used the weapon to cut Jan's bonds. Kyle's words were light - but hid a deep sense of relief.

"This will cost you..."

Jan felt the restraints fall free and rubbed her arms.

"Send the bill... I'm ready to pay."

"And so you will," Boc said coldly, "and so you will."

There was a thump as the Dark Jedi jumped down off his perch, followed by the angry buzz of clashing sabers. Kyle held against the other Jedi's strength - and pushed with all his might.

Boc smiled. His teeth looked like tombstones.

"All things come to an end, Katarn - give Maw, Sariss, and Yun my best."

The words covered action, and Jan shouted a warning. "Kyle! Watch out! He has two sabers!"

The Rebel jumped backward as the second bar of energy blurred past his face. He had noticed the second weapon during the earlier confrontation and forgotten it. A stupid, possibly fatal, mistake. Kyle was afraid. Boc sensed the emotion and shuffled forward.

"Perhaps you would like to learn something before you die. The use of two blades, one to support the other, can be traced back thousands of years and was common to both our species. The invention of lightsabers has done nothing to lessen the effectiveness of this strategy - as you are about to learn."

Actually, thanks to Tal, and the old man's considerable experience, Kyle knew something about fighting with two blades, which meant he knew how dangerous such a combination could be. Not that the knowledge would help him much, given the fact that he had only one weapon at his disposal.

"One weapon only?" a voice said within his head. "What of your mind? Are you Jedi? Or something less?" The words, and the fact that Rahn was with him, brought new hope.

Boc advanced. His lightsabers seemed to dance before him. They hummed with barely contained malice and wove intricate patterns in the air. The movements had a hypnotic quality - and Kyle struggled to resist it. Energy sizzled as blade met blade. Kyle retreated as Boc launched a flurry of blows. The Dark Jedi grinned triumphantly, shuffled forward, and "felt" an additional threat. He spun toward Jan.

The Rebel threw the rocks as hard as she could - but to no avail. The missiles exploded as the sabers touched them and hurled red-hot bits of rock in every direction. Jan staggered and fell over backward as a bolt of energy hit her mind. The rock attack hadn't inflicted any damage, but it did buy some time. Kyle took advantage of the opportunity by summoning the Force, forging a spear of midnight black, and hurling it toward his opponent's chest.

Boc staggered, dropped the lightsabers, and grabbed the invisible shaft. Kyle watched, fascinated as the other Jedi struggled to remove the weapon and failed to do so. He tripped, fell, and collapsed. A statue towered above him. Newar Forrth, one-time commander of the Third Legion of Light, appeared pleased. The sound of distant laughter echoed through Kyle's mind.

"Wonderful! That's the second time you called on the dark side. Now do you understand?

The power is all around you, waiting to be used. Kill the girl, cut your ties to the past, and claim the future."

Unaware of the interchange, Jan ran into his arms.

"Kyle! Are you all right? I don't know what you did - but it worked."

The Rebel wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Come - let's find Jerec."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Jan replied. "Look! "

Kyle looked and saw shafts of light shoot upward to play across the ceiling. They ran in that direction. Jan ducked as a screamer howled by her head.

"What was that?"

"Don't worry about it," Kyle responded. "It can't hurt you."

"Can't hurt you, can't hurt you, can't hurt you," a chorus of voices echoed, only to be supplanted by a tidal wave of incomprehensible babble that closed around them. Many of the spirits were insane, having lost track of reality during eons of imprisonment, but some were not. They offered conflicting advice.

"Refuse the dark side, boy."

"Leave us! Flee while you can!"