Star Wars: The Courtship of Princess Leia Read online

  Time seemed to slow as she fell. Ocheron cackled and the killing fire streamed from her fingers. Teneniel’s spell faltered: the wind hushed. Soot and debris still filled the sky like a dark fog, but twigs began to rain down in the storm.

  Then there was a flash of blue and the smell of ozone as Luke pulled his lightsaber, switched it on and lunged. Ocheron’s eyes widened in surprise at his attack, and she tried to turn her attention to him—too late. The lightsaber struck off her head. Purple flames erupted from her neck like water thundering down a mountain stream, and Luke covered his face, trying to shield himself from the touch of the dark power he’d unleashed.

  Four stormtroopers rushed through the dark fog, firing their blasters. Luke deflected bolts with his lightsaber and attacked, killing the men swiftly.

  Teneniel found her voice, tried chanting again. Luke grabbed her arm and pulled her as the wind rose around them. She stumbled along blindly, mumbling her spell in desperation until they reached the top of another hill and stepped out of the swirling maelstrom.

  Teneniel fell silent, and Luke half-carried her through some deep woods along a hillside. Teneniel remembered an old cave, pulled him to it, and they stumbled inside.

  There Teneniel lay on the ground panting. Luke studied her wounds. The blue lightning had left deep burns. The wounds were searing hot, and Teneniel coughed. Blood flecked out of her mouth, coming up from a wound in her lungs, and she began to cry, knowing she was about to die.

  Luke pulled at the charred leather of her tunic until it ripped, then traced his fingers over the wound on her breast. His hand was cool, soothing like a balm, and she faded into a deep, uneasy sleep.

  In her dreams, Teneniel was a girl, and her mother had died. The sisters of the Singing Mountain clan had laid the corpse out on a stone table to dress it and paint her mother’s face in flesh tones. But Teneniel knew she was dead, could not bear to watch the sisters try to create the illusion of life. She ran up a flight of gray steps, past a woven mat that bore the image of a clan sister in yellows and white, holding a war spear. Beyond it was the warriors’ hall, a room where commoners—those without the spellcasting ability—or mere apprentices like Teneniel were never allowed entrance, no matter if their mother had been war leader, no matter what their level of talents.

  Teneniel let the mat close behind her, and stopped, staring in horror at the sheer enormity of the room. The ceiling seemed to stretch up endlessly, and the far walls were lost in shadows. The war room had been excavated through much of the mountain, and even the echoes of Teneniel’s rough breathing came soft and diffused, lost in the distance. In the wall to the left a lookout window had been carved. The window was large enough so that perhaps twenty women could stand at it abreast, and was shaped in an oval, like the opening of a huge mouth. A row of spears lay propped against the lower sill, reminding Teneniel of the ragged, uneven teeth of a rancor.

  For a long moment, she felt the yawning emptiness of the room, felt the yawning emptiness inside her. Swallowed, I’ve been swallowed. Teneniel closed her eyes, tried to forget her mother’s stiff and purpled body, the rigid fingers curled into claws. Yet the yawning horror could not be closed out. Somewhere, she could hear a little girl shrieking in terror. She ran, and everywhere Teneniel went, she pulled aside the hanging curtains to expose rooms. Witches fed in the rooms, reclining on soft leather cushions. Witches talked daintily, laughing and casting spells. And all the while, Teneniel could hear the young girl crying, but no one seemed to notice.

  When Teneniel woke, hours had passed. It was night outside the cave, and Luke had placed a small mechanical light on a rock beside her. Teneniel’s tunic was off, and the Jedi had covered her with a blanket from his pack. She felt no pain, only a deep sense of ease, unlike anything she had ever felt in her life.

  Teneniel touched her breast, her face. The scars were hot to the touch, but she could see with her eye, hear with her ear. She looked around the cave. Its walls were crudely painted with stick images of women in various poses—some resting their hands on the heads of others, one woman hovering above a crowd, another walking through flames. The cave went back only twenty meters, and human bones littered the floor near the back. Atop the pile of human bones was another skeleton—larger, with horrific teeth and a humerus longer than a man. The skeleton of a rancor.

  But the Jedi had gone, leaving his pack. Teneniel got up, drank some water from her gourd. Her feet were cold, so she packed some straw into her boots, then lay back to rest. She still felt weak. Her head spun from more than fatigue. The Jedi had healed her wounds, never chanting a spell. Among the sisters, none who had the healing gift could do such a thing. The healing spells were the most difficult to master, and they were sung in such a flamboyant manner that Teneniel often thought the sisters put on more of a display than they needed. Still, all agreed that the healing spells must be sung. If the Jedi had cast such spells without so much as a word, he must be truly powerful indeed.

  Often, while camping under the stars, Teneniel had wondered what it was like on other worlds. She had heard from her sisters of the stormtroopers at the prison, so secure with their armor and their weapons. But these weak stormtroopers did not understand spellcasting, and they fawned over the recreant Nightsisters. Yet Teneniel had often dreamed that somewhere up there on another world were men like Luke.

  Teneniel reached up under the blanket, touched her breast where the Jedi had rested his fingers. Someday, she thought, someone will fill this emptiness inside me.

  Outside the cave, she heard a scuffling. Luke came in, followed by Isolder and Artoo. Luke sat at her side, stroked her cheek with his palm.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked. Teneniel grabbed his hand, nodded, unsure what to say. She looked into his pale eyes. She had lost him. He had saved her life, and now she could no longer claim ownership.

  “The Nightsisters met where we did battle,” Luke said, “but then turned back. I’m not sure if they are leaving for reinforcements, or what.”

  “They know there are two of us,” Teneniel said, “and you killed Ocheron, one of their stronger warriors. They may be afraid that we can overpower them.”

  “What about the stormtroopers?” Isolder asked. “They must have had a hundred troops with them.” Being only a human, he did not understand.

  “They don’t count,” Teneniel said, and she wondered. Perhaps these offworlders did not understand the situation as well as she thought, so she explained, “Stormtroopers are easy to kill.”

  “I don’t like this,” Isolder said. “I don’t like the idea of being backed into this cave.”

  “The Nightsisters will not fight us here,” Teneniel said. “This place is sanctified by the blood of the old ones.” She sat up, nodded toward the human skulls littering the floor beneath the skeleton of the rancor.

  “You really think that they’ll keep clear of this place?” Isolder asked.

  “Even the dead have some power,” Teneniel said, nodding toward the piles of skulls. “The Nightsisters would not court their wrath.”

  Luke nodded. At least the Jedi understood. He asked, “What were your ancestors doing here? How did they get here?”

  Teneniel wrapped her arms around her legs, and stared into his eyes. “Long ago,” she said, “the old ones came from the stars. They were warriors, masters of machines who built forbidden weapons—machine warriors that looked like men. And they sold them to others, cheap.

  “Your people cast them out of the sky for their crimes, and sent them here. The warriors were given no weapons—no metal, no blasters. So they fell prey to rancors.” Teneniel half-closed her eyes. She’d heard the story so many times that now she envisioned that distant past, saw the prisoners sent to Dathomir. They were violent people who had committed gross crimes against civilization and who, therefore, merited only a life outside civilization. Many of the prisoners considered themselves above the law and thought of their weapons only as toys. So the ancients had considered it just to stran
d them on a world without technology.

  “For many generations they lived like beasts, and were nearly hunted to extinction, until the star people cast out Allya.”

  Luke had a faraway look in his eye, the way old Rell did when she saw visions. “This Allya was a rogue Jedi,” Luke said with certainty, leaning forward. “The Old Republic did not want to execute her, so the Jedi exiled her, hoping that given time she would turn away from the dark side.”

  Teneniel said, “She used her spells to tame the wild rancors and hunt food. She taught her daughters all of her lore, and taught them to hunt for their mates, even as I hunted for you. While rancors dined on others, the daughters of Allya prospered from generation to generation, teaching their own daughters the spells. We divided into clans, and for a long time the clans vied for men in friendly competition, stealing mates. We governed ourselves, punished anyone caught using the night spells. In my grandmother’s day, we pushed the wild rancors from these mountains. My grandmothers hunted the last of them. We hoped for peace at last.

  “But in my mother’s time, the outcast Nightsisters gathered together. At first, they were not many, but …”

  “Some of you tried to fight them, using their own tactics,” Luke offered. “And those who did became Nightsisters themselves.”

  Teneniel looked up at Luke. “So, does this thing happen on other worlds too? Some of the sisters say it is only a disease, an illness that we catch, which turns us into Nightsisters. Others say it comes from using the spells—but I do not know which spells they are talking about. Our spells have been tested over generations.”

  “It is none of your spells and all of your spells,” Luke said. “Tell me, how old were Allya’s daughters when she died?”

  “The oldest was sixteen seasons,” Teneniel said.

  Luke shook his head. “A mere child—too young to learn the ways of the Force. Listen, Teneniel, it isn’t the spells themselves that give you power—you are drawing on the Force, a power created by all living things around us. Because the daughters of Allya were strong in the Force, they mastered it somewhat. But it isn’t the words you speak that give you power, nor is it any one spell that corrupts you: it is the intent with which you cast your spells, the nature of your desires. If your heart is corrupt, your works will be corrupt. If you listened to your heart, then you would know this.” Teneniel fidgeted. “I think you do know this,” Luke continued. “You could have killed that Nightsister and the stormtroopers a few hours ago. Instead you simply tried to cover your escape, sneak around them. Your … generosity surprised me.”

  “Of course. If I killed the Nightsisters, I would be as evil as they are,” Teneniel said flippantly, trying to hide her fear that she might become one of them.

  “You listened to the Force, let it guide you,” Luke said. “But in other ways you are cruel. You tried to kidnap me and Isolder. Do you really think you could take a man slave, or pummel me with rocks, and still hope to retain your innocence?”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill you when I hit you,” Teneniel said, “just catch you! I wouldn’t even have hurt you badly!”

  “Yet you know it is wrong to take another person captive?”

  Teneniel glared at him, fidgeted. “I—hoped to love you. And if I did not love you, then I could have sold you to someone else who wanted you more. It’s not as if I were going to make you do anything bad. The daughters of Allya have always hunted for mates this way.”

  Luke sighed, as if exasperated. “Do all of the daughters of Allya do this, or just some of them?”

  “If a woman is rich enough,” Teneniel answered, “she can buy a man she likes. I am not rich.”

  Isolder leaned forward. “These Nightsisters, what are they doing with the stormtroopers?”

  “Eight seasons ago, a leader from the stars sent stormtroopers to build a new prison. An outcast from our clans, a Nightsister named Gethzerion, took employment from the stormtroopers, helping to catch runaway slaves. At first the Imperials liked her, promised to train her as a warrior and give her glory. But when they began to see her power, they feared her and decided to strand her on Dathomir. The Imperials blew up the ships at the prison, stranding their own soldiers in the process. It is rumored that Gethzerion killed the leaders at the prison, and the stormtroopers are so terrified of her that they obey her every whim. She has promised them freedom if they will help her escape to the stars, for now that she has seen how weak the Imperials are and how much they fear her, she believes that she will someday rule worlds without end. But for now Gethzerion contents herself by making war with the clans, killing some of our sisters, enslaving others. Many of the clan sisters have joined her.”

  “What does she do with the unfortunate captives there at her prison?” Luke asked.

  “She keeps them as slaves, hoping someday to barter them,” Teneniel said.

  Luke half-closed his eyes. “Gethzerion knows what she is doing. She hopes to turn all of your sisters to the dark side. With an army of them at her back, she really could become a power in the galaxy.” He looked at Teneniel. “How many Nightsisters are there?”

  “No more than a hundred,” Teneniel answered. For a few moments she dared hope that Luke knew how to get rid of them—but he paled at her answer.

  “And how many spellcasters are in your clan?”

  Teneniel seldom visited her clan, had not been home in three months. With so many of her sisters killed recently, and so many having been captured by Gethzerion, Teneniel was afraid to give an answer, yet perhaps the Jedi would think it was enough.

  “Twenty-five or thirty.”

  Chapter

  16

  That evening, flames flickered in the cooking fire and juice sizzled and popped over the coals as men carved the beast and heaped it on earthenware platters with tubers, nuts, and uncooked shoots. Han sat on leather cushions on the floor with Chewbacca, Leia, and Threepio in the fortress of the Singing Mountain clan. Han found that his weariness, the coming dark, and a full stomach made it hard to keep his eyes open. Yet Chewie fed hungrily, bandages wrapped over his ribs. The Wookiee’s marvelous regenerative powers let him heal more in a day than a human would in two weeks.

  Outside, through the open portals, Han could see fierce storm clouds in the distance, flashing lightning. The stars here burned fiercely above the tree-covered mountains.

  Around him, the witches laughed and taught their daughters spells in the shadows. The young girls wore shirts and pants of simple hides, not the elaborate costumes of the fully trained witches. Yet the witches seemed more casual, more cozy around their children. They removed their headdresses and let their hair down. Without their full attire, they weren’t so intimidating, and reminded Han only of rugged peasants.

  The witches’ husbands worked silently, dressed in tunics of woven plant fibers, serving meals to the women so quietly that Han almost felt as if they must be communicating telepathically.

  Augwynne sat nearby so that she could speak softly to Han and Leia. She noticed how Han frequently eyed the distant storm. “Do not worry yourself,” she said. “That is only Gethzerion, thrashing in impotent fury. But she is too far away. There will be no Force storm tonight.”

  “Gethzerion is making that lightning?” Threepio asked, his eyes suddenly bright. “Why, I wonder how much power output she can produce.”

  Augwynne looked at the distant clouds, unconcerned, and a brilliant branch of orange lightning with many tongues arced up into the sky, as if expressly for her to see. “Oh, she’s very powerful, and very angry. But for tonight, she will not come. She’s gathering the sisters of her clan and won’t move against us until they are all safely together.

  “So,” she said, as if to change the subject, “this deed to Dathomir that you own. Is it really worth anything?”

  Leia said, “It will be when the New Republic wins back this sector.”

  “And how soon will that be?” Augwynne asked.

  “That’s hard to say,” Han answered, nervo
usly eyeing the sky. “It could be three months, it could be three decades. But it’s a pretty sure thing. Zsinj is a great warrior, but he’s not a good governor. The more we whittle away at his fleets, the faster his worlds will slip from his grasp. As soon as his commanders see him falter, they’ll be at his throat.”

  Chewbacca roared a confident agreement.

  “Chewie believes Zsinj will fall within a year,” Threepio said. “But my programs indicate that at the current rate, he could hold on to his power for considerably longer than that. I estimate that he’ll fall in fourteen point three years.”

  “I think Chewie’s guess is closer,” Han said. “But things could still be rough for a while after that.”

  “Tell me,” Augwynne said, her voice edged with excitement. “How can I buy this planet from you? Do you value gold, gems? There are plenty of both here in the mountains.” The room suddenly quieted around him, as witches nearby listened for Han’s answer.

  Leia shot Han a knowing glance, waiting for him to name a price. “Well,” Han hesitated. “Since I own everything on this planet, those gold and gems are pretty much mine. The planet is valued at three billion credits. Of course that’s just for the real estate. That doesn’t include improvements—buildings, fixtures …”

  Augwynne studied his face a moment, nodded, not realizing that he was joking. She looked at the faces of her sisters. “We of the Singing Mountain clan have no money,” she said, “but we would offer you our service in payment. Tell me three things you desire, and we will grant your wishes, if it lies within our power.”

  “Well,” Han said, looking at the expectant faces of the witches. He had not forgotten Damaya’s words earlier. Though these witches were not his enemies, they had also not chosen to be his allies. That could come only with a price, and now they were naming the coin. He wasn’t taking them too seriously. “The first thing I wish, is that I could get off of this planet.” He looked up at the vaulted stone ceilings. “Then, I guess I’d like some of the gold and gems you were talking about—say as much as a grown rancor could carry. And last of all … if you can convince her, I want Leia’s hand in marriage.”