Dark Legends

by George Mann

  Stunned, Foss lost her footing, going down, her elbow striking the ground and causing her to cry out in pain. She scrabbled, backing away from the frantic battle taking place before her and edging toward the ship. She could feel the backwash of its engines as RF-U5 fired up the controls. The open hatch was no more than a few meters away.

  She heard Borzul moan and turned in time to see Vrak sinking his fangs into the Lasat’s forearm, grinding his jaw in a motion that caused Borzul to almost falter. She met his gaze and saw the determination in his eyes as he raised his other hand, pointing her to the ship. He was buying her time. She dragged herself up, hobbling as she forced herself to run the last few steps toward the lowered ramp. With a cry of effort, she hauled herself up into the hold, her breath ragged, and ran for the cockpit, dropping into the pilot’s chair with a wince.

  Beside her, RF-U5 was chattering nervously, urging her to take off. She grabbed for the controls and the ship shifted, rising steadily from the surface.

  On the plain below, the Lasat and the Shistavanen fought on, sending up clouds of dust in their wake. Blood spattered the parched ground, and for a moment Foss thought that Vrak had gained the better of the Lasat, but Borzul proved stronger, and with a final roar he sent the Shistavanen reeling. Scrabbling to his feet he turned and ran, and ignoring RF-U5’s stream of urgent bleeping, Foss banked the ship, sweeping low across the plain. Running hard, Borzul leapt, grabbing at the ramp and dragging himself up into the ship just as Foss gunned the engines and sent them spiraling into the atmosphere.

  As the ship pulled away, Foss’s last view of the fateful moon was the sight of Vrak, alone on the plain, raging at the sky, his long, low howl audible even over the burr of the ship’s engines.

  Together, Borzul, Foss, and RF-U5, the only survivors of their accursed mission, made good their escape, stealing away into orbit and leaving the fateful moon far behind them as they circled the bloated, dying sun. As they settled into the cockpit of the ship, however, the sense of relief palpable amongst them, the red glare of another solar flare shone bright through the viewscreen, causing Foss to raise her hands to her face to block out the strange red light.

  Borzul turned to Foss, clutching the bleeding wound on his arm. His eye was a fearful shade of red, his lips drawn back in a terrible, feral snarl.

  THERE WAS ONCE A Jedi Padawan called Sol Mogra, whose master, Nil Idyth, was such a paragon of virtue that he was known throughout the Jedi Order as the most upstanding Jedi Knight of his time.

  Master Idyth’s reputation was entirely unblemished; never had he put a foot wrong throughout his long and illustrious career. From his first days as a Padawan in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant to his later years as a Master in the field, he had given only the very best account of himself, and all in the Order looked to him for guidance.

  Indeed, Idyth’s exploits were often the talk of the younglings, who spun wild tales of his greatest deeds, such as his single-handed liberation of the ice moon of Basath, his defeat of the Swamp Wraith of Phandas, and his banishment of the murderous specter who had once stalked the lower levels of Coruscant. Those were but a few of the triumphs attributed to Idyth, although in truth most went unrecorded, for he had never sought glory, preferring to share his most daring victories with none but the Jedi Council. Nevertheless, despite his modesty, Idyth was recognized as a great hero amongst his peers, and his reputation was unrivaled.

  When the young Sol Mogra was chosen as Idyth’s Padawan, his heart swelled with pride, for he knew that he was assured the very best training the Order could provide. Simply to be associated with such a virtuous master would earn him respect amongst his fellow Padawans and the younglings.

  Sure enough, Sol Mogra’s training proved intense but deeply rewarding. Master Idyth did not shy from exposing his Padawan to all the terrors of the galaxy, encouraging Sol Mogra to accompany him on dangerous missions for the Jedi Council, to face monsters both literal and metaphorical. For Idyth believed that to truly conquer one’s fear, one must hold a dark mirror to one’s heart, to recognize the dangers of a life ill lived, to flinch away from the paths that should never be taken and the choices that should never be made. Only by knowing the path to the dark side might one know how best to avoid it. So it was that Sol Mogra learned the ways of the Jedi and became just as virtuous as his master.

  As the years passed, Sol Mogra absorbed all these lessons and more, striving only to make his master proud and to prove Idyth’s faith in him well founded. The Jedi Council praised the boy and watched with satisfaction as he slowly shed his childish ways and burgeoned into a worthy young man. Indeed, Sol Mogra soon proved himself ready to be sent on missions of his own, and Idyth was proud each and every time he returned successful, and there to support him each and every time he did not.

  It was upon his return from a mission that Sol Mogra first heard the rumors of his master’s death. Distraught, filled with anguish and disbelief, he hurried through the Temple—hoping beyond hope that the rumors would prove unfounded.

  Yet it was not to be, and upon reaching the council chamber—still encrusted with swamp mud and carrying a brutal wound to his left thigh—he was informed that his master had indeed fallen in battle. Worse, the other combatant had been an assassin, sent—the Jedi Council believed—by a crime boss who wanted Idyth’s lightsaber as a trophy for his wall.

  Sol Mogra dropped to his knees, struck by a deep sense of loss and appalled by the sudden realization that Idyth had not, after all, been immortal—that, as a Padawan, Sol Mogra had not cherished every moment as he should, believing his master would forever be there to support him. If the best of them could fall, what did that mean for those such as Sol Mogra, who were still learning to become true Jedi Knights? How could they protect themselves in a universe without Idyth?

  All in the Order mourned Master Idyth’s passing and shared stories of his valor in remembrance. Yet all was not peaceful in the Temple, for Sol Mogra, riven by grief, petitioned the Council to allow him to seek out the assassin who had felled his master and reclaim Idyth’s missing lightsaber. The Council, though, knew that such a mission for Sol Mogra was a fool’s errand, for not only would he face terrible danger from a foe even Idyth had been unable to defeat, but in giving in to his emotions in such a way, he would be straying from the path of virtue Idyth had so carefully sent him down. Thus, a team was dispatched not to seek vengeance but to issue a stern warning to the crime boss behind the attack and to reclaim Master Idyth’s missing belongings, and all the while Sol Mogra was left to meditate in the Temple, encouraged to seek peace in the Force.

  Jedi are not given to sentiment, but there was one item that Idyth had always carried on his person: a wooden amulet worn on a cord around his neck—a relic, he claimed, passed on to him by his own late master. Sol Mogra had long admired the object, for it had the form of an eye, with an iris of glowing kyber embedded deep in the dark engraved wood. Idyth had never been without it—during training, on missions—and believed it to be a totem from an ancient, extinct species who’d once inhabited the galaxy, back before the dawn of time.

  In the event of his death, Idyth had made provisions for the amulet to be passed on to his Padawan. So it was that Sol Mogra came to wear the favored relic, after a team recovered the items once belonging to Idyth from the planet Ixilix.

  The amulet proved a great reminder of his master’s teachings, and by wearing it, Sol Mogra found some measure of comfort, for with the cord around his neck he no longer felt alone. It was as if his master remained with him, by his side at all times, lending him strength and encouragement.

  Soon after, despite the grievous loss, circumstances began to improve for Sol Mogra. His missions for the Jedi Council all proved startlingly successful, and he was praised often for his demeanor and the way he comported himself. All at the Temple said he had taken well to his master’s training, that he was a most virtuous Jedi in the mold of the late, lamented Idyth.

  So it went on for years. Sol Mogra’s
star rose swiftly within the Order. Before long he was granted the rank of Jedi Knight, and following his master’s example, he left the Temple for a time, touring the worlds of the Outer Rim to bring peace to turbulent nations. Like Idyth before him, his exploits became known to both Jedi and villain alike; for during this time Sol Mogra shattered a criminal organization that had spanned four systems, bested the Trials of Herakal, and quashed an uprising on the Sanctic moon of Eremond, amongst many other achievements.

  It was only after close to a decade away that Sol Mogra returned to the Temple on Coruscant, where he was received with great warmth. Soon he would take a Padawan of his own and continue to share the legacy of his master with another generation.

  However, it was around this time that a dark terror began to plague the lower levels of Coruscant—a cloaked, hooded figure who reveled in violence and lived to excess, and left a tide of bodies in their wake. The people of Coruscant lived in fear, for they knew not when this villain might strike, or what twisted purpose guided their hand. The attacks appeared erratic, each in a different district, with no apparent pattern to the time, place, or choice of victim. The only clue connecting them was that each of the victim’s throats had been crushed—that and the reported sightings of the villain, who showed no aversion to being seen in the streets in the vicinity of each attack. It was almost as if the villain was baiting the Jedi, operating openly under their noses.

  Thus, Sol Mogra was enlisted to assist in the swift capture of this arrogant terror and to discover more about the villain’s origin and the reason behind the attacks, for the Jedi knew that some dark force must be driving such heinous crimes and that only the most trusted amongst them would be able to identify it.

  So it was that Sol Mogra went deep into the bowels of the city, down amongst the cutthroats and bounty hunters, the smugglers and crooks. There, he heard talk of a similar figure—a monster of sorts—who had visited those dangerous streets once, many years before, and was reminded of the tales of Master Idyth and how he had tracked and slain a murderous specter before heading off-world in meditative retreat. Stories of the figure had persisted, despite Idyth’s victory, and the people were anxious to know what they had done to cause the reappearance of such an evil apparition—for they were convinced the hooded figure and the specter were one and the same.

  Sol Mogra returned to the Temple, where he sought the advice of the Masters, but few remembered any facts regarding Idyth’s investigation, for he had acted largely alone, and it was so far in the past that the truth had become entwined with the oft-told stories. Idyth had kept no journals, no record of his missions, for in his modesty he had believed that to measure one’s life in such a way was to place too much emphasis on the individual when, in truth, a Jedi was nothing more than a sum of all that had come before and all that would come after, a vessel for the Force, with which it might seek balance.

  Sol Mogra pondered this during his nightly patrols of the lower levels, fingering the amulet on the cord around his neck and wishing only for the wisdom of his master’s counsel. Yet no insight was forthcoming, and the crimes continued. Each night the villain would strike, and each day the reports of sightings would come in, but none of the Jedi patrols could ever track the villain’s movements or spy them amongst the ever-shifting crowds.

  Never before had Sol Mogra so keenly felt his master’s shadow, for he knew the Jedi Council looked to him for a resolution to the nightly terrors, just as they had looked to Master Idyth all those years before. For the first time, Sol Mogra began to wonder whether his association with a renowned hero of the Order was truly such a good thing. For was he not being held in constant comparison with his former master? Was his every action not judged in light of how well he had been taught? He had spent his entire life attempting to live up to Idyth’s example—to surpass it, even—but he began to wonder if it was not the ghost of his master who had claimed all the credit. For it was forever being said of Sol Mogra that his master had taught him well, that he had become a scion of the Order in his master’s image. But where was his master now? If Sol Mogra could not find the hooded villain, would he be judged a failure, unworthy of his master’s memory?

  Such thoughts, he knew, were beneath a Jedi, and he meditated on them, drawing succor from the amulet around his neck, allowing its presence to soothe his mind, to bring him clarity. His master had entrusted him with the treasure, a symbol of his faith that Sol Mogra would prove worthy of it. And had he not? Were his deeds not evidence enough? He had dedicated his life to helping others, to following the Jedi path, to becoming a living embodiment of all that the Jedi held dear. As Idyth had shown him, Sol Mogra had stared into the darkness and been repulsed by it, had rejected the dark path, shedding all temptation and attachment to any but Idyth himself. He knew in his heart that he was pure, and as he sat in contemplation, cradling the amulet, he allowed all his dark thoughts to bleed away, siphoning off until only peacefulness remained.

  Yet Sol Mogra could not shake his deep frustration at his failure to even identify the villain. He wished only to apprehend them, to end their campaign of villainy, and knew that to do it he would need the help of his fellow Jedi. Perhaps, he reasoned, he had taken too much of the burden on himself, focusing on doing as his master had done rather than finding the solution in his own way. Thus, he enlisted the aid of two other Jedi—Kjus Androth and Petano Dreth.

  For days, their investigations continued. Nothing else occupied Sol Mogra’s mind. And yet the horrors went on and more bodies were discovered. Despite the assistance of the other Jedi, nothing seemed to add up. Sol Mogra knew he was missing something vital, some clue that might set them on the right path to the identity of the villain. He had grown tired, and while at first he dismissed it as naught but weariness and frustration, he could not deny the strange dreams that plagued his sleeping hours.

  In them, he walked the streets at night, stalking the hooded figure, always remaining one step behind. The Force was strong with the villain, radiating off them as waves of hate, like a burning aura, infecting the city around them. Sol Mogra would try to keep up, reaching for the villain’s shoulder, but always he would be pushed back, fighting ineffectually against whatever dark power held him at bay. He would watch as the villain—whom he now thought to be a man—would select his victim, reaching out a hand, manipulating the Force.

  And then he would wake, sweating, crying out—certain that another murder had been committed.

  It was after one such dream that Sol Mogra awoke to discover his robes had been torn during the night. There had been no encounter with the villain or any other miscreants during his patrol the previous evening, and he could not recall any incident during which the robes might have been so damaged. Assuming that he had acted in his sleep, perhaps clawing at the robes during the height of his nightmare, he rose and set out to see if there were any new reports of the villain’s activity.

  It soon became clear that the hooded figure had struck again, and after hurrying to the scene of the crime, he found that the Jedi Kjus Androth had been murdered while on patrol during the night. The hallmark of the shadowy villain was present—the way Kjus’s throat had been crushed—but so, too, was a torn fragment of Jedi robes. Petano Dreth had been so distraught that he did not appear to have noticed the dirty rag, abandoned in the gutter, but Sol Mogra recognized it immediately for what it was—a fragment of his own robe. Stunned, his hand went immediately to the amulet around his neck, and he twitched as flickering images from his dream seemed to stutter through his mind, his vision turning momentarily red. He saw the hooded figure bearing down on Kjus in the alleyway, saw his eyes go wide in startled recognition, saw the outstretched hand close into a fist as Kjus clawed at the figure’s robes . . . and realized, with dawning terror, that the hand was his.

  In his mind’s eye he saw his cloak swirling around him as he leapt into the pit of a darkened alley; sensed the raw, primal fear of a fleeing victim; heard a shrill scream echo in the night. He pressed h
is eyes shut, trying to block out the stream of terrifying images, the horror of what he was seeing. Yet still the onslaught came—a vision of glowing yellow eyes in the reflection of a blacked-out window, the sound of panicked footfalls, the adrenaline rush of the pursuit. The visions he’d been seeing in his dreams were not visions at all but twisted memories replaying his own horrifying actions as he chased down his victims in the streets. He wanted to scream, to deny it all, but he knew it was the truth. He had been the villain all along.

  Appalled, Sol Mogra staggered back, releasing his grip on the amulet. Immediately, the darkness fell away, his mind clearing, and he knew then that the relic, with its glittering eye of kyber, was to blame for the terrifying fracturing of his soul.

  This, then, had been his master’s secret all along—that the amulet had become a repository for all Idyth’s anger and fear and that, instead of facing such things as a Jedi must, Idyth had buried them deep in the relic, presenting only his virtuous self to the universe. While he was lauded as a paragon of the Order, all those dark emotions simmered and grew darker still until they had attained such pressure that they sought release. Thus, by day Idyth had served as the selfless Jedi he had always been known as, but by night he had become a thing of darkness, stalking the lower levels of the city. This had been the specter Idyth had supposedly defeated before taking himself off to another world, where no further questions might be asked.

  In taking on his master’s role and adopting both the amulet and Idyth’s ways—for had Sol Mogra not looked often into that dark mirror, pushing away his darkest impulses?—the Padawan had truly followed in his master’s footsteps, attaining glory and recognition by day and becoming subsumed by his darkest emotions at night.