Inferno Read online

  “What?” Saba demanded. “Can you not see how all this waiting is affecting Master Skywalker? When are we going to start?”

  Corran and Kyp shot each other a nervous glance, then Kenth said, “We’ll start as soon as you are ready, Master Sebatyne.”

  Saba flicked her tongue between her lips, trying to figure out why they would be waiting on her. “This one?”

  “That’s right,” Corran said. He cast a glance over her shoulder toward Ben and Master Skywalker, then lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “You felt that disturbance on the upper access level a few moments ago?”

  “Yes,” Saba replied. “What was it? A newz crew trying to sneak holoz of the funeral?”

  “Not exactly,” Kyp said, also speaking softly. “It was a GAG squad.”

  Saba’s jaw fell. “A GAG squad? Inside the Temple?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Kenth replied. “They tried to arrest the Solos.”

  Saba thumped her tail against the slatstones, pondering, then finally shook her head in bewilderment. “Only a squad? That is not enough.”

  “Not even close,” Kyp agreed. “But we’ll talk about that later. The pursuit has already moved outside the Temple, and we have other things to worry about right now.”

  Saba nodded. “Of course. This one will inform Master Skywalker.”

  As she started to turn away, Corran reached for her arm—then seemed to remember what could happen when one grabbed a Barabel and quickly drew his hand back. Saba sissed in relief—she would have been embarrassed to find herself biting his wrist in front of so many dignitaries—and cocked her brow.

  “Do you think it’s wise to involve Master Skywalker?” Corran asked. “He has enough on his mind right now.”

  “This one thinkz he does not have enough on his mind,” Saba replied. “Mara would not want him turned inward like this.”

  “No, but she would understand,” Kenth said. “Humans need to grieve, Saba. We need to let him have this funeral.”

  “It’s the only way he’ll get better,” Corran added.

  Saba riffled her scales and looked away. There was that word again, grieve. She did not understand what good it was—why humans found it so necessary to swim in sorrow when their loved ones died. Was it not enough to hold them in one’s heart, to honor their memories in how one lived one’s own days? It was as though humans could not trust their minds to keep lost ones alive; as though they believed that a person was gone just because her life had come to an end.

  Saba returned her gaze to Corran and the others. “We cannot let the intrusion go unpunished,” she said. “Jacen is already swinging us like a tail.”

  “We won’t,” Kyp assured her. “We’ll do something right after the funeral.”

  Saba nodded. “Good. But somehow this one does not think you told her about the intrusion just to ask her not to tell Master Skywalker.”

  Corran shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “You see, Princess Leia was supposed to give the eulogy.”

  “Ah. Now this one understands why Jacen didn’t come.”

  “Jacen didn’t know,” Kenth said. “But that’s not really the problem.”

  “Of course not.” Saba had seen enough human funerals to know there was always a speech, that it was an important part of drawing out the tears that the service was to unleash. She glanced at the crowd of dignitaries, then back to Master Skywalker and Ben. “Now how are we to give Master Skywalker his grieving?”

  Corran and Kenth exchanged glances, then Kenth said, “We were hoping you would speak.”

  “This one?” Saba began to siss—then recalled that humans did not like humor at their funerals and bit her tongue. “You are serious?”

  Kenth nodded. “You were Mara’s friend,” he said. “If anyone understands what she meant to Luke and the rest of us, it’s you.”

  “But this one is not even human,” Saba said. “She doesn’t understand grieving.”

  “That’s okay,” Kyp said. He locked gazes with her in a silent challenge. “We’ll understand if you’re afraid. I can always fill in instead.”

  “This one is not afraid!” Saba knew he was manipulating her, but she also knew he was right—refusing would not be worthy of Mara’s memory. “She just doesn’t know what to say.”

  Kyp nodded sympathetically. “So does that mean you want me to do it?”

  “No!” The last thing Mara would have wanted was Kyp speaking at her funeral. While he had been fairly supportive of Master Skywalker’s leadership of late, there had been a time when that was not so—and Mara had been a woman with a long memory. “This one will do it.” She turned to Kenth. “What does she say?”

  “Just speak from your heart.” Kenth gave her a gentle Force nudge toward the speaker’s lectern. “You’ll do fine.”

  Saba swallowed hard, then returned to Master Skywalker’s side and spoke into his ear. “Leia and Han were delayed,” she said. “This one will start.”

  Luke’s gaze rose to the top of the pyre and locked on Mara’s face, and he said nothing. The shadows beneath his hood were almost deep enough to hide the red bags beneath his eyes, but even drawn in on himself, his Force aura beamed anguish.

  Ben leaned out from behind Luke and nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “Mom would like that.”

  A stream of warmth flooded Saba’s heart, and her anxiety about speaking in front of so many dignitaries vanished. She turned toward the audience and straightened her robes, then stepped up to the lectern. A silver hovermike rose to float before her throat, but she deactivated it with a flick of her talon and returned it to its charging socket. When she spoke about Mara, she would not need a voice projector to make herself heard.

  The courtyard quickly fell silent. Saba took a moment to make eye contact with Tenel Ka, Admiral Niathal, and many of the other dignitaries in the audience. Then, using the Force to carry her voice to the farthest edges of the courtyard, she began.

  “We have come to this sacred place to say farewell to our dear friend, to a fierce warrior and a noble dispenser of justice. Mara Jade Skywalker was one of the brightest starz of the Jedi Order, and we will miss her.”

  Saba shifted her gaze to the Jedi Knights kneeling in the front row of the audience. “Her light has been taken from the galaxy, but it has not been extinguished. It lives on in us, in the times we shared the hunt, in the lessons she taught us as a Master.” She turned and spoke directly to Master Skywalker and Ben. “It lives in the love and counsel she gave as a mate, in the sacrifices she made as a mother. As long as our hearts beat, her light lives inside us.”

  Master Skywalker finally tore his gaze from the pyre. Though his expression was not exactly peaceful, there was at least a hint of gratitude in his eyes, and she could tell that her words were reaching him. It was harder to tell whether she was being any comfort to Ben. His attention was fixed on the slatstones beneath his feet, his brow furrowed in concentration, his Force aura swirling with pain and confusion and a rage that Mara would have found very frightening.

  As Saba contemplated what she might say to quell that rage, a low murmur arose from the audience, starting from the back of the courtyard and rippling slowly forward, growing louder and more animated as it drew closer. Saba turned back to the listeners, wondering if her words could be generating that much excitement, and found the entire audience craning their necks to look back toward the entrance.

  Striding up the central aisle was a black-clad figure in knee-high boots, with a long shimmersilk cloak rippling from his broad shoulders. His face was somber and his eyes sunken in shadow, his bearing brusque. Once it grew reasonably apparent that every eye in the audience was on him, he raised a black-gloved hand in a gesture that was half apology and half greeting.

  “Excuse my tardiness,” Jacen Solo said. “I was detained by urgent matters of state. I’m sure everyone understands.”

  A general drone of agreement rose from the audience, though Jacen could feel Saba’s ire through the Force
. He pretended not to notice her indignation and continued down the aisle, taking care to keep his presence hidden from the Force so no one would sense how nervous he felt. The Masters still had no idea he was Mara’s killer, but he was all too aware how easily the slightest slip on his part could change that.

  Still, there was no question of missing the funeral. His absence would have drawn too many comments and started too many people thinking—and it would have been a clear signal to Tenel Ka that he had no intention of reconciling with Luke. So Jacen had to be here, and he had to make it look like he wanted peace with the man whose wife he had killed just a week earlier.

  When Jacen reached the front of the crowd, he ignored the seat that had been reserved for him beside Admiral Niathal. He continued instead to where the Jedi Knights were kneeling, then bowed to Tenel Ka.

  “Thank you for coming, Queen Mother,” he said, trying to make it appear that they had not yet seen each other since her arrival on Coruscant. “In these times, I know your journey couldn’t have been an easy one.”

  “Master Skywalker was an extraordinary Jedi and an uncommon friend.” Tenel Ka’s gray eyes betrayed nothing as she spoke. “We would have endured worse to be here.”

  “I’m sure your presence is a great comfort to Ben and …”

  Jacen paused, then finished, “Master Skywalker.”

  Tenel Ka dipped her head in an almost imperceptible nod. “We can only hope so.”

  Jacen excused himself with a polite click of his boot heels, then continued forward to stand at Luke’s side. The Force boiled with the outrage of the Masters, but Jacen pretended not to notice. Mara’s funeral was the perfect opportunity to raise the public’s perception of his standing among the Jedi—to plant the idea in the minds of hundreds of dignitaries that he was his uncle’s equal—and he could not afford to pass that by. As for his promise to Tenel Ka—well, as long as he made it look like he was trying to reconcile with Luke, he would still have her fleet.

  When Luke remained oblivious to Jacen’s presence, Kenth Hamner stepped forward and spoke in a voice of fatherly reproach.

  “Jacen, you know you’re not a Master.” Kenth gestured toward the Jedi Knights kneeling in the front row. “Your place is with the other Jedi Knights … should you care to assume it, Jedi Solo.”

  “I think that’s where we misunderstand each other, Master Hamner.” Jacen pulled his dark cloak aside, revealing the empty lightsaber snap on his utility belt. “I’m not here as a Jedi.”

  “You’re still standing in the wrong place,” Kyle Katarn said, joining them. “This is a Jedi funeral.”

  “A funeral I’m attending as family.” Jacen spoke in a deliberately reasonable voice, trying to create the impression that it was the Masters who were causing the disturbance.

  “I’m only here to comfort my cousin and uncle.”

  “To comfort them?” Kyp Durron came forward. “You expect us to believe that?”

  “It is the truth,” Jacen said gently.

  Kyp ignored the objection and took Jacen by the arm—then Luke surprised them both by raising a hand.

  “Wait.” Beneath the grief, there was an odd note of urgency to Luke’s voice. “Jacen is welcome to stand with Ben and me.”

  Kyp’s jaw dropped. “But Master Skywalker, Jacen is just using the funeral to—”

  “It’s fine.” Luke gestured for Kyp—and Kenth and Kyle—to resume their places. “I want Jacen here.”

  Kyp scowled, but joined Kenth and Kyle in obeying. Jacen watched them retreat, feeling as confused as they looked, until Luke turned and extended his hand.

  “Thank you for coming, Jacen.”

  “Mara was a great Jedi and a loving aunt.” As Jacen clasped arms, he took extra care to hide his feelings from the Force. It was hard to imagine his uncle having the strength to probe for guilty emotions right now, but the galaxy was littered with the body parts of those who had underestimated the strength of Luke Skywalker. “I would never have missed the chance to show my respect for her.”

  “I’m glad. It’s time we healed this rift between us.” Luke returned his gaze to Mara’s body. “I think that must be what she’s trying to tell us.”

  “Tell us?” Jacen echoed.

  He looked to the top of the pyre and decided Luke must be losing touch with reality. Mara lay as dead as before, neither her lips nor anything else moving; there was no sound coming from anywhere near the vicinity of the body.

  Then he noticed that Mara’s white-swaddled form was starting to grow translucent and glow with Force energy. Saba sissed in astonishment and several other Masters sighed in relief, but Jacen nearly choked on his shock. If Mara was trying to tell anyone anything, it had nothing to do with reconciliation—and everything to do with exposing her killer.

  Luke clasped Jacen’s shoulder. “She waited until we were together,” he said. “I think there’s a message in that, don’t you?”

  “Uh, yes … of course.” To Jacen’s amazement, there was no hint of deception or cynicism in his uncle’s voice or presence. Luke had clearly drawn the wrong conclusion about what Mara was trying to tell him—perhaps because she had died while keeping her activities secret from him—and Jacen was more than ready to embrace his good fortune. “I think that must be exactly what Mara is telling us. We can’t save the Alliance without working together.”

  “Good point,” Luke said. “I’ll try to remember that this time.”

  “And so will I.” Jacen sneaked a glance in Tenel Ka’s direction and was rewarded with a tiny nod, barely perceptible but distinctly approving. “I promise.”

  Luke dipped his head in agreement, or perhaps even gratitude, and Jacen found himself struggling to keep his relief—his exhilaration—from spilling into the Force. He was going to have his fleet, and with it would come the strength to lure the Confederation into a trap and smash it, to unite the galaxy in justice and peace.

  As Jacen fought to control his emotions, Luke turned toward the lectern where Saba Sebatyne stood watching them, studying Jacen but looking somewhere beyond him—or perhaps it was deeper into him, as though she were seeing not Jacen’s public face, but his inner one, that of Darth Caedus.

  “Saba?” Luke called softly.

  There was a new vitality to his voice, a note of renewed confidence that Jacen might have found alarming, but which Caedus knew would last only as long as their “reconciliation.”

  “Saaaba?”

  Saba’s gaze finally swung back to Luke. “Yes?”

  Luke gestured at the audience. “Maybe you should continue.” He glanced at Mara’s luminous body, which had already grown so transparent that the back wall of the courtyard could be seen through it. “I’d like to finish before Mara is completely gone.”

  “Yes, please forgive this one,” she said. “She was … distracted.”

  Saba turned toward the courtyard again, but did not return immediately to her speech. Instead, she studied the audience for a moment, ruffling her scales, then glancing from them to Luke to Jacen and finally back to the courtyard. Jacen could feel her struggling with a decision, fighting to swallow her outrage at how he was taking advantage of Luke’s grief, and he realized she was about to make this a very unpleasant funeral for him.

  “Surely,” Saba began, “this one speakz for everyone here when she sayz how glad she is Colonel Solo could spare a few minutes to honor his noble aunt.”

  The opening was enough of a shock to tear most eyes in the audience from Mara’s rapidly vanishing form. A chorus of confused murmurs and indignant gasps arose from the audience, but Jacen maintained an expressionless face and continued to gaze politely at the lectern. Whatever Saba said, it was not going to make Tenel Ka change her mind.

  Jacen even found himself wondering whether it might be possible to keep his promise to Tenel Ka, to truly reconcile with Luke and work together to save the Alliance—but of course that was impossible. Sooner or later, someone would discover the identity of Mara’s killer, and the Jed
i had to be either firmly under Caedus’s control by then—or eliminated.

  After a moment, Saba continued. “And it iz good that Colonel Solo arrives at this point in our remembrances, because the greatest gift Mara Jade Skywalker left us is the lesson of her life—a life that began under the darkest of shadowz.” She half turned to face Jacen, Luke, and Ben. “As a young child, Mara was taken from her parentz and shaped into pure spy and assassin, and her keeper set her to doing terrible thingz when she was barely old enough for the hunt. She did them because she believed they were right, because she believed in the dream of a single galaxy with one justice, a galaxy bound in peace by a single fist.

  “That fist belonged to Emperor Palpatine, and his dream was one filled with darkness.” Now Saba locked gazes with Jacen, her face-scales ruffling in rebuke. “It meant the deathz of billionz and the enslavement of trillionz, the end of freedom and the silencing of dissent. It brought fear to those it claimed to protect and misery to those it pretended to serve.

  “As Mara’s missionz carried her farther afield, she began to see the evil in her master’z dream. For a time, she tried to carry on, telling herself that evil was necessary to bring peace, that some must suffer before all could live in harmony.”

  When Jacen still had not looked away, Saba finally broke gazes and turned back to the audience. “We all know how that ended.”

  A chorus of soft chuckles rolled through the courtyard, and Jacen could feel in the Force that the audience’s mood was shifting, that even some of his supporters were growing more thoughtful. He allowed himself to glare at the Barabel darkly—nothing threatening, but with enough indignation to express the proper outrage at such a comparison.

  Saba ignored him, of course. “After the Emperor died, there were those who would not relinquish his dark dream, who attempted to keep the Empire alive and even restore Palpatine’s clones to power. Mara was not one of them. After the Emperor’z death, she wandered the galaxy for many years searching for a new life, and she began to see more clearly what she had been, the evil she had done. Then fate placed her life in the handz of a man she had once considered an enemy—a man whom she still felt compelled to kill—and during their difficult journey together, she began to understand that there was another way, a way filled with freedom and love and trust.