As he stood dripping blood from his cut fingers, he began to realize that a new sound had joined those far-off echoessomething other than just the sounds of dripping water and creaking of old metal. In fact, someone was coming toward him. A whispered voice was amplified by the walls around him into a faint susurrus, like that of a faint and distant wind.
Nom Anor wrapped his bleeding hand in the remains of his cloak to prevent it from leaving a trail and ducked into a nearby alcove. He strained to listen to what was being said by the approaching voice, but it was impossible to discern. He couldn't even decide how many there were. He presumed the voice had an audience, but could hear no other footfalls.
He tore off the dying ooglith masquer and tossed it to the ground. If it was another search party sent to find him, then the disguise would be of no use anyway. And if it wasn't a search party, then he would need every sense available to him. Either way, the masquer had become irrelevant to his needs.
A ragged figure carrying a dull, bioluminescent lamp came around the corner, heading in the opposite direction to Nom Anor. The figure was hunched and unkempt, its robes flapping around it like the wings of some uncoordinated flying beast. It was muttering one phrase over and over, hoarsely and under its breath
"Sha grunnik ith-har Yun-Shitno. Sha grunnik ith-har Yun-Shuno."
He recognized the phrase. It was a simple incantation to the gods, asking for clemency. The incantation wasn't directed to one of the gods to whom the former acquaintances of Nom Anor had appealed. It was intended for Yun-Shuno, the thousand-eyed deity of those who had failed or been outcast from Yuuzhan Vong societythe Shamed Ones, as they were known.
With that realization, all worry of capture left him. The creature was a Shamed One, and he therefore had nothing to fear. Shimrra would never send a Shamed One to do a warrior's joband even if the Shamed One guessed who he was, the lowly creature would have no reason to turn him in.
Nom Anor waited until the Shamed One came abreast of his hiding place, then stepped out in front of it, quickly and with menace. His sudden appearance had the desired effect the Shamed Onea middle-aged malereared back, flapping his robes in terror before collapsing to the ground, squealing as he begged for mercy.
"This place is forbidden to all of Yun-Yuuzhan's children!" Nom Anor boomed down to the prostrate figure. "Explain your presence here!"
"Have mercy, Master! I am nothingnot worthy even of your contempt! The gods have spurned me and I crawl like a worm through the belly of the world!"
"I know what you're doing," Nom Anor spat. "I'm not blind, fool! But you still haven't told me why you are doing it. Stand up and address my face!" The plaeryin bol in his left eye socket tensed, ready to spit venom should the Shamed One show any sign of recognizing him.
The scruffy creature raised himself to a hunched crouch, holding his lamp upward in supplication. His face in the dim light was lumpy and twisted; his eyes were crooked, and his nose seemed to be on the verge of sliding right off his face. The result of poor breeding practice, Nom Anor observed disgustedly to himself.
"I am lost, Master. That is all. I swear it! I was separated from my work detail and became confused. I tried to follow their voices, but the echoes confused me. I am worthless and humble and submit to your will in all things, Master."
The Shamed One bent low, still mumbling his apologies and supplications. Nom Anor pushed him roughly backward with one foot. The former executor knew a liar when he met one. The question was, why was the Shamed One lying? And, more importantly, what exactly was he lying about?
"What is your name?" he asked when the Shamed One fell silent.
"Vuurok I'pan, Master," the creature replied, barely looking up.
"How long have you been lost down here, I'pan?"
"I have lost track of time, Master," he said. "But it feels like hours."
"Do you have water on you?"
"No, Master," he answered, averting his stare to the ground. "There is no drinkable water down here that I have found."
"Really?" Nom Anor ran a thick finger over his painfully cracked lips. "It is odd, then, don't you think, that your lips do not seem as dry as mine?"
The Shamed One's eyes went wide as he stammered out a reply. "It feels like hours since I became lost, Master. But perhaps it hasn't been so long."
Nom Anor resisted the urge to smile in triumph. Poor liars tripped constantly over their untruths. "Tell me," he said, stepping over to I'pan. "What was the work detail you were assigned to? Who was your overseer? If it wasn't so long ago that you became lost, then they might not be too far away. Perhaps we can find them, yes?"
Vuurok I'pan whimpered. Nom Anor kicked him again, putting all his rage and frustration into the blow.
"Fool! Who do you think you are lying to? You have no tools and aren't even dressed for underground detail!"
"Please, Master! I am no one. I am nothing. I am rish-ek olgrol immek 'in inwey"
"Silence!" Another kick. "Your voice is an offense to my ears!"
The Shamed One became a bundle of quivering rags, face covered by sticklike arms and bony back upraised. Nom Anor thought rapidly to himself. If this Vuurok I'pan creature was a runaway, then he must have found some way to stay alive in the underground of Yuuzhan'tar. If Nom Anor could gain access to that means, he, too, might be able to live a little longer. That, for now, was all that mattered.
"Take me to the others," he snarled, putting every iota of command into his voice.
"Others?" the Shamed One squeaked. "What others?"
"Understand this, I'pan," Nom Anor said. "The only reaso n you have not died a coward's death is because you could be of value to me. Should it turn out that I have overestimated your worth, then I shall be sure to reconsider my actions."
"No, Master, please!" I'pan quickly withdrew on all fours, cowering a meter or so away. "I shall take you to the others, I swear! I swear it on the name of"
"If your Shamed tongue so much as dares utter one more word, I shall rip it out and eat it for my sustenance."
I'pan fell silent without another word. Instead he stood andslowly, as though wary of turning his back on Nom Anorbegan hobbling back the way he had come. Nom Anor followed just as cautiously, aware that he had no particular reason to trust this broken spirit he had coerced into doing his will. For all he knew, I'pan could be leading him into a trapor worse, if he was as foolish as he appeared, leading them both to their doom on the surface, convinced he might be able to bargain a pardon from the warmaster.
But what choice did he have? He had to go where the Shamed One led him. It was either that or continue wandering aimlessly through this gods-forsaken planet. He had survived this long, true, but how much longer could he last before he succumbed to thirst and hunger? Or before one of the search parties got lucky and found him?
No. He needed these "others" if he was to survive. If they were as pathetic as I'pan, he was sure he would be able to use them to his advantage .. .
I'pan began to relax as their journey progressed. His posture straightened and his voice became firmer, advising where to step cautiously and where to duck his head. He occasionally stole glances at Nom Anor as they walked, nervously at first, but then more boldly as they moved farther into the tunnels. The former executor could practically hear the other's mind turning over. He had no doubt that the Shamed One suspected now who he was.
"What?" he barked after I'pan turned around for the third time in as many paces.
"Nothing, Master." I'pan focused all his attention forward.
Nom Anor grabbed the neck of his flapping robe and hauled him off balance. "What is it you are thinking, my stinking worm ?"
"I am wondering, Master..."
"Speak it!" Nom Anor shook him to loosen his tongue.
"Are youare you a Shamed One like us?"
Nom Anor struck I'pan so hard that blood from his gashed fingers splashed in a wide arc across the metallic floor between them. I'pan bounced off a nearby wall and collapsed to the grou
nd with a pained grunt. Before he had a chance to collect himself, Nom Anor picked him up again and hurled him into the opposite wall. This time I'pan could not hold on to the lamp, and it went flying down the corridor, its pale light reflecting briefly off abandoned machinery buried in the walls.
The moaning of the Shamed One as he again tried to pick himself up only incensed Nom Anor further, and the former executor's vision dissolved into spinning blotches as a torrent of rage exploded behind his eyes. He heard himself screaming words that even he couldn't understand as he pummeled I'pan again and again, the Shamed One curling around himself to protect his face from the assault, whimpering helplessly as blows and kicks were rained down upon him.
When the fit had passed, Nom Anor sagged into himself, his anger and energy spent. Leaning against the wall, still panting heavily, he forced himself to think rationally.
Vuurok I'pan was huddled in a corner, trembling with fear. Realizing just how close he had come to killing the Shamed One to assuage his rage, despite the fact that I'pan might yet prove to be of great assistance in keeping him alive, Nom Anor offered a hand to help him to his feet. The Shamed One took it apprehensively, clearly fearing another outburst.
Nom Anor pulled him in close, breathing steadily into his face.
"Are you a Shamed One like us?"
"Ask me that again, I'pan," he said, "and those will be your last words."
Nom Anor released I'pan, walked a few paces down the passage, and collected the lamp. Returning, he shoved it into I'pan's quivering hands.
"Show me the others," he said, gesturing for I'pan to continue walking. The Shamed One did so, and in silence, not looking back once for the remainder of their journey.
Master Cilghal's infirmary was a world unto its own. Large enough to hold three examination tables and a small audience, it was designed to be a classroom as well as a place of healing. Shelves of obscure remedies and arcane technologies lined every wall; an open door led to an herbarium for growing medicinal plants; and three full-sized bacta tanks off to one side took up almost a quarter of the room. Saba liked it because, unlike most surgeries or medic stations, this place was not sterile and lifeless. Thanks to the curved walls and undulating ceiling being layered with sopor-moss to aid the patients' recovery, the air in the room was both rich and invigorating.
The human Jedi Tahiri Veila lay unconscious on the center examination table. A small group had gathered around her, watching with concern as Master Cilghal examined her. Several of Saba's apprentices had spent time with Tahiri while on their mission to the Yuuzhan Vong worldship orbiting Myrkr, seeking out the voxyn queen. It had been a mission that had not gone smoothly, and had resulted in the loss of a number of their party including Anakin Solo, Han and Leia's younger son. Only one of Saba's apprentices had survived. It had been a perilous mission, so she was lucky to have even that one survive. TesarSaba stopped in midthought and brought herself to the present. Hunt the moment, one of the elders of her family had once told her. Grip it in your claws and never let it go. Slip too far into the past or the future, and you will be lost.
Such teachings arose from a barbarous past, in which grief and fear lurked everywhere one looked, but they had echoes in Jedi training. She had learned to strip herself back to a single point of consciousness, focused solely on the task at hand. Applying such meditation techniques was almost second nature to her. Indeed, they were arguably the only things that had saved her mind after the destruction of so much she had held dear. Hunt the moment.. .
Saba had never regarded herself as being particularly close to Tahiri. They were differentthey came from different worlds, had different backgrounds, and held different values. Nevertheless, they were bound simply by virtue of being Jedi. In the short time Saba had known Tahiri, she had struck Saba as a Jedi with a bright future ahead of her. She had come across as young and inexperienced but still full of potential. As with many Jedi, Tahiri was powered by an inner determination. A fire burned in her that had remained undiminished even by the death of the boy she'd loved, Anakin Solo.
She wondered where that fire was now, in the body of the frail, young human before her. If she, too, was trying in her own way to focus on what lay before her.
Anakin's parents were there, looking as concerned as they would for one of their own offspring. Outside,
watching through the sterile barrier that cordoned off the room, were a number of other concerned individuals, Jag Fel and Belindi Kalenda among them.
All attention was on Jaina, as she tried to explain to Master Cilghal what had happened.
"She collapsed in one of the public halls," she said, her hands animated in front of her. She was clearly upset by the turn of events. "We traced her there after she called me on her comlink. She soundedupset. She wasn't making much sense."
Master Cilghal gestured and Tekli handed her the instrument she required. Their unspoken communication was near perfect, obviously the result of a familiarity developed over years of working together.
"What was she saying?" the healer asked, her moist, webbed hands pressing a nutrient gel to Tahiri's forehead. Even Saba could tell that Tahiri was malnourished.
"She" Again Jaina hesitated. "She said that Anakin was trying to kill her. Like I said, she wasn't making much sense."
Saba wasn't an expert at reading human body language, but she sensed that Jaina was hiding something.
"I felt her calling for Anakin through the Force," Master Skywalker was saying.
Jacen Solo nodded, exchanging glances with his twin sister. Saba suspected that Tahiri's grief was touching places uncomfortably close to their own.
"I see no reason for Tahiri's collapse," Master Cilghal concluded upon finishing her scan of the young woman. "Physically her body is under stress, but she isn't ill. As far as I can tell, all she needs is to rest and eat properly for a couple of weeks. I suggest we let her sleep for the moment. Until she wakes up and we can talk to her, there really is little else we can do."
Leia stood to one side, with her husband's arm around her waist. Her eyes were glistening. "Do everything you can for her," she said. "I refuse to let her become another victim of this war."
Master Cilghal looked up and nodded her head. "I'll place her in a private ward, under full observation."
Leia turned and walked from the room. Han and Mara went with her, followed by Jaina and Jacen. Saba started to go also, but was stopped by Master Sky-walker's voice.
"Not you, Saba." He spoke in a way that made it sound like a request, not a command. "Please, stay for a moment."
She obeyed, returning to stand with him and the two healers over the supine body of the human girl. Saba's eyes were most sensitive to the infrared part of the spectrum, so the finer details of Tahiri's face were lost to her. But something was burning deep within her, that much Saba could tell. Tahiri lay flat on her back, her chest gently rising and falling, eyes roving behind closed lidsto all appearances, the girl was sleeping. But Tahiri was radiating heat like a furnace, as though her body was working overtime even while lying still. And there was something about that fire that raged insi de her .. .
Now that she was closer, Saba found herself intrigued by it. It wasn't a fire that needed fuel; if anything, it seemed to be burning itself, as strange as that sounded.
"What is it you see, Saba?" Master Skywalker asked.
"This one iz not sure," she replied.
"But there is something?" Master Cilghal pressed, her huge eyes rolling inquisitively.
Saba nodded uncertainly. "There seemz to be, yez."
She searched the young woman for any sign of what might be wrong. Her peculiar sensitivity to life wasn't the same gift as that possessed by Master Cilghal and the other healers. Saba wasn't attuned the same way they were. Disease, in the form of viruses and bacteria, was a sort of life, too, and deserved respect. She might flinch at a warrior beheading a shenbit and leaving its meat behind, but she could rejoice in the progress of a plague. That hadn't endeared her to
some of her colleagues. The Jedi teachings told them that they should be devoted to preserving lifea philosophy to which she wholeheartedly subscribed. Which life, though, was the question that troubled Saba. Was an intelligent being such as herself, for example, of more intrinsic value to the Force than, say, a swarm of piranha-beetles? She wasn't as sure as her fellow students had seemed to be that that question had a simple answer.
This ability to sense life had grown since Barab I. It made her an asset when the healers failed; she saw something that they did not, when the flow of life was imperiled rather than life itself. Her frequenting of the medical wards of Mon Calamari had enabled her to exercise her gift more frequently than was possible on a battlefield, enabling it to grow stronger, more refined. When she looked at Tahirireally looked at her, not just with her basic sense of smell and sight-she saw the usual human patterns of life swirling through her. If each cell was a star, then her veins were hyperspace trade routes and her nerves were HoloNet channels. What looked like a single, continuous body on the outside was in fact a joyfully chaotic community containing billions of components. The flow of information and energy among those components was what Saba saw when she looked at Tahirior anything living, for that matter. Life was a process, not a thing.
But in Tahiri she saw something else, too. There were disruptions to the flow, strange eddies where it would normally be still, and pools of calm in areas that she was used to seeing active. There was more to this young human than met the eye.
"I wonder," Master Skywalker mused. "Jaina is closest to Anakin in temperament, so perhaps that is why Tahiri came to her. And the Yuuzhan Vong have just suffered their greatest losses since the beginning of the war ..."
Master Cilghal looked up inquiringly when he trailed off into silence. "You believe you know what afflicts her, Luke?"
"For certain?" He shook his head sadly. "No. But if we had the time, I think Saba here could figure it out. Unfortunately, there is vital work that needs to be doneby all of us." He turned to Saba. His eyes were deep and full of concern and determination in equal measures. "We leave tomorrow. You, too, Tekli." The healer's apprentice bowed solemnly and silently. "I would stay to be with Tahiri, given the choice, but..."
Star Wars - The New Jedi Order - Force Heretic I - Remnant - Book 17 Page 6