“Yana, thank you for all your hard work,” Opari said, her voice raspy from disuse.

  “Of course. I do it for the Path. I hope you are well.”

  “Better than I’ve been in a long time, thank you. The Mother’s treatments have been greatly improving how I feel,” Opari said. “I am glad to be able to come and join everyone for the feast day.”

  Kor hugged the older Nautolan woman before pulling Yana to sit down on the other side of her.

  “The Elders are going to show us one of the early harvest dances,” Kor said, her expression exultant. “We don’t want to miss it.”

  Yana said nothing as a number of the older members of the Path took the stage, which was really just an area someone had outlined with bouquets of the lompop flowers that grew wild in the meadows that time of year. By the time the Elders were on the third iteration of a dragging-stomping-turning dance, Yana had had enough.

  “Kor,” Yana began, but was interrupted by the Herald’s approach.

  “Yana,” he said, the dislike in his voice unmistakable. “I thought you were finishing up the lights for the caverns.”

  “She was,” Kor said, interrupting. “I convinced her to come join the festivities.”

  “The Herald is right,” Yana said, sensing a possible exit. “I should get back to the lights. If I finish them today, everyone can return to their dwellings tomorrow after they’re installed.”

  Kor’s lips thinned, but the Herald gave a nod of agreement. Yana squeezed Kor’s hand before she climbed to her feet. “I’ll find you after I’ve completed my task,” she said. Kor said nothing, just crossed her arms.

  “I will walk with you,” the Herald said. “I have to return to my duties, as well.”

  “Werth. Must you?” Opari asked. Her disappointed expression was a match for Kor’s.

  “Yes, my darling. But I will be back shortly.” He bent down and placed his cheek next to hers in the way of Nautolans before straightening and gesturing for Yana to walk.

  “I get the feeling your duties have something to do with me,” Yana said once they were out of hearing of Kor and Opari.

  “I think the time for coyness between us is past, Yana. Wouldn’t you agree?” the Herald said. “The Mother told me you plan on leaving. I won’t allow it.”

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to speak plainly. But your feelings are irrelevant to this. I’m leaving as soon as we liberate one final artifact and I get my cut.”

  “There is no ‘cut,’ as you so eloquently put it. The only thing derived from liberating the treasures of the Force is freeing the Force from future manipulation.”

  Yana snorted. “Come on, Werth. You and I both know that isn’t true. We don’t just take the artifacts. We take enough for the Mother to sell. To whom or why, I don’t care. It’s making the Path stronger for my cousin. But I’m booking passage on the next freighter off of Dalna.”

  “And what about Kor? Will you rip her away from her family?” the Herald said.

  Yana didn’t look back to where she knew Kor still sat with her mother. A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it, along with the maelstrom of loss and hurt attempting to take hold in her middle. “If she wants to go with me, that’s her choice,” she said as coldly as she could.

  “She is needed here. She is true to the Path. Her mother needs her.”

  It hurt to agree with him, so Yana put a sarcastic frown on her face. “Herald, if you’re so sure there’s no ‘cut,’ then I do wonder how the Mother secured the cost of the treatment for Opari’s condition.”

  The Herald cleared his throat. “The Force provides.”

  Yana stopped and turned toward the Herald. “Think of me what you like, but it will be Kor’s choice.”

  “That is why you should stay here,” the Herald said. “I may not like you, but you treat my daughter well and make her happy. Besides, your place is here. Marda has realized that. Why haven’t you?”

  Yana laughed hollowly. “I am not my cousin.”

  “I see that. She apparently has all of the sense. Dalna is the best place for you. Your kind aren’t welcome out there in the galaxy. You forget I knew your elders. I welcomed them when they came to the Path because they had nowhere else to go. Every place they settled they were reviled and hunted because of old grudges. Do you think you’ll get a better chance out there?”

  Yana shrugged. “The path of the Evereni is never smooth, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t places that will have us. My people are survivors. And when we die it’s because our time is at an end. We don’t mourn our dead. We’re glad their suffering is finished.” Yana stifled a yawn. The only reason she was entertaining this conversation was because the Herald was Kor’s father. Otherwise, she would’ve turned on her heel and let him make his arguments to her back.

  “If you tried to live in harmony with the Force, perhaps you would not find the galaxy so unkind.”

  “Oh, Werth,” Yana said with a hollow chuckle, ignoring the feeling that the walls were closing in around her. “I don’t care a whit about the Force.”

  Without a word, Yana turned toward Cincey’s hut and the refuge of her work.

  Programming lights was much easier than navigating the emotional currents of the Path.

  Sunshine hurried through the caves toward the Mother’s listening room, dread weighing heavily in his middle. He’d hoped to return to Dalna with the Rod of Ages, a tribute to the Mother and her altruistic mission to liberate the Force. Instead he was returning with rumor and conjecture, and neither was going to inspire much celebration.

  The guards at the entrance waved him through with half a thought, used to his comings and goings by then. Sunshine let the moment warm him. Elecia trusted him. He wasn’t used to that.

  It was a short trip down the stairs and into the caverns, the far-off sound of dripping water echoing in the space. The ground still bore traces of the flood that had come through the caverns, but the watermark was no higher than Sunshine’s knees. That part of the caves hadn’t been devastated like so much of the rest of the compound. Which was likely why Elecia still wanted to meet there.

  When Sunshine entered the large cavern that was the Mother’s listening room, the ground dry while the rest of the complex had been very damp, a warmth suffused him. He’d never thought of anywhere in the galaxy as home. He’d been a rambler since he was old enough to flee his drunken father and simpering mother back on Eriadu. But this space, where Elecia was, felt like home. Like a place where he could put down roots and be the kind of person he’d always wanted to be: faithful, honest, trustworthy. And it wasn’t that he wanted anything romantic with the Mother. No, she was too good for him; he knew that. But to be at her beck and call?

  What could be better than that?

  Elecia sat cross-legged on her meditation cushions, eyes closed, the jewel he’d given her cradled in her lap. He waited in the entryway, breath held as he watched her meditate. There was such a look of peace on her face that it was hard not to envy her. The jewel seemed to glow in the dim light of the cave, almost as though it was responding to Elecia and her connection to the Force.

  How must it feel to be so close to the Force? Sunshine hadn’t much believed in the Force until he’d had the misfortune of meeting Jedi. But Elecia’s connection was totally different. After all, the Force must be free, and she was the only one who could do that. He was lucky to know her.

  Sunshine stumbled a bit at the thought and frowned. Where had that come from? He didn’t care about the Force one way or the other. A rush of annoyance surged through him.

  The Mother’s eyes opened, and she gave Sunshine a warm smile. “You’ve returned. Welcome.”

  The vexing feeling evaporated, and Sunshine returned the smile. “I have returned, but I am afraid it isn’t with the artifact.”

  The Mother frowned, and for Sunshine it was like a star going supernova. Despair flooded him. “But I have information about the Rod of Daybreak.”

  “Isn’t that the one located on Jedha? What information could you provide?”

  “It is, but the artifact used to be located in a museum open to pilgrims. It seems it was locked up after the Rod of Seasons was taken from the Hynestian royal family. I have the new location.”

  “Oh, that is excellent.” The Mother smiled at Sunshine, and he felt that same floating, falling sensation that always seemed to strike him when he was with Elecia too long. “How do we liberate it?”

  “I’m still gathering information on that. I wanted to tell you what I found before I did any more digging.” It was only half a truth. The reality was that he didn’t like being away from the Mother for too long. Whenever he was, he began to feel bad, a sick-sad emotion that felt strangely like guilt. Why being away from her made him feel guilty, he couldn’t quite say, but as long as he could be in her company, he was better.

  “Well, personally, I am glad you are here.” She placed the jewel on a nearby pillow before climbing to her feet and walking over to Sunshine. She cradled his face in her hands and turned another of those soothing smiles on him. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “I—of course. Anything you need.”

  “My Children are doing another pilgrimage, this time to Thelj. Will you take them for me?”

  Sunshine recoiled. “Is the Evereni going?” Sunshine was nervous every time he saw the girl, even though he’d never interacted with her directly. He’d heard the tales of their people, whisperings about the gray-skinned species that most considered little more than conjecture. But Sunshine had once seen an Evereni woman tear into a Pantoran man when she thought she’d been slighted, and the viciousness of the attack had lingered with him through the years.

  “Yes, but don’t worry. She won’t be a problem. Do you think you could do that, Sunshine? Do you think you could help me?”

  Sunshine found himself powerless to resist. He nodded, and as Elecia pulled him into an affectionate hug, his breath caught.

  “You have been such a tremendous help. What would I do without you?”

  Sunshine didn’t know, and more than anything, he hoped she would never have to find out.

  Kevmo was exhausted. It had been three days since the flood, and the waters had receded enough for the Path to emerge from their barn only the day before. Instead of returning to Ferdan immediately, Kevmo had checked in with Zallah once the comlinks were working again and asked to remain with the Path to help with the initial cleanup—they’d needed every pair of strong arms they could get, even if he didn’t use the Force. He’d felt it was the best use of his time and energy. But now they were preparing for a big communal meal of thanks, partly out of relief and partly, Kevmo suspected, to use up all the food that might go bad because of the broken tech. Marda had gently offered for him to stay and eat his share, but he’d said he needed to return to Master Zallah.

  That was true, but he also felt like he needed some space away from the Path and how intensely Marda affected him. Besides, he had to tell Zallah about the caves—and what he’d felt down there. It had felt distinctly like the dark side of the Force. He didn’t have a lot of overt experience with that, but it was undeniable. The Path could definitely be hiding all manner of things in that maze—not just the Rod of Seasons, but more and worse artifacts.

  And Kevmo knew how to navigate down there. Thanks to Marda’s trust. He grimaced and kicked at a furrow of mud lining the road into Ferdan.

  It had been good, for a couple of days, once everyone was safe. Kevmo had dozed in a pile of children, with Marda at his side, then woken up to help corral them, telling all his best stories about the galaxy. He avoided stories involving the use of the Force but talked about his childhood in the Jedi Temple and told stories from Hosnian Prime, memories he had of when he was just as young as little Simi, of great gatherings of his clan when they’d packed in even more closely than everybody stuck in that barn! The children were curious about his gold marks that didn’t wash off in the storm like their blue ones, so he explained what he knew about the tattoos and what he knew of the process of making the golden ink. He wrote out the characters on the floor to show them how the figures mirrored their meanings, and teased them about what their own tattoos might look like.

  But Marda had been most enamored of his stories about Jedha.

  She’d leaned in—black of her eyes sparkling with stars—and breathily asked for more. She wanted to know if he’d spoken with others from the Guardians of the Whills—where the founder of the Path of the Open Hand had begun his Force training. Kevmo did his best to describe what he remembered of the great temple on Jedha and explained that some Jedi scholars believed it had originated as a Jedi temple but long since became home to many different followers of the Force. And now the cold desert moon was the seat of the Convocation and included Guardians, Jedi, Sorcerers of Tund, and the Church of the Force. Marda had been impressed and wondered if there was room for a member of the Path to sit on the council. If conversations were happening among Force philosophies regarding the Force’s role in the galaxy, then certainly they needed a voice whose primary concern was the freedom of the Force itself. Kevmo hadn’t been able to disagree and told her she’d make a wonderful council member—a passionate debater, as he’d noted before.

  “I’m not sure I can ever leave Dalna,” Marda had demurred. But Kevmo had seen the idea take root and smiled. Marda smiled back. Then he’d distracted her and the Littles with a dramatic retelling of diverting the grass sharks and saving the settlement back on Tiikae.

  That had been the day before, and Kevmo knew there was a chance he wouldn’t see her again. Depending on the effects of the flooding on their ship and what Master Zallah thought of his information regarding the cave system, they might have to infiltrate the Path and rescue the Rod of Seasons—and confiscate any dark side artifacts—as soon as that night. Then they’d be offworld, and Kevmo might end up anywhere. Possibly never in this system again.

  The thought made him ache more than it should. He just liked Marda so much. The way she was kind and challenged him, so pretty and thoughtful, then turned around and did something that seemed impulsive—like she was following the will of the Force. When he was with her, Kevmo wondered if Marda and the Path did have a special insight into living in harmony and clarity with the Force. The central tenet of gifts freely given resonated with Kevmo. It aligned with his mission as a Jedi.

  But these were just idle thoughts, a challenge to his beliefs in the form of a beautiful person. He’d continue working through his feelings until he understood them well enough to let them rest. Maybe chat with Master Zallah about it, if he sensed she was in a charitable mood and not likely to tease him. Using his feelings, processing them as part of the way the Force spoke to him, was a key skill he needed to improve before he’d ever be a Knight.

  Still. He was going to miss Marda Ro. If he never returned to Dalna, he’d at least send her a farewell message and encourage her to keep thinking about Jedha.

  Ferdan teemed with activity as locals and merchants worked to assess and fix the damage from the great flood—it had been something of a two-hundred-year flood, with nothing like it in the memory of even the oldest residents. Kevmo overheard talk about sending a team to the volcanoes to survey the damage and try to discover what had shifted the river and caused the catastrophe. He also heard that six people had drowned. Most of them had been trapped upstream with no warning when the waters came.

  At the boarding house, Lady Jara commanded three burly workers—a Gamorrean and two Gigorans—to lift a banged-up trading transport out of the mud, but it was stuck. Kevmo immediately centered himself and reached for the Force. It felt excellent to easily slip into the warmth of it as he nudged the transport, separating it from the mud with a squelch, just enough for the workers to get a hold.

  “Ah,” Lady Jara said sourly, “about time you showed up.”

  Kevmo bowed to her, surprised. “Master Zallah hasn’t been helping you?”

  “She’s at the port with Jinx fixing up the communication array so we can talk offworld again.”

  Torn between rushing immediately to Zallah’s side and remaining to offer Jara more assistance, Kevmo hesitated.

  Lady Jara rolled her eyes. Her mouth pinched, but Kevmo thought it was a smile. “Run on. Go report to your master. This mess’ll still be here.”

  “Thank you!” he said, and dashed away.

  He stopped twice more to do some heavy lifting and once to use his lightsaber to quickly cut away some impossibly tangled wires where floodwaters had bashed the side of an irrigation droid that looked to have been dragged hundreds of meters from outside of town.

  As Kevmo turned back toward the docks, grinning and bowing to the people he’d helped, insisting again no thanks were necessary, he noticed a familiar shock of pink tendrils. Pausing, he stepped to the left and peered down an alleyway. It was gloomy thanks to the lowering suns, but Kevmo had no more doubts: it was the Mikkian boy from the Path of the Open Hand. The one who’d spent the days in the barn flipping a knife until various Elders told him not to, then vanished as soon as the rain stopped even though the flooding remained. Kevmo had not been impressed, especially when he realized Marda didn’t like the Mikkian, either.

  Treze, that was his name. Kevmo squashed his discomfort with spying—he preferred up-front methods—and slipped down the alleyway as the Mikkian pushed open a door with a shriek of hinges and vanished inside.

  It was an alley between a row house and a line of for-rent buildings that were little more than shacks, and Treze had entered the row house. Several windows were open—broken, actually—and everything smelled like mud and a hint of trash from the piles of ruined goods pressed into the crevices of the alley—some washed there, some dumped from the upper stories.

  “Rilly, come here,” Kevmo heard Treze say, answered by an eager coo. That was followed by the distinctive sound of heavy kissing, and Kevmo gagged a little, ready to go back the way he’d come. This was just a rendezvous, the Mikkian keen to see his lover after the flood. Nothing nefarious, even if whoever the lover was had terrible taste.