by George Mann
© & TM 2020 Lucasfilm Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address
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ISBN 978-1-368-06489-7
Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.
For Stephen Paul Mann.
You are my father.
—G. M.
I would like to dedicate this book to my sister, Nicole, and my niece and nephew, Leah’Claire and Conway. The Force is strong with them.
—G. G.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
The Orphanage
Buyer Beware
The Predecessor
Blood Moon
The Dark Mirror
The Gilded Cage
A life immortal
About the Author
About the Illustrator
INTRODUCTION
WELCOME, BRAVE READER, TO this treasury of all things dark and gruesome. Within, great knowledge awaits.
Before you turn the page, however, take a moment to reconsider . . . for here in your hands you hold one of the most perilous tomes the galaxy has ever known.
Contained within its pages are stories that will curdle your very soul—spine-chilling tales of danger and deceit, of dark lords and fiends, of betrayal and corruption. Once read, these stories will escape into the ether, never to be imprisoned again—for their words are like the powers of the Sith themselves, spinning visions in the nooks and crannies of your mind.
In truth, this book is brimming with secrets that should never be told.
Herein, too, lies a despicable certainty: the galaxy is rife with terror. It crowds the shadows, lurks at the threshold, watches from behind every half-closed door. The dark side is ever present, waiting to tempt the unwary, to make monsters of the benign, to twist the bright spark of the imagination toward fear.
Yes, the ways of the dark side are insidious indeed, but they are not unknown—not if you know where to look.
Or should that be . . . where not to look?
If it must be so, draw a deep breath, steady your hand, and prepare yourself for what is to come. And do not dare to claim you were not warned.
One last time, then . . . are you sure you wish to read on?
ON THE PLANET Gaaten, nestled amongst the gloomy spires of a once great city, sit the ruins of an orphanage where, long ago, children who had lost their parents during the fallout of the Clone Wars were sent to be cared for while they awaited placement in new homes throughout the sector.
Only, all was not well at the orphanage, for amongst the children there were tales of a dark terror who came in the night: a tall, thin man with sharp teeth and glowing eyes, who from time to time would visit the orphanage to steal away children, scooping them out of their beds and dragging them through the window, their cries muffled and unheard. The children who were taken by this horrifying creature were never heard from again.
These rumors were passed in terrified whispers between the children, muttered beneath bedsheets or behind cupped hands when the lights went out. The stories had, of course, been dismissed by the orphanage staff, and while it was true that some children had gone missing from the orphanage over the years—probably nothing more than runaways, children unhappy with their lot and suffering from the devastating loss of their parents—the rumors were viewed as nothing but the wild imaginings of disturbed youths, an embodiment of their fear and pain. Nevertheless, the stories persisted, and there was little the orphanage staff could do to curtail them.
All who came to reside in the orphanage, then, heard tell of this monster and, from that moment on, lived in fear that they, too, might become its next unwitting victim. All except one.
Elish had always been considered an exceptional child, ever since her time at the school on Malloran, where she had astounded her teachers with her confidence and scholarly aptitude. She was a gentle sort, prone to helping others before herself, and that had made her popular with her peers and the younger children alike. Like her mother—a palace guard on Malloran—Elish had always felt a deep connection to the universe around her and all the living things that inhabited it. This connection granted her a great sense of peace, and while she, too, had witnessed horrors, she refused to believe in whatever dark phantom the other children at the orphanage feared. For Elish, evil was embodied not in the form of monsters but of men, for she understood that all the terrors that had so recently blighted the galaxy were enacted at the behest of individuals and not creatures of the night.
So it was that Elish, upon coming to the orphanage on one of the Empire’s vast transport ships, became something of a steadying force to the other children, helping them cast aside their fears and, despite all they had lost, seek peace amidst the dormitories and schoolrooms of the ramshackle old building.
For many months this went on, and much to the delight of the orphanage staff, talk of the phantom faltered. The children seemed altogether happier, and when the supply ships came in for the season, some of the orphans were allocated new homes with adoptive parents eager to lavish love and attention on their new charges.
It was not unusual for Elish to be awoken at night by the sound of screaming—for some of the children in the dormitory were plagued by night terrors that would wrench them from their slumber, causing them to lurch up in their beds, their faces gleaming with sweat. Never would the night staff come to comfort the poor children, so Elish would slip from her bed to take their hands, and her calm words and comforting influence would be enough to quiet their nightmares and send them readily back to sleep.
However, one night not long after her arrival, there was a great disturbance during the night, and all around Elish the alarm went up. She leapt from her bed to find the entire dormitory in disarray, and word amongst the children was that the monster had paid a visit in the small hours of the night and stolen away a young boy named Samil.
True enough, there was no sign of Samil, and search as they might, none of the staff or the children could locate him. Nor was there any evidence that a stranger had come amongst them, save for the window gently tapping in its frame, stirred by the breeze because the latch had been left undone.
After securing the window, the orphanage staff soon began ushering the children back to their beds, cooing sympathetically, shushing their cries of distress. Samil would be found in the morning, they said, or else he’d decided to run away and leave them, sneaking off into the night to make his own way in the world. Elish, though, could see that Samil’s handful of belongings had been left behind, scattered beneath his bed—and she knew he would never have left his toy heroes behind, for he would never tolerate being separated from the little hand-carved figures.
Thus, as the other children finally began to settle once again in their beds, Elish lay awake, reaching out with her senses, for she had come to recognize Samil through his connection to the universe, similar to her own. This had marked them out as different from the other children—all save perhaps one other, a young Kessurian girl named Gee’far, who also seemed to share Elish’s unusual perspective.
Sure enough, though, Elish could sense no trace of Samil anywhere within the confines of the orphanage or its grounds. Discomforted, she lay awake for the rest of the night, certain that he would not be found the following day.
The next morning a small expedition was put together f
rom amongst the staff, which set out for the village, hoping to discover that Samil had fled the short distance to the settlement during the night. They were certain he would be found, cold and embarrassed, huddled in someone’s barn, ready to return to the orphanage for a warm bath and a rest.
As Elish had predicted, however, the team returned but a few hours later, tired and hungry, claiming that there was neither word nor trace of the boy in the village, or anywhere on the surrounding paths and roads. He had simply vanished, and there was nothing at all they could do about it.
The next day the rumors of the dark terror returned as the children whispered about the sounds of scratching they had heard at the window, the hissing breath of the creature as it had moved amongst their beds, the icy cold that had signified its arrival. Despite the best attempts of the staff, the children muttered to one another in fear, terrified of what might happen if the dark terror came for them next.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Elish made a point of befriending Gee’far. The Kessurian girl was almost two years younger than Elish, but much like Elish, she carried herself with a surety and confidence that belied her youth. They took long walks together around the grounds, explored the nearby ruins, read stories, told each other tales of the Clone Wars and the dreadful things they’d seen, and studied together under the tutelage of the stern old lady who ran the orphanage school. They swapped bunks to be closer to each other, and each night, as Gee’far drifted off to sleep, Elish would stay awake as long as she could, watching over her friend and watching the dormitory window for any sign of the monster. For, after Samil’s shocking disappearance, Elish had begun to wonder if there was truth to be found in the terrible stories of the yellow-eyed phantom, after all.
Time passed, and as it did, life at the orphanage returned to relative normality. Soon the transport ships would arrive with their seasonal supplies, and there would be a new influx of children to the orphanage—as well as a handful who would leave, off to settle in new homes far away on other worlds. The place became a hive of activity as preparations were made.
Elish still thought of poor Samil from time to time, but after so long, she had once again begun to doubt the stories of the phantom. Perhaps Samil really had run away—he hadn’t been happy at the orphanage, after all—and had simply hidden from the search parties. Perhaps he was out there somewhere, hiding amongst the ruins of the old city, making a new life for himself on his own terms. Yet Elish was still filled with a gnawing doubt; if he was out there, wouldn’t she have sensed his presence, as she did with Gee’far when they were apart during the day?
For many weeks she had maintained her watchful vigil over the younger girl, but wakefulness takes its toll after a time, and Elish was weary, deep down to her bones. So it was that, when Gee’far settled down to sleep one night, Elish felt her own eyes closing, unable to stay awake any longer to watch over her friend. . . .
But from this unintended slumber, Elish suddenly woke with a start. All was silent in the dormitory, save for the quiet murmur of sleeping children all around her. A gentle breeze brushed her cheek and she stretched, rolling over onto her side to peer at the window. The curtain billowed softly in the breeze, shimmering in the moonlight. She started. The window was open!
Elish sat up, sucking air into her lungs. She turned to Gee’far . . . only to find that she was too late.
The crooked, stooped figure of the phantom loomed over her friend’s sleeping form. He was dressed entirely in black, with a strange metal disc attached to a panel on his back. His eyes were aglow with the brightest yellow and seemed to weep tears of blood down his stark, pale cheeks. His head was hairless and gray, with strange red markings describing patterns on his pate. His body was tall and thin, his arms gangly and ending in long, slender fingers, and as he stooped lower to gather Gee’far up in his grasp, stifling her protests with a hand held firmly across her mouth, he looked directly at Elish, smiling wickedly to display his jagged, feral teeth.
And then he was gone, moving so swiftly that Elish could barely make sense of what she was seeing. He seemed to flit amongst the shadows, bounding over children’s beds in effortless leaps, until he was standing just before the open window, one foot on the ledge. Elish—who had been rooted to the spot, unable to move, to emit even a single sound—fought desperately against the strange force that bound her, pushing back against it with her mind, with her feelings . . . and for a moment she thought it might give, that she might free herself to do something to help her friend.
At this the dark terror paused in the open window and, framed horribly by the moonlight, looked back at her, inclining his head appreciatively, before stepping out into the frigid night beyond.
Immediately, Elish felt her senses return to her, and she screamed.
The lights went up and the staff came running, but of course, there was nothing to be done. There was no sign of the phantom from the window or amongst the ruins below, and all Elish could do was stare at Gee’far’s empty bed and weep.
The staff at the orphanage knew Elish for the sensible child she was and did not dismiss her tale of the yellow-eyed man and his wicked smile. They increased their nighttime patrols through the dormitory and fitted a new lock to the window, but in truth there was little else to be done. Further searches proved fruitless, just as they had when Samil had disappeared. Gee’far was gone, and Elish could no longer sense her presence on Gaaten.
Life at the orphanage continued, but a sullen silence had befallen the children, and without Elish’s comforting words and gestures, they grew terrified once again that the evil phantom would return.
Elish knew, however, that if he was to come, then she would surely be his next victim, for the dark terror had sensed the strange connection inside her, felt her push back against his awful, smothering control, and she knew that was what he hungered for. Had not Samil and Gee’far both shared her deep understanding of all that went on around them? Wasn’t that why they were taken?
She knew that something had to be done. From that day forth, each morning before the other children rose, Elish would sneak from the dormitory, through the echoing halls of the orphanage, and out into the ruins of a temple close to where she and Gee’far had once played. There, she would scale the jagged remnants of the temple’s spire, find a perch for herself close to its apex, and call out through the vast web she could feel thrumming around her, begging for help from any who might hear her plea.
For many days this continued, and Elish grew increasingly despondent, fearing the imminent return of the yellow-eyed phantom. At last, however, her cry for help was answered.
Someone came that day from the stars, landing in the ruins in a brightly colored ship—a dark-skinned woman named Kira Vantala, who carried the hilt of a strange weapon at her belt and spoke with an authority even the orphanage staff seemed cowed by. Dismissing their concerns, she sought out Elish amongst the children and asked her to explain what had occurred the night Gee’far had been taken.
Carefully, Elish related her tale, and as the woman heard it her face creased in concern, for she claimed she understood what the evil thing wanted and from where it had come. She resolved to put a stop to it immediately.
When Elish told the woman about her own fears of being taken—for she understood intrinsically that she could trust her—Kira explained that she, too, was a survivor, just like Elish, and that although it was widely believed that the wars had ended, it was more important than ever to fight for what they believed in and to protect the innocent from harm, no matter how terrifying it might seem.
So it was that each night for more than a week, Kira Vantala lay in wait, and the children slept more soundly than they ever had before, comforted by the presence of their new guardian. All, that was, except Elish, who knew she was to be the dark terror’s next target and that she had to find the means within herself to be brave and help Kira defeat the terrible enemy. Perhaps then she could stop the phantom from taking any more children and in some way
make up for what had happened that night with Gee’far, when she’d been unable to help her only real friend.
One night soon after, as she prepared herself for bed, Kira whispered in Elish’s ear that the phantom was close. She had sensed his presence on Gaaten and knew that he would come that night to the orphanage to attempt another abduction. Elish, too, could feel the creature’s nearness, like a tightness in her chest, and she knew that whatever happened that night she would be strong, for only then could the monster be stopped.
Sure enough, as the gloaming finally tipped over to night and the chill dark set in, Elish stirred at a sound from the window.
Slowly she turned, holding her breath, expecting to see the terrible apparition peering through the glass panes . . . but to her horror she discovered he was already looming over her bed, just as he had over Gee’far’s.
With that terrifying smile writ large on his face, he stooped low and scooped her out of her bed, bundling her up in his arms. His touch was cold and yet somehow seemed to burn her skin, but as she cried out, she realized that no sound came from her lips. Whatever power he had over her was strong and oppressive, and she found herself unable to move, to speak. She tried to push him away with her mind as she had before, but struggle as she might, he was stronger, and his grip seemed to tighten until it felt as though his cold fingers had wrapped themselves around her heart.
“The Force is strong in you, young one,” he whispered as he carried her toward the window, his breath warm against her ear. He did not look back as he stepped over the ledge, seeming to glide along the currents toward the shadowy ruins below.
Kira Vantala had been ready for him, however, and as the dark phantom carried the terrified Elish off into the grounds of the ancient temple, she followed swiftly behind, calling the creature out. For a moment Elish feared he might run, that he’d carry her away in huge, unnatural strides, off into the darkness, where she’d never be found. Instead, though, the phantom, amused, stopped in his tracks and turned to face Kira, a sneer on his malignant face.