Path of Deceit, page 7
“Ah,” Kevmo said, realizing he’d let his emotions get the better of him. “Yes. I tried to make friends like you said, but it went horribly wrong.”
Zallah sighed. “Tell me.”
Kevmo quickly related the details of his interaction with the Path of the Open Hand: their ideas about the Force, how Marda had believed that using the Force on Dalna meant that it was somehow being damaged in another part of the galaxy.
“That’s not true, right?” Kevmo asked, suddenly doubting himself. “The Order would know if the Force could be, I don’t know, injured from overuse?”
Zallah gave Kevmo a look that was icy even for her. “Of course that isn’t how it works. The Jedi have served and communed with the Force for millennia. If that was the case, there would be guidance to mitigate the damage.”
Kevmo nodded. He knew that, and yet Marda had been so convinced that he’d begun to doubt the things he’d known for years. “I think I hurt her feelings,” he said, shame washing over him anew at the memory.
“That girl and her people are a bunch of zealots,” Zallah said, going to the bags Kevmo had brought in and beginning to unpack them. “Lady Jara told me their cult lives outside of town on their own compound.”
“Really? Their ideas seemed pretty good. It was just the part about not using the Force that was odd,” Kevmo said, thinking about Marda and her night-sky eyes.
“I suppose the ideas of the Sith also seem good in the abstract,” Zallah said, her tone bland. “Jara was quite adamant that there was something off about the Path of the Open Hand, though nothing so specific as to suspect them of stealing Force items.”
Kevmo collapsed into a nearby chair. “I feel bad for scaring them, though. It was such a simple trick, and I thought the children would like it.”
“Using the Force to play games with children, Kev?” Zallah released a soft breath, a dramatic sigh from her. “Being a Jedi is not all fun and games.”
“It seemed reasonable at the time, to get to know them,” he said, defending himself despite how it had gone.
“You cannot reason with zealots,” Zallah said. “They follow a cult leader of some kind, a prophet supposedly, Lady Jara said. We should be wary of any who claim such a thing—especially as they’re possibly involved in stealing from Hynestia.” She finished unpacking the bags. “Were there no durga berries in the marketplace? Jara said that Dalna has a particularly delicious strain that grows here. Smaller and easily enjoyed.”
“Oh, I didn’t see them. I suppose I can go back to the market tomorrow and see if there are any.”
“Either way,” Zallah said, turning her full attention to Kevmo, “there is something to be gained from learning how the Path thinks. It’s good for you to converse with those who see the Force in a different way. As a Jedi you will find that there are many who hold ideas about us that run contrary to our truth, and vice versa. This could be a valuable learning experience if you let it.”
“Wait, so should I go find Marda and apologize?” Kevmo asked. He wasn’t happy with how they’d left things, but he also very much did not want to overstep.
Zallah gave Kevmo a cool smile before taking a small roll from the pile and a small pot of sweet cheese. “I think the Force will provide you with the answer should you meditate on it.”
Kevmo groaned. He liked meditation; he simply found it difficult to be still for long stretches of time. But Zallah was right. The Force always had the answers; it was just a matter of whether or not the answer would be something Kevmo understood.
“Make sure you freshen up for dinner. I get the feeling Lady Jara does not tolerate bad hygiene. And since she seems to be rather knowledgeable about the happenings here, I would like to keep her as an ally,” Zallah said. “Oh, and she mentioned that someone from the Republic is staying here, too. An investigator of some kind. We need to tread lightly until we know who they are, and why they’re on Dalna.” With that, she took her snack to her sleeping quarters.
Kevmo sighed and picked up one of the sun apples from the pile of produce, levitating it over his hand before grasping it and taking a bite. As much as using the Force brought him joy, it now also brought the memory of Marda’s horror.
Who would’ve thought it could be so hard to make friends with another person who knew the Force?
The moment both suns began to sink beyond the horizon, they began the naming ceremony. A quirk of Dalna’s atmosphere caused the last rays to flare dark pink and spread in fiery filaments over the entire bowl of the sky. The sun opal deposits peppered throughout their river valley reacted, shimmering in the same vivid colors.
The ritual grounds of the Path of the Open Hand had been chosen for the prevalence of sun opal, and members of the Path from generations past had collected the opal and placed it in waving Force lines at the west of the grounds, where it best caught the sunset.
Marda and her community were ready when the waves lit up. The Path faced the sunset, hands open, and welcomed the gift of beauty.
“The spirit of Dalna joins us,” the Mother said in her lovely voice as she raised her open hands to the sky.
“With Dalna’s spirit we live with the Force,” the adherents said together, “in clarity, harmony, and freedom.”
The Mother said, “Clarity, harmony, and freedom.”
They breathed three breaths slowly, simultaneously, as a community.
Then the second sun fully set and the brilliant pink faded from the sky.
It took longer for the hard puddles of sun opal to fade, as if they clung to the light.
The Mother turned. She smiled at everyone. It was brilliant having her there, Marda thought, drinking in every possible moment. The Mother spent so much of her time on the Gaze Electric these days, despite the ship being not much more than a barren skeleton. From space she communed with the Force in her great empty chamber, without the distractions of gravity or sunlight or cold. When she received a vision, she could easily communicate it to the planet.
But that night, she was there to preside over the naming of Ferize’s five children.
The Mother nodded, and six Elders of the Path lit torches. They wore pristine gray robes, loose and flowing, with deep blue edging. Orange fire lit the thick blue paint covering the upper halves of the Elder’s faces: they were so near to the Force, mere waves would hardly do.
The rest of the Path waited in concentric circles, from Elders on the outside to the smallest Littles on the inside. Marda stood with the Littles, though she was painted in her brikal-blue waves and wore her dark gray tunic and robe because she was fully initiated.
Ferize and her partners, Er Dal and Fel Ix, came forward with their five babies shared among them. They approached sunwise around the circles of adherents, all three in the loose white and green of new parents.
Just then, Marda turned to a commotion near the entrance to the ceremonial grounds: it was Yana and Kor, stopping quickly and hushing each other. They’d made it. Marda smiled at her cousin and waved. Yana nodded back before leaning into her girlfriend.
Marda thought of Kevmo Zink, of how she’d wanted to touch his tattoos, and abruptly turned away from her cousin. She hoped whatever the Children had brought back with them would be safe and that the Jedi would remain away. But she needed to tell someone she’d spoken with a Jedi, there on Dalna.
The naming ceremony was simple: Ferize, Er Dal, and Fel Ix placed each child in the Mother’s hands and told her their names, and the Mother put a small curl of blue on the child’s face as she declared the name for the Path. The names were the second of the gifts freely given by their parents. The first being life itself, of course.
Marda listened, repeated the names with the congregation, had to whisper quiet chiding to Jerid and Simi only twice, and basked in the company of her family. Someday, Marda would either be out among the stars spreading the word of the Path or there with the Littles, and all five new Kessarine would be her students. Their family grew. Harmony with the Force grew.
By the end, Marda felt warm again, at peace with her place.
The Mother completed the ritual by performing a common song from the Path’s history. She sang without accompaniment, and her voice lifted in a soft swell. Marda closed her eyes and listened to the lyrics describing the arrival of Sachar Rold on Dalna, where he founded the Path of the Open Hand on a planet untouched by war or pain—led away from his former priesthood by a vision of vivid blue light. It was a soothing story to Marda, because she knew two things about her people, the Evereni: they were reviled throughout the galaxy for unknown reasons, and they no longer had a home of their own. Sachar Rold had come from an order known as the Guardians of the Whills but left them when his belief conflicted with their ways. He was outcast from them and sought sanctuary with the Force. Those things led him to Dalna, where Marda and her cousin had also ended up.
As had the Mother—come from the Core Worlds enough years before that Marda hardly recalled it. The Mother had arrived as a refugee, like the rest of the Path, accepted the gift of their welcome, and slowly learned their ways. Until she had a vision—just like Sachar Rold—of a blue light. But the Mother saw the light in the shape of a messenger, a being created of pure Force who taught the Mother how to share life and listen and be one with the Force, so much so that the Mother’s small garden had bloomed overnight. Her harmony with the Force was so pure, it bled out of her and into anyone blessed enough to be in her presence. Because of this and other visions, she was able to lead and guide the Path, despite not qualifying as an Elder. Everyone listened when she spoke, from the youngest Little to the driest and most wrinkled Elder.
The song the Mother sang ended with a hopeful trill, and everyone present said, bright and loud: “The Force will be free!”
Then applause and laughter scattered, and the Mother helped Ferize and her partners take the newborns back to the central garden for a simple evening meal. Marda gathered her Littles, and they trailed after, arriving before most of the congregation to serve with Old Waiden at the communal pots.
Firelight and glowing green-blue vines gave the garden an eerie, peaceful air as the stars broke out overhead, and Marda smiled to serve food to her large family. She took a tray with bowls to the nest where Ferize’s family had settled with the Mother, Vemian and Utalir helping with drinks. They bowed their heads politely before giving the Mother and the new parents the sweet water and soup. Then Ferize asked Marda to remain with them.
Delighted, she did, sending the Littles back to Old Waiden.
She curled her legs beneath her and quietly sipped from her bowl of soup, eager to listen to the conversation between the Mother and Ferize. They discussed the things Ferize’s babies required and how the Path could help. The Mother spoke of requesting some special protein supplements from their generous sponsor Regnar Pulip, and Ferize smiled, saying, “What gifts the Force provides we shall accept.”
At a break in their conversation, Marda leaned toward Fel Ix and the two babies curled against his folded legs. Their eyes were wide open, and they moved the frills along their cheeks in jerky little motions, as if learning the proper ways. Marda said, “Is it unusual for an entire clutch to be all boys?”
Fel Ix shook his head. He touched a scaly finger to the forehead of one of his sons. “Two of these five will likely mature into egg bearers—girls. That is the usual percentage.”
“Oh!” Marda smiled and set down her soup. “I did not realize.”
“The Galactic Basic is clumsy for Kessarine, but we do not think of ourselves as girls or boys.”
“Can you tell which of the two are most likely?”
Fel Ix said no, and Ferize leaned toward Marda to say, “It is determined by a combination of the will of the Force and the child’s will.”
“That’s wonderful,” Marda murmured. She wondered what the Jedi would think of it. Would they consider how using the Force might change the future of a little baby like this? How could anyone consciously act in a way that might take from others? It made Marda’s stomach hurt, and she was glad she’d set down her soup.
“Marda?” the Mother said.
She glanced up, lips parting in surprise to hear her name on the Mother’s tongue.
“Are you well?” The Mother stared at her with piercing brown eyes, her entire demeanor still and serious.
“Yes, Mother.” Marda hurried onto her knees and placed her open hands on them. “I have been thinking about your words, and my place here with the Littles. It is a serious task you have given me, entrusting me with the future of our Path. I only worry about the greater galaxy, and the influences it brings.”
“Outer influences, hmm.” The Mother smiled. “Perhaps your cousin can offer advice to you on such things, now that she is returned with the Children.”
Marda glanced at Yana, who was laughing with Kor, both of them sitting with a group of adherents of all ages. Eleven-year-old human Jerid stared at Yana with an obvious crush, and the Rodian Hallisara leaned against Kor’s leg, her little sucker fingers tapping on the Nautolan’s boot. They seemed to be behaving well enough. Kor’s father, the Herald, sat with them, his bare head free of the typical Nautolan tendrils. They’d been sheared off when he was young, and he was left with angry scars. But in his Elder blue paints and gray robes, he gave off an aura both stern and serene. He did not seem to like Marda, maybe for some reason to do with her people or perhaps merely because his daughter was intimate with Yana, but Marda hoped someday they could work together for harmony. The Herald spoke for the Elders and was the Mother’s trusted friend, the next member on the Path to best understand the will of the Force. She wondered where his wife, Opari, was—Kor’s mother was often ill, though lately, with the aid of the Mother’s visions and gifts of credit from friends like Regnar Pulip, Opari had been feeling better.
Turning the Mother’s words over in her thoughts, Marda opened her mouth to confess about Kevmo the Jedi. But there, in that peaceful moment with the Kessarine, she did not want to bring up any tense subjects.
“I will speak with Yana,” Marda said, standing and bowing her farewell to the Mother and the Kessarine. “The Force will be free.”
“The Force will be free,” they replied.
Then the Mother said, “And, Marda, please tell Yana I will meet her in my listening chamber shortly, to hear what the Children achieved on their crossing today.”
Marda bowed again, with both hands open palms up as if to catch the stars.
She made her way through the crowded garden, eyes lowered but smiling at those who held their hands open to her. Marda brushed her fingers against their palms. When she was halfway to her cousin, Yana looked up and grinned at her, displaying jagged sharp teeth. Yana extracted herself from her grouping with a kiss on the corner of Kor’s mouth, to Jerid’s obvious disappointment.
“He likes you,” Marda said softly when Yana arrived, and they put their palms together.
Yana glanced back and winked at the Little but then bumped her shoulder against Marda’s. “Not my type.”
“Too hairy?” Marda teased softly.
Her cousin laughed and dragged her away into the shadows. “Here,” she said, offering a small flask.
“Is this from offworld?” Marda asked as she unscrewed the top and sniffed. Floral, a little sharp. She sipped it.
“It is! But it doesn’t do much for me, so probably not you, either.” Yana shook her head in a mockery of grief.
Marda returned the flask, enjoying the tingle of the wine on her tongue. Together they leaned against one of the buildings and watched the flickering light cast over their community. Marda lifted her eyes along with the sparks until they blended into the stars. She didn’t realize she had sighed until Yana said, “You really want to get up there, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you’d like being one of the Children, Marda,” Yana said, something low in her tone that made Marda look away from the sky and into her cousin’s big black eyes. Yana took one of her hands. “It’s not an adventure. It’s dangerous.”
“I’m Evereni, too,” Marda insisted.
Yana snorted. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“I can do it.”
“People will disappoint you.”
“What the Children do—what you do—is important.” Marda squeezed Yana’s fingers. “Liberating the Force. Spreading the Path. People out there, they don’t just misunderstand the Path and the Force. They actively abuse it.”
“That’s what I mean. People won’t do what you want, even if you get out there. We go up against a lot of bad people. And totally fine people who want to just be left alone.”
“But they’re bringing their misunderstandings here, too. Their ways.” Marda frowned. The tingle of wine vanished from her tongue, and she ran it against her sharp teeth. “And they can be convincing and—and charming.”
“Charming? Who’s charming?”
Marda looked away, out at the gathering. The Mother remained near the Kessarine nest, surrounded by others: Elders with half-blue faces and a few other dedicants and children. The Mother glowed under the firelight and attention as she spoke, her hands moving slowly and gracefully as she invoked details of whatever story she told. “Yana, the Mother wants to meet you at her listening room to hear about your successes today.”
“Yes, fine, but Marda”—Yana took her chin and turned her face back—“who is charming?”
Glad there was no outward symptom to express the churning in her stomach, Marda said, “I met a Jedi today.”
“A what? On Dalna?” Yana’s spine straightened. Her hand dropped.
“In Ferdan. I took the Littles to give flowers and he was—he was there, and I didn’t know he was a Jedi at first.” Marda clenched her fists. “I just…”
“Liked him,” Yana murmured. “You’ve never liked anybody before.”
“I like you! I like everyone in the—”
“Uh-huh, yes, sure.”
Marda huffed a little. “He is a Jedi. He used the Force right in front of me. It was awful and—” She cut herself off.
