Ember darted forward, spitting fire.

  Bell followed her.

  “Stop!” Burry shouted. He thrust out a hand, nudging Bell away with the Force.

  Bell stumbled in surprise, turning to Burry with a wrinkled brow. Bell, who never gave up. Bell, who never would. Burry breathed deeply. Couldn’t his friend feel it, too?

  “Come back, Ember,” Bell said, patting his hip. He thumbed on his lightsaber, and the green blade hummed to life.

  Burry walked nearer to the Drengir. It stank of old plants and fallen leaves. And blood and rancid meat. Burry’s nose twitched. He reached out again, feeling the edges of the Drengir’s miasma. It was dark, dreadful, angry, but that wasn’t all.

  “Burry, what are you doing? Be careful,” Bell said urgently.

  Vines snaked toward him, but halfheartedly. This was nothing like the ferocious, deadly monsters described in all the reports.

  Burry’s heart pounded as he approached, touching the energy of the Force. He pushed on it with his own feelings and his sense of self. It was almost like a caress.

  The Drengir shoved hard, rejecting him with a sharp, painful spike of the Force, echoed in the Drengir’s bellow of…sorrow.

  It was dying, Burry realized, sadness draining him. He said as much to Bell.

  “What—dying?” Bell crouched several meters away, holding Ember around the neck.

  The Drengir shuddered again, and vines rolled away from the low center to reveal that red maw, beaked and fanged, and Burry fought back a shiver of his own. The whole creature roiled with feelings. Burry needed to stop letting it in. He wanted to pet it but knew better. He wanted to soothe the creature even though it was a monster, even though it would eat him and Bell and every sentient being on this moon. It would snatch away children and kill them slowly. He only felt this way because it was trying to make a connection to use him. Burry shoved it away, which was easier than it should have been, according to everything Burry had read.

  “Let’s finish this?” Bell said, but he sounded uncertain.

  Burry shook his head. It was already dying. All they had to do was wait.

  * * *

  —

  Burry sat cross-legged with his long lightsaber hilt across his lap and held vigil for the dying Drengir.

  Bell and Ember remained a bit farther off, ready in case Burry was wrong.

  He knew he wasn’t. As he sank deeper into meditation, Burry could feel the subtleties of the Drengir’s sorrow. It was lonely. Cut off from the other Drengir, from the hive mind. Something had happened to cut that tie.

  Burry wanted to ask, and he touched the boundaries of the Drengir with his feelings. But it wouldn’t let him in. Given the stories the Wookiee had read, perhaps it was for the best.

  Though Bell pulled out crinkling packets of rations, he only fed them silently to Ember and didn’t suggest leaving. He walked a perimeter once or twice as the sun set and the sky turned a jeweled royal purple and the rain forest glowed green and pink from its algae.

  The Drengir moaned and it rolled, but it continued to slowly die.

  Burry opened himself up to its final thoughts and feelings.

  The Drengir didn’t understand what was happening to it, either.

  * * *

  —

  When the sun rose on the sixth moon of Felne, the Drengir was dead.

  Burry knew immediately, and his shoulders drooped, but he didn’t move from his meditation. He had felt something he needed to process, and so it took a while before Bell noticed the Drengir had died, had sunken in on itself slightly, as if malevolent energy had kept its vines thick and its stench hungry. He walked to his partner and nudged Burry’s shoulder.

  “Burry?” Bell said. On Burry’s other side, Ember snuffled her muzzle into the thick hair along the Wookiee’s neck.

  Burry sighed, gathered himself, and stood. He said they needed to report the death and request permission to investigate any other Drengir appearances nearby.

  Bell looked at him for a moment, and Burry wondered if he’d have to rephrase for his friend’s growing, but limited, Shyriiwook, but then Bell nodded decisively and said, “All right. I agree. Tell me why.”

  Burry stood up, his gaze drifting to the pile of vines and fibrous monster. He tried to think of the simplest way to explain the roiling emotions he’d sensed. The Drengir was lonely. And scared. Cut off from family.

  “Afraid? Is that what you said?” Bell asked in a hushed tone.

  Burry nodded. He gripped his lightsaber tightly and glanced at Ember. It was time.

  “Ember,” Bell commanded gently, and gestured to the remains.

  The charhound puffed herself up with sparks and, with a choking, coughing hack, set the remains aflame.

  Chapter Twelve

  Coruscant

  Elzar held a shallow bowl of water cradled in the lap of his crossed legs and touched the surface with a finger to create quiet ripples.

  He let his vision blur along with them, recalling the sway of ocean against his body, the physical sensation mirroring the visual ripples. The Force rippled out from the bowl and from himself, reaching out and pulling back in. It was a tiny ocean. Enough to represent everything the Force could be, but not enough to drown him.

  In and out.

  Connected to the vast, deep sea of the Force, Elzar felt calm. He closed his eyes and gave himself a moment to remember the dark side. The times he’d touched it. Only a handful, but they made an impression. On Valo, he’d let it happen. Chosen it, even if briefly, knowing the consequences. But on Starlight Beacon, it had chosen him instead.

  That was the thing he feared.

  Elzar sank into the memory of what it had felt like when he murdered Chancey Yarrow.

  The flood of rage and desperation echoed in him now: accurate, implacable, but cold. It hit like a sudden wave crashing against a beach, not the tsunami it used to be.

  He let it wear at him, becoming part of him.

  Slowly, a little bit more every day, he accepted what he’d done. Only when he accepted it could he be sure it wouldn’t happen again. Elzar could almost hear Orla’s voice. Telling him to get back in the water. Stay there. Hold there.

  “Master Elzar,” came JJ-5145’s crisp voice, much less soothing than the memory of the Wayseeker. “The Jedi Council is summoning you!”

  Luckily, Elzar wasn’t startled and didn’t spill a drop of water. He was more than used to the droid’s interruptions. Truth be told, if JJ-5145 ever acted calmly and without urgency, Elzar would have him analyzed for bugs.

  Elzar stood smoothly with the water. “Thanks, Forfive.” He handed the droid the bowl. “Take care of this for me?”

  A summons like this right now had to be the will of the Force. He’d been working on accepting his mistakes and moving past them—with them—and telling the Council about Chancey the way Avar suggested and Vernestra demanded.

  Elzar wanted to do right by both of them and by Stellan.

  Vernestra Rwoh had been Stellan’s Padawan, and a few months ago, she’d been the second Jedi to escape the Occlusion Zone after Avar. Upon her return, the young Mirialan had confronted Elzar about Chancey Yarrow. Vernestra was friends with Yarrow’s daughter, and they’d discovered the cause of her death while spying on the Nihil.

  Stellan had been proud of Vernestra, and because of it, Elzar had a childish desire for her to like him. And it was fairly obvious she did not. Elzar couldn’t compare to her master, after all.

  But Vernestra had been right about Chancey: Even if Elzar was dealing with his actions himself, the Council needed to know. The weaknesses of all Jedi were Council business, especially when they kept putting Elzar in charge of things.

  It was time to tell them. His progress in coming to terms with what he’d done and the consequences was…fine. This was a hurdle he could overcome.

  Whatever the Council wanted today, he’d listen, do what they asked, then make his confession.

  “But, Master Elzar,” JJ-5145 said, wheeling after him in the tight quarters. “I can go over possible reasons for this emergency session with you on the way.”

  “It’s fine, and I doubt it’s a real emergency, or we’d already know what went wrong.” Elzar paused. “I’ll find out when I arrive.”

  The droid wheeled back in surprise. Elzar tried not to be offended, smiling wryly. “Just wish me luck.”

  “Er, may the Force be with you, Master Elzar.”

  “Thanks.”

  Elzar left his quarters and strode for the lift in one of the outer spires that would take him up to the Jedi Council Chamber. He wouldn’t back down this time. He couldn’t.

  * * *

  —

  Elzar swept into the Council Chamber, cloak flapping behind him. It had been ages since he’d worn plain Jedi mission attire instead of these more formal temple robes. The stark white and gold made a difference when he was in the Senate building regularly: Various senators and their aides found reassurance in the pristine nature of formal Jedi dress. He thought fleetingly of Avar, who barely even wore a mission uniform these days.

  He had to push the thoughts of her away. There was no use fretting. Avar would be fine. She would send another message after her next mission. Elzar had more urgent needs to worry about right now.

  As Elzar took his place before the circle of Jedi, Grand Master Lahru said, “Elzar.” Several others nodded. Grand Master Yoda nodded a little from his low perch on a cushion.

  Every one of the Council members was physically in attendance. None wavered in place as a blue holo. Elzar hadn’t seen them all together since they’d welcomed Avar home. Whatever this was, it was important. He readied himself. It was as good a time as any to make his confession.

  First Elzar glanced at the two empty seats: Stellan’s and Grand Master Veter’s. The sight of them filled him with sorrow and a flicker of his old fury at the last moments of Veter’s life. Those seats were both empty because of the Nihil. Because of Marchion Ro. The anger hummed, but Elzar let it flow away and turned his gaze around at everyone else. “Masters,” he said.

  Yoda stood with a little hop, tapping his walking stick once for attention. “Elzar Mann, a question, we have for you.”

  The rest of the Jedi Council stood, too. Elzar took a deep breath to stop from backing up in surprise.

  “Long it is that this seat has been missing a Council member,” Master Yoda said, indicating Stellan’s chair.

  “Too long,” murmured Master Adampo. The gold Jedi Order emblems piercing his ears flashed in the light as he gently shook his head.

  Elzar bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

  Grand Master Lahru inclined his head, his long cranial fin making him the tallest in the room. “We want you to accept the position.”

  Now Elzar was startled.

  No—he was shocked. He had no idea what his face was doing.

  Master Ada-Li Carro smiled. “Yes, you.”

  Grand Master Ry Ki-Sakka was smiling, too.

  “Avar—” Elzar began, unable to help himself.

  “Walks a different path than once she did,” said the older human Teri Rosason. “As do you.”

  The Jedi Council fell quiet as Elzar absorbed their solemn gazes.

  He wanted to turn in place, to spin around and stare back at each of them. They couldn’t possibly mean it. He wanted to demand detailed reasons. Out of everyone they could offer this to…it couldn’t be him.

  “I killed someone,” he blurted out.

  Silence continued to reign for a drawn-out moment, and Elzar couldn’t believe how fast he’d lost any semblance of control of this situation. That had not been how he’d intended to make this confession. But he couldn’t possibly be the right Jedi for this job.

  “Killed, have we all,” Yoda said almost tentatively. Or as if he were talking to a child.

  Master Murag raised both graying eyebrows, inviting Elzar to go on.

  He swallowed. He breathed. And he told them.

  “When Starlight Beacon was falling, one of the Nihil prisoners escaped and was trying to stop the crash. She…her name was Chancey Yarrow. She was working for Marchion Ro, developing weapons, but ultimately she wanted to save us, save the Beacon, even if only to save herself.” Elzar let his gaze drift to the floor, remembering the darkness of that room, the sound of Nan screaming at him. The smell. There was always a smell when a lightsaber cut through something. A cold, clean, electric smell, even when it was flesh.

  Elzar didn’t push the memory away. His heart beat faster. “I killed her the moment I saw her digging into a panel. I acted in anger and fear. And Starlight fell.”

  It sounded so simple when he said it. Awful but simple. A chain of events, no more.

  But it was so much more.

  “We know now she was behind the technology that led to the Stormwall.” Elzar made himself continue. “If she were alive, we might understand it. We might…” Elzar shook his head. So much of the galaxy suffered in ripples from that murder. Just like his finger disrupting the surface of the water.

  “Relish it, you did?” Yoda asked.

  Startled, Elzar frowned. “No, no, of course not.”

  “And when did you know you’d let go of the light?” asked Master Teri Rosason with her creaky old voice.

  “Immediately.” Elzar shook his head. “I was horrified right away. But that’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?” Yarael Poof’s head tilted at the end of his long, long neck.

  Elzar opened his mouth but nothing came out. He understood they needed him to be able to articulate this, and he could, but the context should have been a confession, not them offering him Stellan Gios’s Council seat.

  The Jedi Council waited patiently.

  He wasn’t worthy of Stellan’s legacy.

  “The point…” Elzar began, “is not that she died by my hand. It’s that I didn’t weigh anything. I didn’t consider. The world was exploding around me, and I gave in to the chaos, to the desperation. I didn’t maintain myself as a Jedi. The circumstances are no excuse. What I was going through—what all of us on Starlight went through—should have made me better, not worse.”

  “You think Master Gios would condemn you for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you condemn yourself?”

  “Yes.” Elzar hesitated before making himself continue. “I’m trying not to. I’m working on it, on accepting my mistakes, because they’re part of all that makes me who I am.”

  Yoda tapped his walking stick on the floor again. “What better action should you be taking in response, hmm?”

  “I shouldn’t have to do it in the first place,” Elzar said, knowing he sounded incredulous.

  “No Jedi is perfect, Elzar Mann,” said Grand Master Lahru. “It is how we choose to serve Light and Life every day through the Force that makes us Jedi.”

  Elzar lowered his eyes. “I know. We learn that as children. But knowing it and living it are different.”

  “Even members of this Council, mistakes can make.” Yoda shook his head.

  Elzar couldn’t help thinking of Azlin Rell, the former Jedi Master whom Yoda had sought for so long, returning with him to Coruscant last year. Yoda had sought Rell in the hope he could provide resources the Jedi could use to face the Nameless, and so far he hadn’t done so, to Elzar’s knowledge. There remained a chance, but how did one weigh that kind of hope against the dark side itself?

  Yet it did allow Elzar a moment of insight into what Master Yoda meant. Choosing the light—any kind of choice—always left room for mistakes. For making the wrong choice. Elzar nodded. “I believe I understand you.”

  “Yet you also believe your actions disqualify you from holding a position among us?” The Thisspiasian master Oppo Rancisis tugged at his layered beard.

  “Yes,” Elzar said. How could he stand where Stellan had stood, given the choices he’d made?

  The Jedi Council members shared a moment, glancing around at one another, and for all Elzar knew, they were talking in ways he couldn’t hear.

  Before long, Master Yoda said, “Believe that you are disqualified because of this new information, we do not. Your choice it is, to revere your mistake so highly.”

  Elzar wanted to protest the phrase “revere your mistake” because that wasn’t what he was doing. His hesitation was born of a healthy respect for lifelong tendencies he continued to learn how to temper. He’d certainly argued plenty with the Council before. This time he stopped. This wasn’t about policy or rescue missions or about where to send their resources. This was just about him and his future at a time when some nights he couldn’t sleep because he feared none of them had a future at all.

  Slowly, Elzar asked, “Will you tell me…why do you want me? You don’t believe I’m unworthy of this seat, but what makes you think I’m worthy of it?”

  “Elzar.” Ry Ki-Sakka walked to him and clasped his shoulder. “New Council members are not meant to replace the old on the Jedi Council. That’s not what this is.”

  Elzar’s gaze fell to the shiny floor. Once again, he felt young. Too young, too fragile for the weight of all this. How did they manage it? The expectations of an entire galaxy? Stellan’s shoulders had always remained straight.

  Ry said, “We don’t replace. We add. We expand. It would not be Stellan Gios’s seat you would take. It would be yours.”

  For a moment Elzar was frozen in place. Then he swallowed and bowed. “May I have time to consider your words before I make my choice?”

  “Certainly, Master Elzar,” Soleil Agra said, speaking for the first time. “We have needed new voices among us for months. A few more weeks will make little difference.”

  “We hope,” Master Yoda said with a teasing lilt to his reedy voice.