Tales From the New Republic

by Peter Schweighofer

"You disagree?" Fable asked, stepping into the center of the wax

  cylinders.

  "Where there is smoke, there is fire." Brandl straightened, staring down

  his nose at her for a long moment. "Viaico is a coward. His tactics are mere

  illusions, prey for the weakminded."

  Brushing off the possible insult, Fable shrugged. "But he is powerful."

  Shaking her head remorsefully, she whispered, "I can't beat him. At least, I

  don't think so."

  "Losing is not an option... it's a conscious decision. You will not know

  until you try."

  "Trying isn't good enough! I have to succeed or-was

  "Or he may succeed in his attempts to lure you to the dark side? How do

  you know that I will not turn you?"

  Fable felt a tremor down her back. "I don't."

  "The student's greatest achievement is attained through succession,"

  Brandl began, "a succession which requires the destruction of the Master. This

  is what the dark side teaches us. But what you must always remember is that

  when we embrace the darkness, we are already masters in the design of fate,

  humbling ourselves as students." He leaned heavily against the massive stone

  tomb. "When we seek the dark side, we seek our doom. Too often, we are

  successful."

  "So you'll help me?"

  "Viaico's undoing is inevitable. Even I have seen this."

  "So I'll win, right?"

  Brandl gently tugged at the clasp of his robe, loosening the collar. "If

  you're looking for visions. Fable, sit quietly and dwell on your past. Now

  prepare yourself. See the ball bearing directly ahead of you, sitting atop the

  wax cylinder? Draw your lightsaber and strike it. Destroy only the metal

  bearing. Leave the wax unharmed."

  Fable hesitated, deliberately slow in assuming the ready stance.

  Breathing with effort, she stared at the ball bearing, her wounded hand

  tingling from her last experience with the lightsaber.

  "The dark side's influence is stronger in moments of weakness. Do not let

  yourself be distracted. Now strike."

  Fable drew the lightsaber from her belt, concentrating on its ignition.

  Swinging in a wide arc, she struck at the ball bearing, elated as it

  evaporated into nothingness,

  leaving the wax cylinder slightly scorched but unharmed. She disengaged

  the weapon and resumed the ready stance, unable to hide the arrogant smirk

  etched across her features.

  "When climbing great mountains, it is always best to begin at a slow

  pace," Brandl remarked quietly. "Now strike for two."

  Without waiting to focus on the pedestal's position, she ignited the

  lightsaber and struck two blows, swinging the blade toward the ball bearings

  and disintegrating them as the cylinders remained untouched. Overwhelmed with

  confidence, she again disengaged the weapon and resumed the ready position,

  eager to begin the next phase.

  "No gain comes without a price. I will be your mentor and you my pupil.

  You will forever carry the distinguish ment of my presence, as well as the

  taint," he stumbled over the word, "the traits of my own Masters."

  "You mean the Emperor," Fable whispered, "don't you?"

  "I chose the path that led me to this life," Brandl continued, "I will

  lead you on a parallel course, where I will show you the glories of the light

  and the majesty of the dark." He nodded, indicating the next alignment of wax

  cylinders. "Now strike for ten."

  Fable faltered for a moment; then fresh with the assurance of her

  performance, she ignited the lightsaber and charged, working her way through

  the line. As she reached for the fourth cylinder, she felt herself

  floundering. Furiously struggling to the fifth, she sliced neatly through the

  cylinder and knocked the ball bearing at her feet. In a failed attempt to

  rally for the sixth, she tripped and fell into the wet earth, taking several

  stands and cylinders with her.

  Brandl slowly descended from the mound, stepping just inside the

  perimeter of the training circle. Shamefully rising to her feet. Fable

  flinched as he drew his lightsaber and moved toward her. With a resonating

  power that spread out from it in all directions, the lightsaber became a smear

  of brilliance as Brandl worked his way through the wax cylinders. He destroyed

  one ball bearing after another, leaving no perceptible mark on the wax. Fable

  watched in awe as the weapon danced through a score or more of ball bearings

  before Brandl completed the cadence and disengaged the weapon. Gawking at the

  craftsmanship, she turned to Brandl. "You really are a Jedi Master."

  "Only fools admire what they see," he hissed evenly, brushing past her.

  "I know... for once I was a fool." The first drops of rain began to fall,

  quickly covering the barrows with a slick film of water and loose earth. "You

  will continue this exercise until you have mastered it properly. Only then may

  you return to the theater."

  "And if I can't," Fable insisted.

  "You know where your ship is docked. Don't hesitate to go back to

  wherever it is you came from." He left her alone, with no further comment.

  Nearly eight hours later, Fable walked through the stormy deluge of rain,

  listening to the frigid drops against her shoulders. Every chafing step

  brought her closer to the theater and closer to a temper tantrum of monumental

  proportions. Jaalib was waiting for her at the door with a modest smile and a

  warm blanket. "He asks the impossible!" she hissed.

  The actor draped the blanket over her shoulders. "Your dinner's getting

  cold."

  Fable pushed through the door other room, startled to find a heavy

  plasteel tub in the center of the floor, steaming with hot water. "A bath?"

  she whispered wearily. "Oh," she groaned, stumbling across the floor,

  discarding boots, socks, and belt as she moved across the room. About to pull

  the muddy shirt over her arms, Fable hesitated, feeling a draft from the door,

  where Jaalib stood, watching her. "Do you mind?"

  Flushing with embarrassment, he stepped back into the shadows. "I'll

  bring your dinner later," he stammered and closed the door behind him.

  As its orbital axis began its seasonal tilt, Trulalis was thrust into a

  tempestuous season of torrential rainfall and thunderstorms. Dawn showers

  became steady downpours by the afternoon, flooding the gutted lowlands with

  muddy water and the persistent rumble of thunder. Above the biting autumn

  breeze, the hum of a lightsaber was interrupted by the rattle of falling

  pedestals, wax cylinders, and ball bearings as Fable blundered through the

  exercise.

  Brandl watched with mounting dissatisfaction. As the last pedestal fell

  to the saturated earth, he stormed down from his high mound. "You little fool!

  Do it again!"

  Fable braced herself against the malevolent voice, glaring at the ground,

  too frightened to meet Brandl's cruel eyes. Despite a streak of improvement,

  she was steadily losing ground and his frustration was proof of that, as were

  the whispered obscenities spoken vehemently under his breath. She watched his

  broad, swaying shoulders as the Jedi Master started back up the mound to his

  stony, sarcophagus throne.

>   "How eager you young upstarts are to give yourself to the Force,

  demanding tribute from it, as if you were the source of the power. The Force

  does not thrive on the basis of whether you live or breathe! It exists because

  it has always been so! Begin again!"

  Grateful to the rain for hiding her tears of humiliation, Fable tucked

  the lightsaber into her muddy leggings and started up the opposite mound.

  Defying Brandl's command, she headed for the dark solace of the theater, where

  Jaalib would be waiting for her with a warm blanket and a much-needed kind

  word.

  Enraged by her failure to comply, Brandl pursued her, throwing

  accusations and threats of retribution. Though Fable had seen only traces of

  it, she recognized the temperament and arrogance that must have been the

  beginning of Brandl's descent into the Emperor's power. And though she felt

  numb from the onslaught of his dreary emotions, she had transcended his mental

  barriers and become an admiring witness to the dedication and devotion that

  had kept him whole through the trial of his life. He was a man who would stop

  at nothing to accomplish his goals and he would kill her in an instant, if it

  so suited his purpose. And the time they had spent together, learning and

  growing, would hold no bearing on his decision. Sickened by the thought, Fable

  found herself in a position to admire and loathe the fallen Jedi.

  Fable slowly pushed through the door of the theater. It was early and

  Jaalib was not there as she had expected. Emotionally spent and demoralized,

  she nearly collapsed right there at the threshold, desperate for the young

  actor's support after yet another dismal day of training. As she stepped from

  the rain, Brandl was right behind her with another scathing assault. "The

  Force is your enemy! Turn your back on it and it will destroy you! It is your

  lover! Lust for it! Spurn it and it will devour you in fire. But go to it, as

  a child to its mother, make yourself humble before the omnipotence of its

  existence and it will guide you beyond the shallow confines of this mortal

  world!"

  Alarmed by the commotion, Jaalib hurried into the antechamber, placing

  himself between Fable and his father. Bordering on obvious hysteria, she

  stumbled into his arms, dampening his shoulder with well-deserved tears.

  Putting the blanket over Fable's trembling shoulders, Jaalib gently sent her

  off to her room. "Your bath is waiting," he whispered quietly. "I'll be there

  in a moment."

  Waiting for the girl's shadow to dissipate in the adjoining darkness,

  Brandl hissed, "She's impossible!"

  "Odd," Jaalib chuckled, handing his father a steaming cup of broth, "she

  said the same about you."

  "She is so charged with emotion and sentiment!" he growled, allowing his

  emotions to show through the aloof veneer. "It's as if your mother never-was

  his voice broke off abruptly, "as if your mother never left us."

  "She didn't leave us," Jaalib replied matter-of-factly. "She died,

  defending me from stormtroopers. Stormtroopers and Jedi hunters who came

  looking for you." He sniffed at the absurdity of his mother's devotion to the

  man who had abandoned them, only to return eight years later, bringing the

  darkness of his life with him. "When they didn't find you, they found a way to

  justify the cost of their visit by obliterating the village."

  "Courtesy costs little, Edjian-Prince, and discourtesy can rob even the

  richest man of his fortune."

  Feigning anger, Jaalib drew away from his father, recognizing the famous

  line. "Courtesy?" he declared impishly. "Then no more call me Edjian-Prince.

  Dress me in rags and let me be a poor, rude man."

  Brandl's face brightened with the spontaneous performance. "You've been

  practicing! Excellent! You're finding the right voice for the part. Come," he

  whispered eagerly, pulling Jaalib against him, "we should use this moment to

  complete the final act." Together, they vanished into the shadows of an

  adjoining corridor.

  Relaxed and warm beneath the downy comforters. Fable resisted the notion

  of rising. She laid very still, waiting for the inevitable knock on the door.

  "Come in." "You're awake?" Jaalib remarked, peering inside. "I'm usually

  awake," she chuckled. "I just pretend to be asleep so you'll feel sorry for

  me."

  "Why would you want me to feel sorry for you?" "Come on," she rolled her

  eyes. "You're father is the most difficult man I've ever known, Jaalib."

  Sitting up on her elbows, she teased, "Look what I've been going through and

  then tell me you don't feel some sympathy."

  "Consider yourself fortunate. He was a lot worse, believe me."

  "Worse?" she scoffed. "What do you mean?" "In the last five years, he had

  to be a father, a mother," Jaalib sighed sadly, "as well as a mentor. It

  changed him."

  "I knew I would have to work hard," Fable said, "but I was certain that

  all the work would be keeping him from luring me to the dark side."

  "Has he tried?"

  "I don't think so. Every time I feel it coming on, he stops me and tells

  me to make the right choice. My choice." She yawned, throwing the comforter to

  the side. "I'd better go."

  "My father's not here," Jaalib said. "He's going to be away for a few

  days; so there's no training, unless you do it on your own." He forced himself

  to face her openly, allowing himself only the solace of the shadows about them

  to conceal his apprehension. "I was hoping you might go on a picnic with me.

  To make up for my behavior."

  "Your behavior?"

  "You remember, when you first arrived." He laughed softly. "I all but

  attacked you. It was inexcusable."

  "And perfectly justified. You were protecting the person who is most

  important to you. I would have done nothing less." Patting the side of the

  bed, she beckoned him to sit down beside her. "My mother was a Jedi. She

  trained my father and then watched him die at the hands of a rival. After

  that, we spent most of our time running from the Emperor." Fable shook her

  head sadly. "I was only a baby, but I remember it well. Living with a Jedi,"

  she paused thoughtfully, "you learn to hide your emotions, especially the

  hurtful ones. My mother never knew how I felt." Fable sighed as the strain of

  those emotions returned. "Then one day, I picked up a lightsaber and let go!"

  She giggled. "I don't know who was more surprised, my mother or me. That's

  when I began my training, whether I liked it or not." Fable shrugged away the

  arduous memories. "Now about that picnic, I'm starving."

  "We'll have to hike, I'm afraid. The Empire didn't leave much behind in

  the way of transportation. Not even a bantha. Do you mind?"

  "It'll be relaxing. Come on."

  The Khoehng Heights were located nearly five kilometers outside the

  perimeter of the Kovit Settlement. Long overgrown by wild wheat, the trail

  leading into the mountain pass had narrowed, no longer marked with the

  footsteps of the farmers who once tended it. It was a rare, clear morning.

  Storm clouds loomed in the distance, held back by a persistent wave of warm

  breezes blowing through the lowlands. From the Heigh
ts, Fable scanned the

  panoramic view of the countryside. She could see the winding trail that led

  into the base of the lower mountains. The footpath climbed to give her

  inquisitive eyes the full benefit of the view.

  Fable sighed with immeasurable pleasure, her stomach full of warm sweet

  cakes and honeysticks. She endured Jaalib's gentle caress at her cheek, as he

  playfully wiped the excess sweet powder from her face. "I've been in space too

  long," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "It's so beautiful here."

  "After they left," Jaalib whispered, "we were cut off. No supplies, no

  medicinal goods, nothing. There was plenty of food ready for harvesting, but

  there was no one left to do it."

  Fable hummed a melancholy tune. Shivering in the mountain air, she turned

  to Jaalib and held his gaze as he draped his cloak over her shoulders. "Why do

  they call this place the Khoehng Heights? Is that Old Corellian?"

  "There's an outdoor theater built into the side of this mountain," he

  replied, indicating a slight, stony ridge. "This place is named for the first

  play ever performed there nearly five hundred years ago."

  "Five hundred years ago?" she gasped. was Uhl Eharl Khoehng. Khoehngis

  Old Corellian for king. The ehad comes from Socorran mythology." He shrugged

  uncertainly. "It means elf or trickster."

  Reminded of her Socorran companion, Deke, Fable felt a pang of remorse

  for leaving him. Her thoughts were abruptly diverted by a clap of thunder

  overhead. The skies released a deluge of cold rain. Frantically gathering the