Into the Dark Read online

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  All rights reserved. Published by Disney o Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney o Lucasfilm Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-368-06209-1

  Library of Congress Control Number on file

  Design by Soyoung Kim and Scott Piehl

  Cover Illustration by Giorgio Baroni

  Cover Design by Soyoung Kim and Gegham Vardanyan

  Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Star Wars Timeline

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Preview of Star Wars: The High Republic: Out of the Shadows

  About the Author

  “Ah, pirates.” Jora Malli shook her head almost fondly. “They never learn.”

  The Togruta Jedi Master sat beside her Padawan in their PI-R airspeeder as it swooped through the massive constructions that covered a good third of Coruscant, in pursuit of a pirate skiff. In the decades since the latest building boom had begun on the planet, valuable ores and materials had been shipped and stored there. Tempting stuff, for a pirate. And for many years, stealing a haul and getting away had been far from impossible. Yes, Coruscant was the central world of the Republic, one with a vast security force. But everything about the planet was vast—including its opportunities for concealment and escape.

  However, Coruscant was becoming a more ordered place. An even more important place. And already home to the largest of all the Jedi temples in the galaxy.

  Which meant Coruscant would be safer than ever before. About time the pirates learned that.

  Jora opened her mouth to tell her Padawan what she sensed—that the pirates were going to try to surprise them by swooping upward—but Reath was already guiding the airspeeder up and over the spiderweb of construction beams, toward the brilliant sky.

  His strength in the Force isn’t remarkable, not among the Jedi, she thought as she studied her young human apprentice. The wind blew his dark brown hair into even more of a nest than usual. But Reath works harder than almost any Padawan I’ve ever known. He tuned in to my thoughts not through his natural gifts but through effort of will—and he did it faster than the naturally gifted ever manage. He’ll go farther than many of them…perhaps in ways he doesn’t yet understand.

  Their airspeeder crested the ridge of construction, and for a brief moment, Jora and Reath were treated to a panoramic view of the glittering structures of Coruscant—many of them crowned with silvery scaffolding but more of them complete, whole and shining. Sunlight streamed through the wispy clouds in the pale sky, painting everything pink and gold. Most beautiful of all, to Jora’s eyes, were the five spires of the Jedi Temple on the horizon.

  Then the pirate skiff surfaced from the maze of buildings, its pilot realizing the mistake too late. Reath immediately fired a tow cable. Its magnetic clamp shot out and seized the skiff’s hull.

  Calmly, Jora said, “Do you know the engine specs for that skiff?”

  “I don’t, Master Jora.” Reath looked puzzled, then dismayed as realization set in. “Oh, n—”

  His last word was cut off as the skiff dove desperately toward the ground level, easily overwhelming the airspeeder’s engines and dragging the Jedi down with it.

  Reath’s hand went to the control to release the clamp and remained in place, ready to act. He already sensed what Jora had planned, then. She smiled as she braced herself, the rushing wind sending her striped montrals streaming behind her. Her eyes focused on the skiff’s cockpit, on the just-visible silhouette of the pilot so frantic to get away that he might kill them all in the process.

  “This is not how it will be,” Jora whispered to herself, and then jumped.

  Her leap took her from the airspeeder to the skiff itself; Jora’s boots slammed hard against the cockpit as she ignited her lightsaber. Its blue blade slashed through the air, through the cockpit, slicing a hole. A faint shudder told her Reath had released the cable—perfect timing, she thought. The Force strengthened her grip, allowing her to hang on even as the skiff swerved violently in an effort to throw her free. Reath kept the airspeeder just behind them; what had begun as an accident was now breathtakingly close pursuit.

  Jora punched through what remained of the cockpit opening and leapt inside. The pirates were so cowed by her attack—or, perhaps, by her lightsaber—that none of them insulted her by even pulling a blaster. However, the skiff continued plummeting toward the fast-approaching surface. In less than two minutes, they’d be killed in a pulverizing crash.

  “Please take the ship out of this dive,” she said, “and report to the nearest docking station for arrest.”

  The Rodian pilot hesitated. In that split second, she sensed the anger within him. Did it burn hot enough to make him sacrifice his own life, and that of his comrades, just to take her along?

  Maybe.

  Jora waved her free hand through the air, a casual gesture. “You want to report to the nearest docking station.”

  “We want to report to the nearest docking station,” the pirates intoned in unison, and the pilot obediently took the ship out of its dive. Jora looked over her shoulder to see Reath falling in behind them, his grin as bright as the sunlight above them.

  A pity, to take away that smile for a time, Jora thought. But I can’t put this announcement off much longer.

  She was able to put it off another hour. It took that long to get the pirates arrested and processed by the appropriate authorities, and to check out the PI-R airspeeder to make sure it hadn’t been damaged. Reath had flown it well in challenging conditions.

  He, however, remained focused on his one mistake. “I’ll start on an in-depth study of engine specs tomorrow,” he promised as the two of them strolled away from the station, through the myriad booths and kiosks that made up a kind of permanent street market in the area. A group of Bith, all the way in from the Outer Rim, mumbled over their mugs of Port in a Storm as the Jedi passed. “I’ve already come up with a list of ship models I should concentrate on, if you want to look it over.”

  “That’s not our highest priority at the moment.” Jora clasped her hands behind her back. “We’ve spent a great deal of time on Coruscant, you and I. You’ve traveled much less than most other Padawans your age.”

  “But we have traveled,” Reath said. “Enough for me to know that the whole galaxy isn’t like Coruscant, and for me to know that I like it here best. Besides, I understood that when you chose me, Master Jora. Not many Padawans are lucky enough to learn from a member of the Jedi Council. Traveling a little less as a result—it’s not that big a sacrifice to make.”

 
; Jora wasn’t letting him get away with that. “It’s no sacrifice at all for you. It would take a gravity well to pull you out of the Archives, some days.”

  Reath grinned as he ducked his head. “Okay, fair enough. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always thought we were well matched.”

  “I, too. Yet the time has come for each of us to expand our horizons. I’ve taken on a new assignment, one that will lead us far from Coruscant for many years to come. We’ll be traveling to the frontier.”

  As Jora had anticipated, Reath’s first reaction was dismay. He half stumbled over the curb in front of the Bilbringi food kiosk. “But—the Council—”

  “I’ll soon be leaving the Council for the foreseeable future,” she explained. “This assignment is important enough to justify long-term involvement, and I have volunteered. It’s work that plays to my diplomatic strengths. Still, I wouldn’t have taken this on if I didn’t think it was important for you, too.”

  “Why?” Reath blurted out. “How could it be important to leave Coruscant for a—a place in the middle of nowhere—”

  “A place where Jedi once gave their lives to protect the people of that area of space,” Jora said. “That is not nowhere. That is worthy of any honor we can give it.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” His face had paled, which made the freckles on his nose and cheeks stand out. Jora liked it when humans had some face markings of their own. “I only meant that I’ve been working as an archivist, trying to be a good one, and it doesn’t seem like the frontier would need many of those.”

  She tilted her head, considering. “You might be surprised. But I intend for you to be more than an archivist, Reath.” More gently, Jora added, “You prefer to concentrate on those areas where you believe effort counts more than talent. But you have more than enough talent for anything you set your mind to—and effort always counts. For any task, in any place.”

  “Doesn’t it count more here? Where it does the most good?”

  Jora shook her head in fond disbelief. “My first Padawan craved endless adventure. My second one would happily avoid it. What both of you actually needed was the same thing: balance. I found it for him, and I’ve found it for you.”

  (At least, she hoped she’d helped Dez find it. Sometimes, hearing of his exploits on Zeitooine and Christophsis, she wondered.)

  The depth of Reath’s dismay would’ve been comical if it hadn’t been so heartfelt. That was one thing they never told you about being a master—that sometimes teaching a hard lesson hurt more than learning it. She said, “Tell me, Reath, why can you not cross the Kyber Arch by yourself?”

  Reath frowned. “Do I need to?”

  Jora didn’t reply. The Kyber Arch stood within one of the vast meditation chambers of the Coruscant temple. Each crystal in the arch was a kyber crystal, one retrieved from the damaged lightsaber of a Jedi fallen in battle. As beautifully as it sparkled in the light, it was a reminder of the price their fellow Jedi had paid in the pursuit of justice over the past millennia. Thick at the bases, the very topmost curve of the arch had deliberately been left extremely narrow, as a representation of the perils the fallen had faced.

  Scaling and crossing the Kyber Arch was an advanced meditation technique. Most Jedi never attempted it—only those who felt called to do so by the Force. So if Reath insisted on taking her question literally, he would never have an answer.

  Literal he remained. “I mean, I think I could cross it. We’ve made our way across ropes and tethers skinnier than that. Do you want me to try?” Reath looked hopeful again. “If I make it alone, does that mean we don’t have to go to the frontier?”

  “Neither you nor any other Jedi has ever crossed the Kyber Arch alone,” Jora said. “Nor will anyone ever do so. When you know the answer why, I believe you’ll understand why we’re headed to the frontier.”

  Reath sighed. Frustration practically radiated from him, but he maintained control admirably. He managed to ask, “Where are we going? Specifically, I mean.”

  Jora raised her head and looked into the sky as if she could see the stars beyond the sunset. “To the beacon of the Republic,” she said. “To Starlight.”

  Reath Silas was about to leave the Jedi Temple on Coruscant for his impressive new assignment on the frontier, and he was miserable about it.

  “Cheer up!” Kym insisted, clapping him on the shoulder and nearly making him spill the contents of his cup. Her face was flushed with the excitement of the farewell party that percolated around them. “You’re about to have an amazing adventure!”

  “‘Adventure’ is usually a euphemism for ‘going places that have lots of bugs,’” Reath said. “I mean, I know bugs have their place in the Force and are living beings in their own right…but that doesn’t mean I want them in my socks.”

  Kym laughed at him. A couple of the colorful streamers decorating the Padawans’ common area had gotten snagged on her lethorns. “You realize at least half of the apprentices here would do almost anything for a placement on the frontier, right?”

  In Reath’s opinion, “frontier” was usually a euphemism for “the middle of nowhere.” But he didn’t have the heart to debate with Kym any longer. It was hard enough pretending to be grateful for the big goodbye party his friends were throwing him.

  No. He was grateful. It could never be a bad thing to know that others cared about you and would miss you when you were gone. But Reath was in no mood for a party when all he felt was melancholy and the absolute certainty that he was being taken from the best place in the galaxy to one of the worst.

  Coruscant was the center of the known galaxy, literally and figuratively. Reath had always been grateful that was the temple he’d been sent to, that he’d had the privilege of growing up there, of learning directly from the members of the Jedi Council. His luck had continued when he’d been chosen as the Padawan of Jora Malli, one of the most renowned Knights of the age and a Council member herself. This meant Reath had served on a handful of the most significant missions of the past few years. What he lacked in natural strength in the Force (which he’d been keenly aware of since he was hardly more than a toddler) he made up for by working hard, being trustworthy, and taking responsibility. The majority of apprentices were still hoping for a measure of independence when they turned twenty; at only seventeen, Reath had already been trusted with tasks that his master said would’ve proved a challenge for even a full Jedi.

  But most of all—best of all—he’d had access to the Jedi Archives.

  Reath loved stories. He loved histories. He loved digging through records, learning what people had thought, said, and done in ages gone by. While the other Padawans were practicing their acrobatics or dueling with lightsabers, he’d been sitting up late with his digital texts.

  This made him the odd one out, most of the time. Rather than conform, Reath embraced his bookish ways. He didn’t see why anybody should think he was weird; really, it was weird of them to expect that every youngling would turn out to have the same personality. When the searchers went around looking for Force-sensitive infants, they only checked for potential ability. Not temperament, and certainly not preferences. Nobody ever asked the younglings, “Would you like to become a swashbuckling heroic Knight? Or would you rather stay at home and read?” Some people—however courageous and capable they might be—still preferred reading stories to living them, and Reath was among that number.

  Until recently, Master Jora had been more than understanding. She’d always said the Order needed academics as much as it needed adventurers, and there were usually too many candidates for the latter, not enough for the former. She said she found it refreshing that Reath went against the grain. So his assignments had always included plenty of time in the Archives. Other Jedi based on Coruscant had even begun to leave open a particular carrel, with the silent understanding that it was Reath’s spot.

  Then, when no one ever would have expected it, Master Jora took an assignment in the middle of nowhere.
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br />   He’d protested. Respectfully, of course—but he’d made his feelings known, not that it did any good. “It will be healthy for you to stretch,” Master Jora had said with a smile, “to test your abilities in other ways.”

  But Reath had tested himself. He’d pushed himself to excel in every field, not just his favorites. Who was always near the top of the lightsaber duelist rankings, Padawan class, despite not liking dueling much at all? Reath Silas. Who had aced every single one of his exams, except that time when he’d been sick to his stomach? Also Reath. Who was the only apprentice in decades to master Gatalentan meditation practices before his twentieth year?

  You’re falling prey to pride, Reath reminded himself. Too much pride in yourself is proof that such pride is unwarranted.

  It wasn’t like this was all his master’s idea. After his protests, she had admitted as much: Master Jora had been selected by her peers to lead the Jedi mission on this new edge of the frontier. She’d be the Jedi Master in charge of Starlight Beacon, which would become fully operational any day now, to serve as a source of unity and allegiance throughout the newest sector of the Republic. His master deserved every honor she could be granted and any duty she chose. Master Jora would’ve turned down the assignment if she didn’t want it. Clearly she did. And where the master went, the apprentice followed.

  Master Jora had left for Starlight weeks before, going on ahead of him so he could finish exams in the historiography course he’d undertaken. But they were done. His time on Coruscant was over.

  (He’d considered flunking something on purpose but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.)

  Why can no Jedi cross the Kyber Arch alone? he asked himself for the umpteenth time. Reath strongly wanted to have the answer ready for Master Jora when he arrived at Starlight. Preparing for exams meant he hadn’t had much time to meditate upon her question. He’d gone to study the arch itself, hoping that would spark some insight; instead, he’d watched a Jedi cross the arch entirely solo and with no apparent difficulty. But he knew telling Master Jora this wouldn’t get him anywhere.