Legends of the Jedi: The Beast of Rutan/Part II

Lonely winds slithered in between the ancient monuments as the sun, only visible by the light it cast from under the far-off mountains at the horizon, continued to set. An array of increasingly thickening clouds were colored gold by its dying light as they approached silently, wraithlike.

After my blind, rampaging fury had abated, I backtracked to the sight of my disciple's death, which appeared undisturbed since the chase began. A short search then found for me an unoccupied disk-doored tomb, where I decided to store Euthsia's body for the time being. As I thrust his dagger into the ground before it as a marker, it occurred to me that if my aim was to ensure that his body was not desecrated by his murderer, then it was ultimately a futile gesture, one made more for my own comfort than for anything else.

Guilt wrapped around me like a noose around my neck. Guilt for my blindness – despite every indication of a great evil being there on Rutan, I had not truly believed in the magnitude of the danger until it was too late. Furthermore, Euthsia's death had brought out of me something that I had been oblivious to. During my pursuit, I had been overwhelmed by a desire to avenge – but even more by a need to kill.

Instead of killing anyone, however, I had damaged tomb after tomb with my bursts of power. The more I thought of it, the more ashamed I was. The one I hunted was presumed to be the irrational, impusive being that dishonored the dead, not I. What I had done was opposed to every tenet of Jedi self-restraint and integrity that I had held dear for most of my life. What I had done constituted a betrayal of myself and my ideals. This was an act of the dark side, of feeding my impulses, not of serving justice. Euthsia's death had unleashed within my mind a plethora of black emotions that would devour me alive if I permitted them to.

Still these feelings lingered in my presence, as though the anger for my enemy and loathing for myself had stuck to my skin. Yet as soon as that stone disk had been rolled into place, my mind felt somewhat cleared. The Force returned to me stronger than before, relaxing me to a point and replenishing my strength. This was not yet over. These dark emotions were real, but I could bring peace in spite of them. I could redeem myself.

I would do so by finishing what I had started.

I arrived in the heart of the burial grounds just as dusk settled in, wide-eyed and on edge but still clutching to the Force with all of my will. It would sustain me, and I would not allow my emotions to so control me again. According to my map, I was standing in the largest collection of tombs and monuments, some layed down in rows and others placed randomly. Moreover, I could feel that this place was a nexus of power – the center of the presence I had been tracking. If I was to find my quarry, it had to be here.

I could almost smell the dark side here – it permeated my surroundings more strongly than ever before, but it felt somehow differently flavored, like it mingled with something else that I could not describe. Perhaps it was simply the aura of death – fresh death piled upon the centuries-past ones of those entombed.

This particular area had an ordinary appearance, lacking any pits, corpses, or signs of tomb defacement. Despite this, I knew that my enemy was still as present as ever, still seeking to deceive me. I moved slowly, as alert as ever. There had to be something here that I could find, some sort of a clue that would allow me to make my next move.

Abruptly, the Force signature of another being seemed to appear behind me from nothingness. It was faint and flickering, but rapidly grew stronger in clarity and distinctness. My combat reflexes instantly triggered, I spun and brought my hand to the hilt of my sword.

My mind spun with surprise. A stone's throw away stood not a monstrous beast, but instead a robed old man with dark brown hair and a thick, unkempt beard and mustache. In his right hand he held a solid-looking wooden staff nearly as tall as himself, which he leaned upon casually. He stared at me with a quizzical expression, the corners of his lips curved upward in a clear display of amusement.

Seeing me reach for my weapon, he held up his free hand. "Hold, there!" he said. "There is no need for that!" His voice was rough and somewhat grating, but he spoke in a dulled Coruscanti accent, adding a thin layer of elegance to his speech.

I hesitated for a second or two, still on edge, and scanned his presence in the Force. After I was thoroughly convinced that it was that of a normal human being, I left my sword alone. "I am sorry," I said. "I did not mean to alarm you."

The old man's smile returned, wider than before, and he shook his head. "Quite all right, my friend," he replied, taking some steps closer. "I am surprised to meet another intelligent being among these ruins. Tell me, what brings you here?"

The formal, diplomatic persona that I had adopted many times before in delicate interplanetary negotiations reasserted itself here. "My name is Morgent Kelbus, of the Order of the Jedi Knights."

The old man's gray eyes widened. "A Jedi Knight, here?" he asked, sounding impressed. "I have heard many stories about your kind. The famed peace-keeping warriors of the galaxy." He seemed to relish the words he used, each one rolling off of his tongue. "Now what brings a Jedi Knight to this place?"

"You have not introduced yourself," I remarked.

He replied with a nod, but did not oblige me. "My name... would be of little interest to you," he said simply. "I am merely a traveller, an explorer. Currently I reside among these tombs and monuments. There are some fascinating runes to be found on some of them and I occupy myself with translating them, reading the stories of the dead."

For a reason that I could not place at the time, I saw nothing odd about his act of withholding his name. Instead, I took a moment to look my new acquaintance up and down again. He was clad in thick, simple robes. Not unlike my own in design, they looked self-made and quite old, torn and mended many times. The color was a collection of dark brown shades with patches of gray, black, and occasional tan sewn on in random places. His face sported creases and wrinkles, but his gray eyes seemed to vaguely shine with a surprising vigor.

"You reside here?" I repeated, my mind readying an arsenal of follow-up questions.

"Yes," the explorer replied. "I have been here for... about one local year, I suppose. Now then, what brings you to this place?"

"I have reason to believe that you are in danger," I said. "I have come here because there is some fiend that has killed many people attempting to pass through. Almost no one who has gone among these burial grounds has returned."

The old man looked puzzled and tilted his head slightly to the side. "Some fiend?" he asked at length.

"An evil force of some kind," I replied seriously. "Mutilated corpses have been found, scattered among these ruins, dumped into pits, and burned. I also have reason to believe that it has broken into some of the tombs here. Surely you have found some of the bodies?"

He stroked his beard. "Yes, I have happened across some of the things you describe," he said slowly as though preoccupied. "And I notice that some tombs appear to have been opened recently, as you say. But a murderous entity? I have seen no such person or thing. Perhaps it is simply a rumor, an exaggeration of travellers being unfortunately killed by local animals. There are a few ferocious predators here on Rutan that tend to be underestimated, especially by off-worlders."

I shook my head at the old man, incredulous. "That cannot be the case. There have been entire parties of armed men sent that have not returned. There are dozens of corpses to be found scattered about – and evidence of campfires, as well."

The old man shrugged. "Nevertheless, I am certain that I have never encountered anything that fits your description," he said. "You are the first living man that I have seen out here in months. And regarding the campfires, those are probably my own."

"You must understand that it is not safe here," I asserted. "Mere hours ago my companion fell victim to this savage creature."

The explorer winced slightly and blinked. "Indeed? That is... terrible." His voice had grown a bit more reserved.

"You should come with me. Whatever the exact nature of the entity that I seek, you certainly would not be able to defend yourself against it on your own." I put as much force into my words as possible. The image of my disciple's body with his arms and legs splintered was still fresh in my mind, and my heart churned at the thought of leaving an innocent man to a similar fate.

To my bewilderment, the old man offered only a polite smile and a shake of his head. "I am flattered by your concern, Jedi Knight Kelbus, but it is unnecessary. I can handle myself perfectly well."

I stared at him dully, unable to comprehend what he had said for several seconds. "You cannot be serious. You have even seen what remains of its victims with your own eyes! Surely you jest."

The old man took a more solemn expression and shook his head again. "I do not," he declared. "If there is a murderous force living among these tombs, then it evidently has no interest in me, since by your account it should have killed me long ago. And I do not mean to be rude, but I hold no interest in this matter and would prefer to keep to my own pursuits."

I began to speak, to urge him to consider his decision again, but he silenced me with a gesture – a simple wave of his hand that had an uncharacteristic aura of authority behind it. "Jedi Knight Kelbus," he said, smiling again. "I truly do respect your words, but I implore you not to trouble yourself with me. I will take responsibility for my own well-being."

A peculiar train of thought began to take shape within my mind, but I decided to ignore it for the moment. "Then... if you're sure," I said, words failing me somewhat.

"I am sure," the old man replied. Shifting his grip on his staff, he looked around us at the tombs and at the ever-darkening sky, which was now growing thick with clouds, and raised an eyebrow. "It is now getting late," he said pleasantly after a moment. "It has been a pleasure to meet a Jedi, but I think that I shall return to my camp. You are welcome to join me."

"No, thank you," I said numbly. The implications of this conversation were quickly building upon themselves, and I needed time to consider them. I fought to keep from staring into space. "Keep safe."

"I will. Perhaps we shall see each other again," the old man said, making a slight bow. He then turned and began to walk away, but stopped after seven paces and looked back at me over his shoulder. "Oh," he said, smiling again. "What is it that the Jedi say? 'May the Force be with you?'"

"Yes."

"Then may the Force be with you, Jedi Knight Kelbus," he said.

I nodded slowly. "And also with you."

Still grinning, the old man turned his back to me and continued his journey. His dark-robed figure was followed by my gaze until it vanished around the corner of one of the tombs. For some minutes after I still followed him with my Force sense, tracking his every footstep until he was a quarter of a mile away.

I was then siezed by a sudden agitation, followed by an urge to move. Practically shaking with bewilderment, I spun on my heel, backtracked some distance, and marched along the circumference of an imaginary circle around this central area. The old man was still sauntering leisurerly away. I passed tomb after tomb and many more holes in the ground which I did not stop to inspect. The air grew colder to a surprising degree, almost seeming to bite at the skin on my neck.

An old man had been wandering around these ruins for almost a year, yet he never encountered the monstrous presence that I knew was here. The stranger's nonchalant attitude was incredibly perplexing – he had admitted to seeing the bodies and the defaced tombs, but showed not even the slightest concern for his safety. If he was not so polite, he probably would have outright stated that he didn't believe my enemy even existed.

Indeed, he had seemed all too quick to dismiss the threat. Futhermore, his increasingly hasty-looking assumption that I was exaggerating about the number of killings did not account for the opened tombs, for the pits, or for the fact that I had not seen a single animal anywhere near these ruins. His explanation for the campfires also did not account for the sheer number of them that I had found. The more I considered it, the more I thought that either this man knew more than he wanted me to believe, or he was astonishingly foolhardy. Also, why had he refused to tell me his name?

There was something more troubling, however. By all accounts, I should have been able to sense the old man long before we met. He had seemed to materialize directly behind me. As I considered this, I realized that I had not given a second thought to it at the time. I should have been alarmed immediately.

Moreover, the old man was right – the evil force here should have killed him by now if he had been living there for as long as he claimed. How long had he said he lived there? About a local year. How long had the killings been going on?

About a local year.

I stopped. Tiny pinpricks of light from above stared down from gaps in the growing cloud cover. Wind rustled my cloak as I stared blankly at a nearby stone obelisk, a conclusion forming in my mind.

I had been played for a fool. I supposed that I wouldn't have fallen for it, were it not for the distracting memories of Euthsia's death. The old man had to know something. Or, if he didn't know something, then he was definitely connected to my prey. Somehow his Force presence had been hidden from me, and the thing that had slaughtered some two hundred innocents before my arrival hadn't layed a finger on him.

I extended my Force sense again. It was less of a surprise than I had expected to find that the old man's signature was nowhere to be found. He couldn't possibly have gotten out of range so fast.

Either my enemy was taking a strange, enigmatic interest in this figure, or they were in league.

I moved away from the obelisk and proceeded down the aisle between two rows of tombs. I noticed for the first time that just outside each of the alleys formed between every pair of structures, a pike that appeared to be made out of wood and sharpened like a spear protruded from the ground.

Thrust upon each pole was a head. Humans, Twi'leks, Rodians, Weequays, any number of species of either gender, of any age. They appeared to also be varying in states of decay, but the advancing night made it difficult to pick out any details save for gaping black eye sockets that stared at me. I observed as I picked up speed that the dark Force aura seemed to be growing stronger, such that I did not have to be actively listening in order to hear its deathly whispers – it felt more there.

I called upon the Force again, storing up energy and heightening my awareness. I could smell battle in the near future. The shadows around me deepened and deepened, swallowing great swaths of ground. My eyes swept back and forth but saw no movement.

A prickling sensation somewhere within my head advised me without words that I should turn at a sharp left. This I did, placing me on a path down one of the alleys. I walked down it unflinchingly, gingerly stepping around the pike jutting upward from the ground before it, which for some reason did not have a head on it. The alley was not quite wide enough for me to spread my arms out.

Deep silver light from one of Rutan's moons gazed down on the region as I walked. My senses warned me of a sudden drop in elevation just past the end of the tombs. As I halted before it and squinted to look down, I was struck by the now-familiar stench of blood and dead flesh. In the moon's illumination I could observe a twisted pile of arms and legs, most of them Human and terribly mangled, as though by claws or carelessly-wielded bladed instruments.

Without a second look I reversed my course and bounded out of the alley onto the path. More death and decay. More unanswered questions. More torture. Was there anything else that this horrible place had for me? Was I meant to simply die in futility and madness here?

Abruptly the Force's darkness around me thickened and seemed to close upon me like a hunter's net. I strained against it and saw spots of swimming, unnatural blackness rippling around me. I rubbed my eyes and stumbled about, my limbs suddenly feeling sluggish and a bit unresponsive. As I fought to recompose myself, the smell of the dead reached my nostrils again, summoned from nowhere and stronger than ever.

Distantly, as though underwater or far away, I heard the sound of bones cracking over and over. The streaks of darkness beyond darkness were punctuated by flashes of more ghastly sights. I saw Euthsia's dead face, and others – faces of strangers, bloodied, caved in from physical blows, mangled by savage teeth. One stranger's image, that of a soft-faced woman with shoulder-length brown hair, appeared more than once for some reason. I felt mortally ill, as though this place would strike me dead simply for being there.

With a surge of willpower, I siezed from the Force a mass of the energy of the light – the Ashla, the Force uncorrupted – and brought it forth, fashioning it into a wall around myself. I would not fail here, not so easily.

Death, yet the Force.

All at once the visions ended and I stood erect in full clarity of mind. From the mountains in the far distance I could see a storm approaching, blinking with silent lightning. I stretched out with the Force and immediately sensed–

"Hello there."

The voice was familiar.

The blade of my sword practically sang as I drew it. It was a slender, single-edged weapon much like Jedi katanas that I had seen others use, except without the noticeable curve in the blade. Infused with Force energy, it was many times sharper, stronger, and more durable than an ordinary weapon, and additional power could be channeled directly into its blade during combat. Unlike other Jedi, I had forged my weapon alone. Every blow of the hammer that tempered its shape and made it strong, I had done myself. It was a work of art to me, so despite my mounting anxiety I took some comfort in the sight of as it gleamed in the moonlight. It and the Force were the only allies that could help me now.

As I came to rest with my sword pointed directly at the unannounced speaker, I acknowledged with no surprise that it was the old man himself. He stood as he had before, with one hand grasping his staff and the other empty, his expression one of mild amusement.

The two of us stood frozen in this position for some seconds, but I decided to break the silence.

"What are you?" I growled.

An eyebrow rose. "I do not understand."

Something was different about him now. Physically he looked the same, but with the eyes of the Force I could see power thundering through him. I would not fall for his tricks again.

"You know why I am here. You know who has been killing the innocents."

"Do I?"

"It is you."

The old man's face contorted in disgust at the accusation. "Absurd," he snorted.

"No more lies, you fiend. I have had enough of your trickery."

"You intend to attack me here?" he scoffed. His voice had recovered a small amount of its humor, but it seemed less real. "I dare say the late hour has driven the sense from your mind."

"I am a Jedi. I will not kill you except in self-defense. I therefore urge you to consider your options. You will not find me an easy opponent."

"Nor will you find me one," the old man said gravely. After speaking these words he dropped his staff, and I observed that the marks of age upon his face seemed to evaporate as though there were mere figments of my imagination. My mouth fell slightly open in surprise and bewilderment, but I was not given time to comprehend the new development, for the suddenly much younger man raised his hand, and I saw a spark of power in the Force. A burst of light seemed to leap from his palm and enveloped my entire line of sight, searing my eyes and blinding me.

I cried out and backed away, astonished. This enemy had Jedi powers?

I sensed the man approaching as I came to a stop. Before he could press the advantage, I unleashed a Force push that should have blasted him six meters back, but only arrested his approach. I followed with a second blast, and then a third, but he seemed rooted to the ground. No matter. Already my vision was beginning to return.

After the third Force push, my forehead tingled and I sensed a tendril of power grasp a nearby rock and hurl it at my head. With my mind I altered its trajectory, letting the missile curve away from me and smash into a tomb wall off to the left. As my vision continued to right itself, I beheld my opponent standing with his legs spread in a fighting stance, waiting for me. From the depths of his cloak he drew a long, thin-bladed sword that looked incredibly similar in design to my own.

He lunged as my eyes cleared. In a quick motion I caught the blade with my own and parried, forcing it high. I immediately retaliated with a two-handed vertical strike at his head. As I brought it down, I gathered a measure of power and conducted it into my weapon's Force-infused blade – a Jedi swordfighting technique called the Falling Hammer. The attack would break my enemy's sword with ease, unless–

He held his blade horizontally and it intercepted mine well before it could reach him. The connection of the blades released a burst of pure white sparks and sent tremors through my arms and down my legs.

Jedi powers and a Jedi weapon. I had no time to ponder the implications.

Silver energy continued to crackle and hiss menacingly as our blades ground together, until finally he surrendered the lock and pulled back. I tried to press the assault with a slash at his legs but missed by several meters, for my opponent had taken flight, running away with speed that only a Force wielder could achieve. He seemed a living shadow that fled further into the deepening night, its natural habitat. I gave chase without hesitation.

Over the course of several short minutes my enemy displayed agility and skill easily rivaling my own. He leaped over tombs and small hills with such ease that several times I lost sight of him and had to rely on the Force to track his course. I wanted to avoid that if possible, however, for he had previously demonstrated an alarming and uncanny ability to mask his presence.

The dark figure turned the corner of an especially large stone building – one almost twice as tall as any of the others I had seen – and disappeared behind it. I bounded around in pursuit, but could not see him. Ahead lay a wide, mostly empty field that denoted one of the empty patches of land in the burial grounds. As I passed the rock structures and came to the edge of the blank expanse, I stopped and scanned the area with the Force. He was very close.

Dark power rippled, and several humanoid shapes – six in number and all holding the exact appearance of my enemy – seemed to rise up from the ground. I saw angry glares, fists clenched, and swords shining in the dim light. They approached silently, wraithlike. I brought up my guard, but hesitated. More illusions, more tricks. He was trying to catch me off-guard. I sank into the Force, letting myself feel at one with the sandy ground and the malnourished grass beneath me, with the stone ruins, with the cold night air–

I felt the air rustle behind me as a thin piece of metal whistled through it. In the blink of an eye I spun, my blade brought up to easily parry the surprise attack. He snarled in outrage and attacked again, aiming for my throat. Again I parried. His illusional copies had evaporated.

He again swung at my right side. I blocked, but the force of the blow nearly struck me off my feet in a crackle of light – I could sense him channeling the Falling Hammer into his blade as I had before. I followed suit; the best defense against such a powered blade was an equally powered one. The Force was my only hope in this battle.

We attacked and counter-attacked, gaining more and more speed and strength. I supposed that our struggle resembled one between two master swordsmen in the great war on Tython centuries ago, where the Order was born. My weapon seemed nearly weightless in my hands, and I felt as though the Force not only guided my body, but was my body. I barely even had to think as I sank further and further into the duel, a flurry of movement that would be nearly incomprehensible to an outside observer. Every two or three blows, a cobalt flash banished the night around us for a split second.

My opponent circled around me, making precision cuts at my shoulders and upper torso, carefully testing my defenses. He was well-trained and certainly not a novice apprentice. Many of his attacks were well-timed thrusts at my right side and arm, suggesting that he was trying to open my guard to a cho sun, the act of severing an enemy's sword hand.

Catching his blade in a bind, I forced his guard open and, taking a step forward, leveled a Force-imbued kick at his left thigh. Releasing an agonized grunt, he fell back, ducking under a following sweep that nearly took his head. I did not pause, instead carrying the fight to him again and again, pressing him back step after step. I poured my whole being into the fight, every blow bursting with power like a firecracker.

On and on we fought, and as the moments passed I realized that we were both growing weaker, our reflexes slowing somewhat and the bursts of light from our swords becoming more infrequent. So frenzied were our assaults and counter-assaults that we were quickly wasting our strength. I normally did not fight in this manner, but the events of the past day had put me into a state of mind not entirely like my normal self. I wanted this battle ended with all speed possible, and I was far more willing to draw on my full power than ever before in my life.

As our powers withered, I observed that my opponent was attacking primarily one-handed and in a very specific manner. Nearly every time he blocked a strike, he would follow my blade back with his own and stab at my heart or stomach. Seeking an advantage, I used the same technique; when he made for another swing at my sword arm, I caught the blow and let his blade draw mine back toward him as he attempted to withdraw.

He saw it coming and twisted out of the way of my thrust, but was unprepared when I slammed an open palm into his chest. The blow took the breath out of him and he stumbled back, nearly losing his footing entirely. Before he could recover, I grasped my sword in both hands and made a precisely-calculated, diagonally-upward slash toward his left abdomen. It more or less struck home, the tip of the blade slicing a line several inches across.

To my surprise, my opponent did not seem to significantly acknowledge the wound beyond a grunt of pain. Instead he advanced again, slightly off-balance, appearing to wind up for an overhand chop as he stumbled forward. I responded with jung ma, a clockwise spin performed to build up momentum for an attack. The attack in this case was to be a horizontal slash at his throat made with my left hand. However, just as my front side faced my opponent again, I saw that he had rushed forward faster than I anticipated, allowing him to strike at my outstretched left arm.

I felt as though the entire central part of my arm had been submerged in lava. The sword blade cut deep, nearly severing the entire limb just above the elbow. The rest of my body seemed to turn into a weak, distant, gelatinous substance – the only part that I truly felt was that searing, otherworldly agony. My sword left my numb fingers as I fell. I let myself scream until my back struck the ground, at which point I had to draw in more breath.

Instinctively, my right hand shot to my wounded arm and clamped onto it like a vise. My Force concentration had been all but entirely shattered, such that I could only just barely feel the outline of my enemy's physical presence as he came closer. My eyes clamped themselves shut, but I forced them open. I could not let it end here.

As I struggled to focus, I saw him on one knee before me, far closer than I wanted him to be. With one hand he clutched at the wound on his side – apparently the pain had started to register. He did not give up easily, though, and threw himself bodily toward me. As he did so, he raised his sword high with his free hand and brought it down like an axe to split my skull in two.

I rolled away just barely in time as the weapon bit into the ground mere inches from my wounded arm. My opponent had faceplanted and was trying to rise and lift his weapon again. Squirming frantically, I drew on a small measure of my remaining power and channeled it into my right leg, which I swung at his head desparately, almost blindly. The blow hit him directly past his right eye, the momentum spinning him sixty degrees to the right. He lay on his side, stunned, groaning and feeling the earth in vain for his fallen weapon.

Content that I was safe for a short moment, I contorted and continued screaming to myself. The burning wouldn't stop and blood was dampening my sleeve. Tears blurred my vision and my breaths were reduced to agonized gasps as my voice began to leave me. Even for some time after I continued trying to howl. I felt somewhat like I had when pursuing my enemy immediately after Euthsia's death – like I had become something else and was trying to cast off the illusion of Morgent Kelbus.

As my opponent and I lay there exhausted and in pain, it occurred to me that this had never before happened to me in my life. Not once in all of my years of serving as a Jedi had I ever felt the pain of a metal blade. I was not like the famed Battlemasters of the Order, who had earned their titles and honors by the many scars that showed their commitment to the Jedi. Even the Trial of the Flesh that I had undergone to become a Knight had not been like this.

This realization debilitated me as much as the wound itself had. I do not know how long I lay cradling my arm, but I eventually found enough stamina to call upon the Force. Regulating my breathing, I let myself be calmed and channeled its currents into my arm, slowly reducing the bleeding and the pain. Thankfully, my Master had ensured years ago that I learned the art of the Jedi healing trance before my Knighting. All I needed was time, but I did not think of this, nor did I think of the one who sought my life mere feet away from me. I thought only of the Force.

Several moments passed, and I opened my eyes as ravenous cold wind came over me in waves. On a positive note, the pain in my arm was greatly reduced, allowing me to rebuild the strength of my Force sense. I focused my eyes on my adversary. He was on his hands and knees, swaying. Seeing me stir, he hastily grabbed his sword, having apparently located it earlier, and lurched to his feet. He took two steps out toward the open field before losing his footing again, falling in a heap with a shout of pain.

Yet mere seconds later he was up again and resuming his retreat, stumbling like a drunkard toward a nondescript black object some three hundred yards into the field. I could just barely hear him whimpering and muttering to himself before his voice was drowned out by the wind.

I resumed my healing trance. A moment later the terrible cut in my arm registered only as a distracting stinging sensation, the severed flesh and bone newly reconnected, though only barely – a sudden, careless movement could easily reopen the wound. Even a master healer would require no less than a day to finish the job properly.

For now, though, it would have to do. A portion of my full energy having returned, I slowly climbed to my feet, righted my balance, and retrieved my weapon. Turning in the direction of my foe's retreat, I observed a flicker of orange light in the distance where the black object was. It looked like nothing so much as a fire – with a robed figure close by it, limping closer.

I took a step and winced as my arm sparked with a momentary burning sensation. I also felt somewhat lightheaded – from loss of blood, I supposed. My opponent was near, and I was in no condition for a rematch with him. But then again, I told myself, neither was he if his hasty flight was anything to go by.

The faraway figure came to the fire and knelt in front of it. It had grown since I last looked at it, and the increased light now revealed the black object that I had spotted to be a massive pile of wood.

Neither of us were going anywhere. I decided that before the hour passed I would end this conflict. With renewed willpower I started off, walking against the wind, which grew colder by the minute. The storm that approached silently from the mountain range sparked with lightning at a near constant rate, hungering but patient.

After a few short, uneventful moments, I entered the circle of sunset-light cast by the fire and slowly shuffled over toward the figure that knelt alone in its warmth. On both knees, he extended an open hand toward the pile of timber and made some type of gesture with his fingers. As though in response to an unspoken command, the mass of flames climbed higher and spread to envelope the rest of the wood with unnatural speed. I raised an eyebrow in mild interest. Pyrokinesis was not the most obscure of the Jedi arts, but I had never bothered to learn it.

The expansion of the fire also brought to light something that belied the warmth it gave – within it, I glimpsed a number of skeletons scattered throughout the pyre, their broken and stripped limbs mingling with the burning logs and branches, almost seeming to match them in number. Though I was as appalled as any decent man would be, I seemed past the point of surprise.

My nemesis knelt only a few yards away from the fire. His sword lay horizontally on the ground directly in front of him. His eyes floated back and forth, focusing on nothing in particular. A small red stain marred his robes. It wasn't until I came as close to the fire as he was when he acknowledged my presence with a silent nod. At a distance of three paces I stopped, reversed my grip on my sword, and thrust the weapon blade-first into the ground.

Grasping the hilt, I gingerly lowered myself to my knees, wary of the gash in my arm, and looked at the other man. He met my gaze and sighed. It seemed that if we were fated to fight, we were evidently fated to trade words as well.

Lightning flared above the mountains, punctuating my enemy's words with the low growl of distant thunder. "I do not believe," he said in a mild voice, "that we have been properly introduced."