“I would like to welcome everyone,” Luke said, “to this first meeting of the—” He hesitated, then looked to Cal Omas. “What is it, anyway? We’re not the Jedi Council, with half of us not being Jedi.”
Cal hesitated, too. “Let’s just call it the High Council, for now,” he said.
It wasn’t the most auspicious of beginnings. The hotel room that had been given to the council was oddly shaped and, like many of the rooms requisitioned by the hastily formed government, smelled of fresh paint. The oval table, shiny mother-of-pearl from a huge seashell, was too large for the room, and there was crowding at either end of the table.
At the table’s thick waist, Luke faced Cal Omas. It would have seemed too suggestive of division to have all the Jedi at one side of the table facing the non-Jedi, almost as if he were asking the council to split into two parties right from the beginning, so he’d alternated Jedi with others along the table’s circumference.
To Luke’s right was the Wookiee Senator Triebakk, large and hairy and snarling with vigor. To the right of Triebakk sat the Jedi healer Cilghal, her protuberant Mon Calamari eyes able to scan the entire room. At the end of the table was Intelligence Director Dif Scaur, whose thin human frame withstood the crowding at the table better than most.
To Scaur’s right sat Kenth Hamner, a human Jedi retired from the military, who sat rigidly upright and wore his well-tailored civilian suit as if it were a uniform. To Hamner’s right was the soft-spoken Ta’laam Ranth, the Gotal Senator whose support had given Cal his majority in the Senate, and who had demanded a seat on the council as a reward for his loyalty.
To Ta’laam’s right was Cal, and to Cal’s right was Kyp Durron. At the moment Kyp looked uncomfortable: he and his squadron had been ordered to Mon Calamari on very short notice, and no sooner had he arrived than he’d been told he’d become a council member and taken to the first meeting. He had been on the planet for less than three hours, and his disorientation showed.
To Kyp’s right was the golden-furred Minister of State, Releqy A’Kla, daughter of the late Elegos A’Kla, the Caamasi Senator who had been ritually sacrificed by the Yuuzhan Vong on Dubrillion. Releqy had absorbed many of her father’s memories through the Caamasi memnii and possessed the knowledge, demeanor, and political skill of someone years older than her chronological age.
To Releqy’s right, at the cramped far end of the table, sat the erect figure of Saba Sebatyne, who regarded the others with bright, intent reptilian eyes. She was used to hunting Yuuzhan Vong with packs of other Barabels, and Luke hoped she would come to regard the Jedi Council as a pack of a different order.
To Saba’s right was Sien Sovv, the Supreme Commander, and between Sovv and Luke bulked the wrinkled gray frame of the Chev Jedi Knight Tresina Lobi, whose long snout was partly unrolled on the surface of the table.
To these was added C-3PO, whom Luke had borrowed from Leia in order to act as secretary, transcriber of the minutes, and (if necessary) translator. The droid stood out of the way in the corner and regarded the meeting with his glowing gold eyes.
Luke looked at the datapad and the notes he’d made to himself about the meeting. “I’d like to start the meeting by finding out if any committee members have anything to bring before the council.”
Cal Omas cleared his throat. “This is a momentous occasion, Master Skywalker. And you’re not going to make a speech?”
“I hadn’t been planning one,” Luke said. “But if I know Jedi, I think I can promise you speeches in plenty as the meeting goes on.” And then he looked at Cal and said, “Would you like to make a speech?”
“My throat’s a bit tired from the speeches I have been making,” Cal said. “But I can give you some of the applause lines from my acceptance speech—some of them were real corkers.”
“I think we all heard that speech the first time.” Luke smiled.
“I’d like to think so,” Cal said. He waved a hand. “Never mind, then—sorry for the interruption.”
Luke looked at the others. “Does anyone wish to offer a report?”
“Master Skywalker.” Kyp raised a hand.
“Master Durron?”
Kyp’s discomfort showed plainly on his face. “Can you explain to me why I’m here?”
Saba Sebatyne gave a brief hiss of amusement.
“What do you mean?” Luke replied.
Kyp twisted in his seat. “I’m not sure that I belong on the council. Not really. I’ve been a lot of trouble to you, and I hardly think I’ve earned a place here.”
“While that may be true,” Luke said, “that doesn’t mean you haven’t earned a seat. You’re one of our most experienced Jedi, particularly in fighting the Yuuzhan Vong. No one questions your dedication or your talent or your mastery of the Force. You’ve always supported the formation of a Jedi Council.”
“I surrendered pride on Ithor,” Kyp said. “And while I haven’t always lived up to that vow, I’ve tried my best. I disbanded the Dozen and placed myself under Jaina Solo’s command, and though I ended up re-forming the Dozen at Admiral Kre’fey’s request, I’ve been trying to keep my head down and do my job and keep out of the kind of trouble I seem to get into. And now—” He struggled for words. “—now you’ve put me on the governing body of the Jedi. That’s a temptation to the pride I’ve renounced. I think I might be happier flying at the head of my squadron.”
“The happiness of one iz not the issue,” Saba hissed. “The issue iz where one may best zerve.”
“I think your voice on the council is necessary, and welcome,” Luke told Kyp. “Though I won’t keep you here if you insist on resigning.”
Kyp was exasperated. “I don’t want to go against your wishes yet again, Master Skywalker.”
“In that case, stay.”
“Besides,” Cal Omas said, “if you’re worried about your overweening pride, I think everyone here can work out ways to keep you humble.”
Even Kyp laughed at this. He waved a hand. “As you wish, Master Skywalker. But I hope I won’t make you regret this.”
So do we all, Luke thought.
“Since you asked for news,” Kyp went on, “I have information from Kashyyyk, from Lowbacca and the team of Wookiees who are investigating Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology.”
“Go ahead,” Luke said, and was aware of Triebakk, on his right, leaning forward with great interest.
“They’ve been working with the dovin basals from the captured frigate Trickster,” Kyp said. “They’re now able to use our own interdiction technology to duplicate the effects of dovin basal space mines. Since the war began, the Vong have used their mines to yank our ships out of hyperspace and ambush them with fighter craft, and now it looks as if we’ll be able to do the same to them.”
“Wonderful!” C-3PO said, translating for Triebakk. “Well done!”
Sien Sovv was pleased. “Splendid. That will fit in well with Admiral Ackbar’s plan.”
“Perhaps Admiral Sovv should explain Ackbar’s plan for those of us who haven’t heard it,” Cal said.
“Perhaps only the first part,” Dif Scaur cautioned. “The plan’s … ultimate objective … is perhaps beyond the scope of this meeting.”
In other words, Luke thought, let’s not tell too many people that Ackbar hopes to lure the Yuuzhan Vong into a trap. If only a few people knew, maybe the Vong could actually be surprised.
Luke had been watching Dif Scaur with care, through the Force as well as visually. He still wasn’t certain how much he trusted Scaur. In this case, however, he sensed only a genuine concern for keeping Ackbar’s ultimate goals secret.
Sovv obliged Scaur by explaining Ackbar’s plan to season the Republic’s raw recruits through a series of skirmishes and small engagements rather than risking a large battle. “Admiral Kre’fey,” he finished, “has requested as many Jedi pilots as possible. He hopes to merge many elements of his fleet into what he calls the ‘Jedi meld,’ so that all may maneuver together as one. He reports that he’s had limited success with this tactic at Obroa-skai, but needs more Jedi to make it more effective.”
“I’ve also received a message from Kre’fey requesting Jedi,” Luke said. “I have no objection to sending any who wish to go.”
“I hope the council can see its way to helping Kre’fey,” Cal said. “The military’s reeling and needs all the help we can give. They’re on their heels with one defeat after another, they rightly blame the political leadership, and some are on the verge of mutiny. I’d really hate to have to give an order to Garm Bel Iblis right now—who knows what kind of answer I’d get? If the Defense Forces don’t think we’re going to stand behind them, I’d hate to think what might happen.”
Kyp cleared his throat and half-heartedly raised a hand. “Yes?” Luke said.
“I’m sorry to have to say this after everything the president has just said, but we may have a potential problem with Admiral Kre’fey. He’s a good commander, I guess. But the Bothan clans have—well, they’ve declared genocide against the Vong, and Kre’fey’s taken it to heart. It’s called ar’krai. I don’t think I want the council to declare its support for mass murder, even the mass murder of Yuuzhan Vong.”
Luke turned to Cal Omas. “Cal, have you heard of this?”
Cal shook his head. “If the Bothan government has made any such declaration, they certainly haven’t informed me.”
“Speak to Admiral Kre’fey,” Kyp said. “He’s a happy warrior these days—I’m sure he’d be glad to explain it to you.”
Dif Scaur’s pale, skeletal fingers fingered his jaw. Cold intelligence worked behind his deep-set eyes, and Luke sensed that he found this development highly intriguing. “Bothans are rather secretive,” he said. “It’s possible that they consider this a private decision.”
“A private decision with galactic consequences,” Cal said. He seemed unsettled and angry. “It’s not the Bothans’ decision, anyway, blast it.”
“What do we do with Admiral Kre’fey’s request?” Kenth Hamner asked.
“He already has Jedi serving under him,” Tresina Lobi said. “Including Master Durron. What is his opinion?”
Kyp hesitated, then shrugged. “He’s an effective commander—not a genius like Ackbar or a master of tactics like Wedge Antilles, but a problem solver and dedicated to victory. Ar’krai is a new policy. I don’t know what he plans to do, but I know that I’m worried.”
From the Gotal Senator Ta’laam Ranth, Luke sensed a wave of wry amusement. Gotals were thought unemotional and hyperlogical by those who could not detect the emotions radiating from the twin cones on their heads. Though Luke wasn’t as good at reading Ta’laam as another Gotal would be, he nevertheless received an indication of the Senator’s disposition through the Force.
“Kre’fey may wish to eliminate the Vong,” Ta’laam said. “I may wish to eliminate the Vong. Most of the people in this galaxy doubtless wish to eliminate the Vong. But may I remind the council that neither Kre’fey nor anyone else can do it. We are losing the war. The issue isn’t whether we destroy the Yuuzhan Vong, the issue is whether they destroy us.” His scarlet eyes glimmered in their deep sockets. “Moral conundrums make an entertaining mental exercise, but I suggest we keep this discussion within the realm of the possible.”
“I agree,” Scaur said. He had been watching Ta’laam narrowly, and Luke sensed that he was agreeing, not because he cared about the Senator’s position, but for secret reasons of his own.
Luke wished he knew what these reasons were.
Releqy nodded her golden head in agreement with Scaur and Ta’laam. “Perhaps that is best,” she said.
“Very well,” Luke said. “The issue is whether we should send Jedi to Admiral Kre’fey.”
Saba Sebatyne put an elegant, scaled hand onto the table. “I and my kindred are highly experienced in the kind of Force-melding that Admiral Kre’fey desirez for hiz Jedi. Perhapz I should point out something that otherz may not have realized. If Kre’fey succeedz in building this meld in his forcez, it will not be Kre’fey who commandz his fleet, it will be ussss.”
The last sibilant hiss floated down the table to Saba’s startled audience. Triebakk, vastly amused, gave an untranslatable roar.
“The fleet will be conditioned to obey the orderz of the Jedi,” Saba went on. “They will fight at our direction and under our leadership. Should Kre’fey attempt any sort of—shall we call them illegal actionz?—he will need both our permission and cooperation. It would be within our power to withhold them.”
The others watched the Barabel for a long, silent moment. Then Luke said, “I think we should send Jedi.”
Kyp raised a hand in halfhearted protest, then dropped it. “Very well. But they should be warned about the Bothans’ declaring ar’krai.”
“Agreed. And while training with this meld, they should consider what to do if the meld is ever misused.”
“Master Skywalker,” Cilghal said. “You have throughout the war warned us of the dangers of aggression. But now you send Jedi to war under a commander who will use them aggressively. Have you changed your mind?”
Cilghal had been watching him with those bulging eyes, Luke thought, and had sensed his mind within the Force. She was never less than acute. “I have changed my policy, yes,” he answered.
At once he had Kyp Durron’s full attention. “How?” Kyp asked.
“I’m willing to give my blessing to those Jedi who wish to act offensively against the Yuuzhan Vong, provided that they confine their objectives to military ones.”
Kyp’s eyes flashed. “You could have saved us both a lot of grief if you’d told us that a couple of years ago!” He waved his arms. “For years you’ve been warning me about aggression leading to the dark side! I didn’t listen, and over and over and over again reality whacked me on the side of the head! Finally I decided you were right! I watched someone else go to the dark and it was worse than I could have imagined!” He pointed a finger at Luke. “You finally convinced me! I’ve been a good little Jedi for—for months now! I’ve been telling everyone who would listen that Master Skywalker’s been right all along! And now you tell me that you’ve changed your mind?”
Now this was the Kyp that Luke knew.
“How dare you?” Kyp demanded. “How dare you?”
It was all Luke could do to keep from laughing out loud.
“At the beginning of the war I didn’t have the same information that I have now,” Luke said. “Perhaps you did, however.”
“What information?” Kyp crossed his arms and glared at Luke with grudging patience.
“At the beginning I was deeply disturbed by the fact the Yuuzhan Vong couldn’t be found in the Force. It seemed to me that they might be a mockery of the Force, a deliberate profanation of life, and that I would be destined to lead a dark crusade against them.” He looked along the table, meeting every pair of eyes. “It would have been a dreadful thing,” he said. “So many Jedi would have turned against the light in a war like that. I might not have been able to resist the darkness myself.”
“What changed your mind?” Kyp’s gaze was wary.
“New information.” Luke looked up. “From Jacen Solo, and from Vergere. It’s now possible to understand that the Yuuzhan Vong aren’t some exception to the rules of creation. If we can’t see them in the Force, it’s our fault, not theirs. We can fight them without wanting to wipe them from existence. We can fight them without hate, and without darkness.”
Luke looked across the table at Kyp. “If you knew this two years ago, I apologize for doubting you. But in the meantime I’m not sorry that I was cautious.”
“I couldn’t have known any of that,” Kyp said. “You know I couldn’t have known it.”
“There was so much at stake. I didn’t want anyone to turn to the dark side because I misread the situation.”
“You …” Kyp accused, pointing. “You …” He banged his hand on the table in frustration and looked at the others. “Am I the only one here who simply wants to punch Master Skywalker in the nose?”
Again Luke concealed laughter, and he sensed that he wasn’t the only one. Cal Omas looked from Luke to Kyp and grinned. “I won’t throw any punches,” he said, “but I’m willing to be entertained.”
Kyp threw up his hands in frustration. “I think Skywalker does this for his own entertainment!”
“If you want the practical argument, Kyp,” Luke said, “the Chief of State has now given us his full support and made a place for the Jedi in the government. It seems only polite to support the government that is supporting us.”
“That’s all very well,” Kyp said. “But your warnings about aggression weren’t without foundation. It’s still possible for the darkness to take our people. I know. I’ve been there.” He looked at Luke, pain in his eyes. “And very recently I’ve watched it happen to someone else.”
Now you know what it’s like, Luke thought. He had watched Kyp fall into darkness without being able to stop him. Now Kyp understood, when Jaina let the dark take her, what it was to feel that helplessness.
“The Jedi Code is made confusing by the fact that aggression is never defined,” Luke said. “So I’m going to define it right now. Aggression is making an unprovoked attack, or taking something that doesn’t belong to you, or aiding someone else in doing one of these things.”
Kyp nodded thoughtfully. “That definition could have prevented a lot of misunderstanding between the two of us.”
“It could have,” Luke said. “I’m sorry for that.”
“The dangers are still very real,” Kyp said. “They’ll become even more real when we start sending our people into combat.”
Luke shook his head. “We have to trust them. They’re Jedi. We trained them.”
Let them all go, he thought. Vergere had shown him what he knew: he needed to trust that his training and his example would bring the Jedi through this crisis. Let them all go.
“There iz no great danger with the meld,” Saba said. The others were startled by her complete certainty. “All Jedi together, and of one mind? Should one fall into darknessss, otherz would draw her back to the light.”
Luke hoped this was true. “We have to trust the Jedi and their training,” he said. “We’ve given all the warnings we can. The meld is another tool we can try to use.”
“What about the Great River?” Cilghal asked. She seemed in genuine distress. “We have painfully set up this conduit for refugees, agents, and information. Are we all to engage in warfare now, and let the Great River dry up at its source?”
“Of course not,” Luke said. “Each Jedi must decide how he or she wishes to help defeat the Yuuzhan Vong. And unless there’s some pressing need, I intend myself to continue my work with the Great River.”
Cilghal seemed reassured. Luke turned to Cal. “Have you had enough speeches for today?”
“It’s been enlightening.” Cal looked around the table. “Somehow I expected that Jedi would have more certainty and less discussion.”
“I always hope for that,” Luke said. “I hardly ever get it.”
Other members of the council made reports concerning the Great River or other projects. Dif Scaur made a brief presentation concerning what he understood of current Yuuzhan Vong goals, and Triebakk spoke about the Senate, which seemed alarmed with itself at its boldness in electing Cal as Chief of State, but was otherwise fairly quiet.
“Is that all, then?” Luke asked.
Tresina rolled up her snout to allow herself to speak without being muffled. “I’d like to ask about the Jedi apprentices just arrived, with a refugee convoy, here on Mon Calamari,” she said. “They have no Masters or current duties. What are we to do with them? Send them to—” She hesitated, on the verge of letting a secret slip. “—to join the other apprentices at the hidden academy?”
“Who are we talking about?” asked Cilghal.
“Zekk and Tahiri Veila.”
“All were with my son Tesar on the strike at Myrkr,” Saba said.
All watched Anakin die, Luke thought.
“They’re being looked after by Alema Rar,” Tresina said. “But Alema doesn’t feel ready to take an apprentice, let alone two of them, so she’s asked me to query the council.”
Alema was right, Luke thought. Alema had lost her sister Jedi Knight horribly to a voxyn, and was very vulnerable even before the Myrkr strike, probably too vulnerable to spend her days looking after apprentices who had problems of their own.
“They’re all warriors, then,” Kenth Hamner said. “Veterans. They’ll all be needed.” He turned to Luke. “Perhaps we should promote them to Jedi Knight? Then they can decide for themselves where they’ll be most useful.”
Luke hesitated, then spoke. “Tahiri is very young, not even sixteen. And she was a … special friend … to Anakin. I don’t know if she’s gotten over his death.” He shook his head. “Knighting her and sending her against the Yuuzhan Vong might be sending her straight to the dark side.”
“Send them to Kashyyyk,” Saba said. “Send them to Tesar, and to the meld. Send Alema Rar az well. The Force-meld will save them from the dark side.” Her yellow eyes flicked over the group. “Just az melding with the Barabelz saved me, when Tesar’s hatchmatez Krasov and Bela were lost.”
Saba’s sincerity was convincing. Luke nodded. “Very well.”
“There are other apprentices who were with Anakin’s strike force,” Kenth reminded. “Jaina, Jacen, and Lowbacca, and of course Cilghal’s apprentice Tekli. Shouldn’t we promote them as well?”
Luke felt embarrassment that he hadn’t realized this himself. “Of course.”
“Don’t forget Tenel Ka,” Kyp added.
Cal’s eyes lit up. “They’ll be the first Jedi Knights of the new order,” he said. “Shouldn’t you do something special when you knight them? A ceremony, or—?”
“The Jedi have never engaged much in ceremony,” Kyp said. “Jedi do. Jedi don’t playact.”
Luke laughed. “Do you want to make a speech so badly, Cal? There’s never been any ceremony in the past.”
Cal flushed a little, but said, “Why not have one? They’re heroes, and people should know it. Bring them all here and I’ll pin medals on them and talk until their ears turn blue.”
“Tesar and Lowbacca are on Kashyyyk,” Tresina reminded.
“They’re in the military, aren’t they?” Cal said. “Jaina’s squadron? Reassign the squadron to Mon Calamari.”
“Sir.” Sien Sovv spoke tactfully. “Admiral Kre’fey will hardly appreciate losing three Jedi just when he’s asked us to send more.”
“Then tell him he’ll get more!” Cal said. “Tell him that he’ll send us apprentices, but he’ll get Jedi Knights in return!”
“Tenel Ka has already been promoted,” Releqy pointed out. “To Queen Mother, in fact. I don’t know if we can persuade the Hapans to let her go just because we want to hold a ceremony.”
Cal’s enthusiasm was undimmed. “Why should the Hapans object if we want to honor their queen? Besides, I’m sure she’ll want to be present when her friends are knighted.”
Luke found himself grinning at Cal’s zeal. Perhaps a ceremony was in order, just to show everyone—the Jedi not least of all—that things had changed. That the Jedi now had a place in the galaxy, and were in the forefront of the struggle against the Yuuzhan Vong.
Champions again of the New Republic, and of the billions of lives for which it fought.
“… the brilliant leadership of Anakin Solo.” Cal’s voice, unusually formal and ringing and solemn, filled the darkened auditorium. “As we honor these young warriors, let us never forget the others who shared their mission but never returned. Ulaha Kore. Eryl Besa. Jovan Drark. Raynar Thul. Bela and Krasov Hara. Ganner Rhysode, who returned from Myrkr only to die later, in defense of a comrade …”
As each name was called, an image of each Jedi was projected above the stage, floating as a kind of ghostly presence. In the orchestra pit before the stage, drums thudded out slowly, like a heart beating its last.
“… and their leader, Anakin Solo.”
Anakin’s image appeared. Luke, standing at stage right with the rest of the High Council, looked up at the grinning, boyish face and felt a lump rising in his throat.
It had been Cal who had planned the whole knighting ceremony. Luke had objected to its theatrics but had been overruled. “Most people will never see a Jedi Knight in their whole lives,” Cal had said. “I want them to see Jedi Knights now, and I want them to see the Jedi Knights doing something meaningful.”
Cal had been right. The slow invocation of the dead was affective and moving.
Cal turned toward Luke. “Master Skywalker will now take the podium.”
Cal left the podium and rejoined the High Council at stage right, his feet falling into the solemn rhythm of the drums. Luke, dressed simply in his Jedi robes, marched in the opposite direction and passed Cal along the way. Myrkr’s dead floated overhead like stars in a lost constellation.
Luke reached the podium. The drums fell silent. Luke could sense the crowd before him—the auditorium was filled—but he couldn’t hear them. The silence was profound.
Then a lone trumpet sounded three rising notes, the last held just an instant longer than the others. The notes were played again, in a different order, again the last held for the slightest bit longer than the others. And then the three notes repeated, again in a different order, again with the last drawn out. The sound was heartbreakingly pure, and somehow heartbreakingly sad.
The drums rattled once, then stilled. The trumpet repeated the three basic notes in varying order, then built on them and took flight, rising high and swooping low, but overall climbing higher and higher until the instrument finally sang out one last, high note that rang high and perfect and seemed to sing in the mind forever.
The images of the dead faded with the last echo of the trumpet.
Luke looked at the invisible audience. He wanted to be anonymous. He didn’t want to be Luke Skywalker, hero and Jedi Master. He wanted it to seem as if any Jedi could be speaking these words.
“The roll call of the Jedi goes back for many millennia,” he said.
Luke spoke of the first who had realized the existence of the Force, and who had discovered and used its vitality, and who—realizing their power and its dangers—had devised a code for its use. The first Jedi Knights, sworn to serve, not to rule. He spoke of those who had driven the menace of the Sith from the galaxy, and then guarded the Republic against all dangers until betrayed from within. He spoke of those new Jedi who had risen with the New Republic, and who even now were standing against the invading Yuuzhan Vong, a thin bright line of fiery lightsabers directed against the enemy.
“We are here to welcome nine new members into the order,” Luke said. “Each has felt the Force grow within him or her. Each has felt the sting of combat and the pain of a comrade’s loss. Each has searched his or her heart, and now stands ready to make the commitment to serve the New Republic for as long as life lasts.”
Luke turned to the apprentices standing in their line at stage left. Each was dressed simply in a jacket, trousers, and boots.
“As I name you,” Luke said, “may you step forward and be garbed in the robes of a Jedi Knight.
“Tenel Ka!”
The Queen of Sixty-Three Worlds, for good or ill, took formal precedence over the others. As the drums began a solemn march, she stepped from the line of apprentices and came to stand by the podium.
“Remove your lightsaber, please,” Luke said. Two Jedi Masters, Kenth Hamner and Kyp Durron, stepped forward from the group of the Jedi Council carrying Tenel’s new robe. They pulled the robe around her, then buckled her lightsaber over it.
Luke stepped away from the microphone. He hadn’t told Cal that he was going to do this, but he wanted a part of the ceremony to be a private thing, for the Jedi alone.
He put his hands on Tenel’s shoulders and looked at her closely.
“Yours is perhaps the most difficult task of all,” he said. “The path of a queen is different from that of a Jedi. Your duty as queen of Hapes will inevitably come into conflict with the simpler values of the Jedi.”
He looked into her shadowed gray eyes. “I don’t tell you to choose one path over another. I only hope that you choose with your heart, and choose wisely.”
Luke reached over Tenel’s shoulders, took her cowl, and drew it over her head. Tenel Ka returned to her place. Luke stepped back to the podium.
“Tesar Sebatyne!”
The Barabel came forward, and it was his mother, Saba, assisted by Kenth Hamner, who clothed him in his robes.
Luke once again stepped away from the microphone. To Tesar he said, “The flame of a warrior burns bright in you, Tesar. You have shown that you will never falter or abandon a stricken comrade. May the Force guide you in all you do.” Tesar, yellow eyes burning with pride, returned to his place in the line.
“Alema Rar!” Alema stepped from the rank of her comrades. Through the Force Luke could perceive her aura of sadness. While she was garbed by Tresina and Kyp, Luke considered the Twi’lek, what he knew of her savage childhood in the ryll dens and of the sister who had died in her arms, her flesh afire with the acid of a voxyn. Alema had also loved Anakin, and suffered at his loss. Luke touched her gently, careful not to contact the sensitive head-tails.
“Fate robbed you of your childhood, and your only family,” he said. “Though the Jedi can’t replace either, I hope you will look to us for the love and friendship we can give you, and the strength we can lend you in times of need. Now go to Kashyyyk, join your mind with the others, and heal.”
As he raised Alema’s cowl over her head, he saw tears glimmer in the Twi’lek’s eyes.
The ginger-haired Wookiee towered over Luke and looked down at him with a fanged grin. Luke couldn’t help but grin back.
“You’re the one I’ve never doubted,” he said. “Your path has never veered from the right, and you’ve shown that it never will.”
Lowbacca had to bow deeply in order for Luke to reach high enough to draw the cowl over his head. A murmur of laughter ran through the audience.
“Jacen Solo!”
Jacen stepped out in silence, and Luke could sense his readiness in the Force. He took Jacen by the shoulders. The young man looked at him from his startlingly bearded face—he had trimmed the whiskers that had grown in captivity, but not gotten rid of them entirely. Luke could sense his utter openness. His honesty. All the Jedi virtues he had maintained despite the trials and terrors of the last few years.
“Jacen,” Luke said. “Never stop asking questions.”
Jacen seemed stunned. “I never thought I’d hear you say that!”
“I never thought I’d say it, either,” Luke said, and hugged him.
Jacen returned to the line, radiating bemusement.
“Zekk!”
Zekk was robed by Kyp and by Luke himself. All were Jedi who knew darkness firsthand.
“Zekk,” Luke said. “You are a Jedi who created himself in the image of the Jedi Knight you wanted to be. Once the Shadow Academy called you its Darkest Knight, but all the forces of darkness couldn’t keep you from seeking the light. Now that you have found it, may you live always in its radiance.”
Zekk returned to the line, his pride a brilliant fire in the Force.
“Tahiri Veila!”
On bare feet the little blond girl stepped forward, brave and pale in the darkness. She was another orphan whose childhood had been cut short. Another who had been captured and ill treated by the Yuuzhan Vong. Another who loved Anakin, and who had been loved in turn by him.
Cilghal and Saba robed her. Luke looked down into the small serious face, and touched her thin shoulders lightly.
“Life has torn much from you that you loved,” he said, “but your courage has been equal to everything. Never forget that the Jedi will always be here for you. Never forget that the Force begets life as well as death.” He touched her cheek. “And never forget that here you are loved. Go to Kashyyyk, join your mind to that of others, and heal.”
Tahiri’s chin trembled, and she swallowed tears as Luke drew the hood over her bright hair.
“Tekli!”
Cilghal and Tresina robed her. Luke thought it was too ridiculous for him to tower over the one-meter-high Chandra-Fan as he spoke, so he hitched up his robes and sat cross-legged on the ground in front of her.
“Your mastery of the Force is not as strong as some of us,” Luke said, “but your devotion is second to none. You’ve taken upon yourself the role of healer. While others may garner more fame and glory, remember that yours is the noblest art, and that the preservation of life is the greatest gift a Jedi can bestow upon another.”
Luke drew the hood over her snouted face and rose easily to his feet from his cross-legged position. Without, he was pleased to note, using either the Force or his hands.
“Jaina Solo!”
Jaina stepped forward, and Luke could feel her cool presence in the Force, the precise way her footsteps matched the drumbeat that still thudded up from the orchestra pit. She wore her military uniform—Cal Omas had asked her to, in order to show her commitment to the New Republic. Kyp and Kenth Hamner, the two pilots, robed her.
Luke put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her dark eyes, and a chill suddenly seized him, flooding his nerves with cold fire.
“I name you the Sword of the Jedi,” he said. “You are like tempered steel, purposeful and razor-keen. Always you shall be in the front rank, a burning brand to your enemies, a brilliant fire to your friends. Yours is a restless life, and never shall you know peace, though you shall be blessed for the peace that you bring to others. Take comfort in the fact that, though you stand tall and alone, others take shelter in the shadow that you cast.”
Luke fell silent, and for a long horrified moment he stared into Jaina’s wide-eyed face.
He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to say anything like it. Yet the words had poured forth from him like the ringing sound of a giant bell, a bell that was being tolled, not by Luke, but by someone else.
He sensed the other Jedi staring at him. Had he actually spoken loudly enough for them to hear?
Luke’s hands trembled as he drew the cowl over Jaina’s head. When he returned to the podium he had to fumble for the microphone switch.
“Draw your lightsabers,” he said, “for the first time as Jedi Knights!”
The click-swoosh of nine igniting lightsabers hissed through the air. He turned to the newly minted Jedi Knights and drew his own lightsaber, as the Jedi members of the council drew theirs.
“We salute you for the first time as colleagues,” he said, and he and the council members performed a ritual salute with their lightsabers.
“Face front,” he said, turning toward the audience, “and recite with me the Jedi Code.”
“There is no emotion; there is peace,” they all said. “There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force.”
As they chanted the words, the lone trumpet rose again, the three rising notes calling them to their destiny. Illuminated by their lightsabers, the Jedi Knights stood erect and silent in the darkness.
The trumpet rose again to its last, high note and died. As its echo faded, the lights died away.
The audience burst into applause. But when the lights came up again, the stage was empty.