The Rise of Skywalker

by Rae Carson

  She was in trouble.

  He was unencumbered by helmet or cape, and he sprinted for the monolith, ducked beneath it, launched himself into the shaft. Nothing would stop him from reaching her.

  He caught himself on one of the massive chains dangling from the ceiling and looked down. The floor was so far below him that it was lost in shadow. Too far to climb down quickly, probably too far to jump down safely.

  Probably.

  Rey had healed him. He had accepted his father’s forgiveness. He might even forgive himself someday.

  He would find the strength to make everything right, no matter what.

  Ben Solo called on the Force, and dropped.

  CHAPTER 17

  Finn was not so caught up in rigging the nav bunker to explode that he did not notice how, one by one, the Star Destroyer thrusters began to glow bright blue.

  “Those thrusters are hot!” said Poe over the comm. “Finn, how we doin’?”

  Almost there…Just one more bit of putty…

  Finn gave Jannah the signal, and they both ducked, hands over their heads, as Finn triggered the explosion.

  Boom! His ears rang with the blast, and pressure hit his back. Lights across the surface of the Destroyer went dark.

  * * *

  —

  “Navigation beacon’s shut down,” a technician yelled. “Repeat, navigation beacon down. Final Order fleet, hold position. No deployment! Resetting all systems!”

  Now Pryde was angry. These gnats were proving unexpectedly vexing.

  The Star Destroyers all powered back down to standby mode. They were vulnerable now, but only for a few minutes. Their hulls were strong; the gnats’ mission was futile.

  The Steadfast would have to reset its nav systems to regain comms, but it wouldn’t take long. The gnats had bought themselves so little time, he couldn’t see why they’d bothered.

  Allegiant General Pryde was going to enjoy destroying the last remnant of the Resistance.

  * * *

  —

  R2-D2 beeped in celebration as engine lights dimmed all across the fleet.

  “Nav beacon’s down!” Poe yelled. “They did it!” He swooped toward the Steadfast, catching a glimpse of Finn and Jannah racing toward their orbak mounts, BB-8 at their heels.

  “You got three minutes,” Finn said, “until the command ship resets the nav and the fleet can escape.”

  “Still no Falcon or backup,” came Snap Wexley’s voice.

  R2 beeped a question to Poe. Off comm, he answered, “I don’t know, Artoo. Maybe they didn’t find any allies. Maybe nobody’s coming.”

  He stared out at the fleet, his own words echoing in his head. Maybe nobody’s coming…

  What would Leia do?

  He turned his comm back on and said, “We gotta hit them ourselves.”

  “What can we do against those things?” Tyce asked.

  “Whatever we can! Be fast, be precise, hit those cannons. You with me?”

  “We’re with you,” Tyce responded without hesitation.

  “Right behind you, General,” said Snap.

  Poe started flicking switches. “All wings, arm torpedoes! Attack formation!” He paused. Took a deep breath. “May the Force be with us.”

  Led by Poe, their tiny squadron phalanxed toward a stalled Destroyer, firing on its vulnerable underbelly cannons. The hull lit up with explosions.

  * * *

  —

  Finn, Jannah, and BB-8 raced after the orbak company toward the lander. Blasterfire erupted all around them. But Finn came to a halt, realizing that every shot aimed at them was coming from a blaster. The deck cannons had gone silent with the reset.

  BB-8 kept rolling after the orbaks, but Jannah turned. “Finn! Let’s go!”

  “The surface cannons stopped,” he said. “They’re resetting their systems.”

  “So?” She looked toward the lander, back at Finn.

  “So before they do…” Finn stared at the cannon. This had to be the worst idea he’d ever had. “Maybe we can do some shifty stuff.” Yep, definitely the worst. He turned back to Jannah and said, “Jannah, go. I gotta do something.”

  “No. I’m staying with you.”

  He’d learned better than to argue with a determined woman. He nodded his thanks, and together they sprinted for the cannon.

  * * *

  —

  Framed by the Steadfast’s viewport window, the designated advance Destroyer Derriphan turned into a ball of fire as a trio of A-wings swooped out of range of the blast they’d created.

  Pryde grimaced. There were bound to be casualties, and the Derriphan had been commanded by a mediocre captain with no real potential—that ship had been designated expendable after all. But he hated for the gnats to claim any sort of victory.

  “How much longer?” Pryde demanded.

  “Ships coming back online in just a few seconds,” said a technician.

  “Then reset the navigation signal!” he commanded. “I want the fleet deployed!”

  * * *

  —

  Finn and Jannah arrived at the cannon, began circling cautiously, like it was a wounded animal, ready to attack.

  “This is the command ship,” Jannah said. “We take it out now, the whole nav system goes down for good.”

  “Every Star Destroyer in this fleet!” Finn said.

  “All of them without shields! This could end them.”

  “Finn!” came Rose’s voice on comm just as he began climbing up the cannon.

  “Rose!” he said. He hoped she and the rest of the ground team were safely back on the lander.

  “Lander’s leaving,” Rose said. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

  He reached the massive gun barrel. Finn said, “I’m saving what I love.”

  A long pause. Jannah whipped up her bow to take out a jet trooper winging their way, then pivoted quickly and did the same to a ground trooper.

  “Go without us,” Finn urged. “We’re taking this whole ship down.”

  Rose finally found her voice. “…What? How?”

  “You’ll see from the lander. Rose, please. Go. And…take care of yourself.”

  * * *

  —

  “The ritual begins!” the Emperor cried out, and the mass of followers surrounding them responded with a ceremonial chant so loud and deep it shook the very ground. “She will strike me down, and pledge herself as a Sith.”

  The lightning in the cavernous cathedral intensified, reflected against her grandfather’s milk-blind eyes. She took one step forward. Another.

  Thoughts shielded from the Emperor, she sent out her awareness, searching. There!

  She just had to stall a little bit longer.

  * * *

  —

  The robed figures had not bothered Ben at all when he was here last, but this time they launched themselves at him with fury. He blasted them easily, one shot for every kill. Not long ago, he would have taken pleasure in this, but now he had only one consuming desire: Help Rey.

  He reached the end of the Sith monoliths and rounded a corner. Familiar figures manifested in the flashing dark. First Vicrul and his scythe. Then Kiruk and his plasma blaster. And suddenly all six were arrayed before him. His Knights.

  For the briefest moment, Ben actually thought they’d come to help.

  But hate rolled off them in waves like fetid air. The Knights of Ren had never been his. They had belonged to the Emperor all along.

  A final betrayal.

  Snoke had been nothing more than a pawn. The Emperor had whispered poison to Ben his whole life. Now even the Knights, those whom he thought his faithful brothers, were raising their weapons for the kill.

  They surrounded him slowly, like predators stalking their prey. He coul
d take two or three at a time, but these were his very own. He’d trained with them. They could even touch the Force in a small way. He didn’t stand a chance against all of them at once, not armed with just a blaster.

  Maybe it had been premature to throw his lightsaber into the sea.

  An image lit up his mind, another lightsaber, flashing blue. It was a message from Rey.

  * * *

  —

  “She will draw her weapon,” the Emperor intoned.

  Rey made her face blank. She unhooked Luke’s lightsaber and ignited it.

  “She will come to me!” he said, and the crowd responded with a collective yell.

  Rey stepped closer still. Her grandfather smelled like rotting meat.

  * * *

  —

  Ben blasted one attacker, thrusted away another with the Force, spun to face a third…

  …as something cracked the back of his skull, sending him to his knees.

  Another blow crushed his abdomen, robbing him of air, and he bent over gasping.

  The Knights, in their supreme arrogance, backed away, allowed Ben to gain his feet. He seemed defenseless to them. They must have never really respected him, or even his abilities, to give him ground now.

  Ben sucked in air as they circled for another attack.

  * * *

  —

  “She will take her revenge,” Palpatine boomed.

  Rey continued to approach. His power was intoxicating. She found herself raising her weapon, almost against her will. If not for the other presence in her mind, bright and shining with light, she would not have been able to resist him.

  “And with the stroke of her saber, the Sith are reborn! The Jedi are dead!”

  Wave after wave of triumph emanated from him, and along with it came knowledge, memories. Maybe it was their shared blood that enabled her to see his thoughts, but somehow she could, and Rey saw it then, how he’d done it, what he was about to do again:

  Falling…

  falling…

  falling…down a massive shaft, the betrayal sharp and stinging, a figure high above, black clad and helmeted and shrinking fast. His very own apprentice had turned against him, the way he himself had turned against Plagueis…whose secret to immortality he had stolen.

  Plagueis had not acted fast enough in his own moment of death. But Sidious, sensing the flickering light in his apprentice, had been ready for years. So the falling, dying Emperor called on all the dark power of the Force to thrust his consciousness far, far away, to a secret place he had been preparing. His body was dead, an empty vessel, long before it found the bottom of the shaft, and his mind jolted to new awareness in a new body—a painful one, a temporary one.

  It was too soon. The secret place had not completed its preparations. The transfer was imperfect, and the cloned body wasn’t enough. Perhaps Plagueis was having the last laugh after all. Maybe his secret remained secret. Because Palpatine was trapped in a broken, dying form.

  The heretics of the Sith Eternal toiled, splicing genes, bolstering tissue, creating unnatural abominations in the hope that one of these strandcasts would succeed and become a worthy receptacle. The heretics would do anything, risk anything, sacrifice anything, to create a cradle for their god-consciousness.

  Nothing worked. But their efforts were not entirely in vain.

  One genetic strandcast lived. Thrived, even. A not-quite-identical clone. His “son.” But he was a useless, powerless failure. Palpatine could not even bear to look upon such disappointing ordinariness.

  The boy’s only worth would lay in continuing the bloodline through more natural methods.

  And it was through that eventual union, unexpected as it was, that Rey was born. The perfect vessel. Strong enough to contain all the power of the Sith. His granddaughter…

  The vision shifted. It was Luke, sitting crosslegged on the island of Ahch-To, trembling with effort as he projected himself onto the battlefield of Crait.

  And yet another flash, this time of Leia in her jungle quarters, giving everything she had to send a final thought to Ben.

  They were all manifestations of the same power. And now Rey would use it in her own way.

  She lifted her saber as if to strike—

  —and reached for the connection she shared with Ben. Showed him.

  He acknowledged her, and Rey’s lips parted in surprise. It felt different now. The connection was…right. Good. Like coming home.

  Ben was similarly stunned, and together, they wasted a precious moment reveling in this new sharing. This is how it should have been all along. A true dyad.

  The Emperor and Snoke had robbed them of this.

  “Do it!” Palpatine screamed. “Make the sacrifice!”

  Rey lowered the lightsaber behind her back, as if readying for a massive blow. She reached for the Force. The effort made tears sting in her eyes.

  The Emperor leaned forward with gleeful anticipation.

  She raised her hand…which was now empty. She had projected her weapon away.

  Rey watched her grandfather’s dawning horror as he finally realized his mistake, allowing Rey and Ben to come together. Their bond—refined in the fire of mutual searching, shared grief, rage and hate, but also of compassion and empathy—was the one thing he had not foreseen.

  * * *

  —

  The moment Ben felt the grip of Luke’s lightsaber in his palm, he knew it belonged to him, an extension of his very own self. He raised it slowly, relishing the feel of it.

  The Knights startled backward a few steps.

  Surprise, he imagined his father saying.

  He attacked.

  Rey grabbed Leia’s lightsaber from where she had hooked it to her belt, behind her back. Ignited it.

  Suddenly, she was surrounded by the crimson-clad guards. They raised their blasters and fired. She deflected one blast with her hand, sent it careening into the abdomen of one of the guards, while whipping her lightsaber around to block the rest.

  She drew on Ben’s strength, and he drew on hers, and just like before, they were separate but also together, Rey battling guards, Ben battling the Knights.

  Behind you, she warned, and he brought up his saber to block his back, whirled, impaled Trudgen, flipped over his falling body, spun, and did the same to Ushar.

  He stared at the bodies of his fallen former comrades. Then he sprinted for the throne room—

  —as Rey used the Force to collapse a guard under his own weight, and then throw him back into the darkness. She deflected another blaster bolt, dodged another. She spun to face the final guard, but Ben got there first and tossed him aside like a piece of garbage.

  They stood facing each other for the space of one breath, two…together at last. Ben was different. Relaxed. Unguarded. How had Rey not noticed before that he had the long face and posture of his father, the warm brown eyes of his mother?

  As one, they turned to face Palpatine, dropped into fighting stances, raised their lightsabers.

  The Emperor snarled. “Stand together, die together,” he said. Then he raised his rotting hand and impaled them with the Force.

  Their backs arched against their wills, and the pain was breathtaking. Their lightsabers dropped from their hands and clattered to the ground.

  The Emperor yanked them toward himself, and they slid across the floor, helpless against his power, as he took, and took, and took.

  The Emperor gasped. Stared at his hands, which had begun knitting themselves back together, bones regrowing, pale flesh closing over them. “The life-force of your bond,” he said, his voice tinged with wonder. “A dyad in the Force!”

  His gleeful triumphant thoughts washed over Rey, as she struggled against his grip, unable to move. He had won. At last. All those years, all that searching. He’d tried to create a dyad with
Anakin, as his master had tried to create one with him. The Rule of Two, a Master always in desperate search of a yet more powerful apprentice, was a pale imitation, an unworthy but necessary successor to the older, purer doctrine of the Dyad.

  “Unseen for generations,” he crowed. “And now the power of two restores the one true Emperor!”

  He raised his perfect, healed hands, and called on all the dark power of the Force and the Sith who had come before him, and pulled their life from their very bodies. It poured from them like a river of light, leaving them weaker and weaker.

  The Emperor laughed as his body strengthened, became whole. The milky film faded from his eyes, revealing golden irises around obsidian pupils.

  * * *

  —

  “This is it!” Snap Wexley called from inside his X-wing. He fired, and felt a surge of exhultation when the belly cannon lit up like a fireworks display. He’d gotten pretty good at this. All those lessons with his stepfather, Wedge, had paid off.

  Snap’s console beeped.

  “Fleet’s locking onto a navigation signal,” he warned anyone who was listening. “They’re gonna split!”

  “Watch your starboard, Wexley,” yelled Vanik.

  He looked over. “Yeah, I see ’em.”

  But he didn’t see the other TIE, the one that came out of nowhere.

  “Snap!” Poe yelled. “Snap, Snap!”

  A blast rocked his cockpit, and he heard Poe yell, “No!”

  He had just enough time to reach down for the tiny holo he kept on his dash, whisper, “Karé,” before everything exploded with unbearable light.

  * * *

  —

  Poe stared in despair as the wreckage of Wexley’s ship peppered down against the Destroyer’s hull.

  Cries of terror and despair were lighting up his comm. They were getting torn apart.