Across the Stars IX: Alone in the Ash Forest

 “Augh!” Ozz cried.

                Nathan rolled with laughter. “Again! I can’t believe it!”

                “Kid, of all the cheaters I’ve played Sabaac with, you’re the worst of the bunch!”

                Nathan sat there laughing with evil glee, while Ozz shook his head in disbelief.

                The two sat in the cockpit of the Lucky Star, the dashboard of which they’d converted into a flat space for playing cards.
                Balaam’s writings mentioned a world of flame, a world Nathan figured would have the other half of the coordinates they’d got from Dagobah. They had just hit a brick wall with Sullust, where they’d spent two days with no luck, leads, or hopes. It was time to cut their losses and try the next place on the list: they were heading for the Atravis Sector.

                “Seriously, I’d be impressed if I weren’t so ticked off. Those are some prime bluffing skills, kid! Where’d you pick that up?”

                Nathan, still grinning, scooped up his relatively meager winnings. “Part of my job on Targonn was narcing on liars—“

                “—Yeah, somehow I remember that,” grumbled Ozz, recalling how his now-friend had been a part of getting him fired a few months back. Water under the bridge.

                Nathan gave him a wry look.  “So I learned what not to do to avoid getting caught. And before that, we gambled at the orphanage when the caretakers weren’t looking. Got me in trouble.”

                “With the caretakers?”

                “Nah, they liked me. The older kids, however, not so much.”

                Ozz leaned back in his seat, giving the controls a once-over to make sure they were still on course. “So. The, uh, orphanage, huh? Mentioned that a few times now. Where was that, Targonn?”

                “Yup.”

                “What happened to your folks?”

                “No idea,” Nathan shrugged, unemotionally. “Never knew them. I came up in the orphanage until I was 16. That’s when Senator Makeer decided sponsoring an orphan would help him win an election, and suddenly they dropped a scholarship in my lap.”

                “Big break.”

                “Right? I jumped on it, went to Targonn’s university, got the Reactor plant job out of school…” he recounted this all and then said craftily, “…and now I’m beating you at Sabaac like you ain’t never played.”

                “Ha!” laughed the Iakaru. “No wonder you’re a double-threat! Nothing like a hard childhood to give you what ya need to survive, but you got that and big college learning to boot! I wondered how you did it. Maybe when all this Imperial, Heart, Girl nonsense is over I should bring you by some Sabaac rings. Then we could finally make some money.”

                Nathan’s frowned down at his earnings. “More worried about the Imperials and the heart than the girl, right now,” he said, without looking up.

                Ozz stared at him for a moment in silence, before saying, “Wowzee, that’s a pretty different tune than you were singin’ when we met at the diner.”

                “Yeah, well, maybe everything that’s happened has me wising up. She’s an Imperial, it was stupid in the first place.”

                Ozz watched his co-pilot attentively. “Hmm, this don’t sound like you, kid. What happened to the optimism, I ask for the hundredth-time? You said you two…y’know, talked! I thought you said you were sure she was havin’ a change of heart! And remember, she left us the manifest thing. That’s been a real big help. Godsend, really.”

                “Ozz, all of that could be lies, or misdirection, or even a plant to get us to do what the Empire wants. What if us getting the Heart was the plan the whole time?”

                “Oy, kid,” Ozz said, his tone frank. “We’ve been through a lot, so let me be honest with ya here.”

                Nathan raised an eyebrow.

                “Yer bein’ an idiot,” Ozz said bluntly. “I know what I said earlier about the girl, but it’s not like she’d be the first spy to skip out on the Empire. Besides, where are you gettin’ yer information from? That crazy Syfot guy? Some magic tree?”

                Nathan blinked stupidly, realizing how that sounded out-loud. He frowned thoughtfully.

                Ozz threw up his hands. “Don’t listen to me if you don’t want. Just thought you knew better than to take the word of a…how would you put it, with yer college and yer books: ‘untrustworthy source’.” He leaned back, and his gaze fell idly over the navigation readouts. “Ho—lee boggot!” He flailed for the lightspeed throttle and yanked it back, and they strained against their seat restraints as the Lucky Star rocketed out of hyperspace into a stable orbit around the fiery, dark world of Mustafar.
                “Sorry, kid! That one snuck up on me. I gotta fix the automatic on that one. Whoo!” He wiped his forehead, and they both leaned forward to get a look at the planet.

                Nathan took in the dark swaths of rock and the lava flows. “Looks nice.”

                “Ha! Y’know, I know Sullust wasn’t too different, but this place just seems…aw, I don’t wanna jinx it. Let’s just get down there.”

                "A home amongst ash and flame."

                You know what they say: location, location, location.

Nathan and Ozz found the record of the sith servant Balaam on Ossus, with help from the now-captive junior scriptist, Eefo. It led them to two locations: a home in a bog (Dagobah) and now a home in a place that was somehow even worse than Dagobah: Mustafar.

It was an old mining planet, not much use to anyone but the guilds and Techno Union. But even from orbit, it looked every bit like somewhere a Sith would call home.

When they entered the atmosphere, Nathan felt the planet in his spirit: a push-and-pull between life and death. A bright star, a molten ball. A dead world. A resurrected world?

Nathan had spent long hours deciphering and code-reading, cross referencing what he'd found on Dagobah with the Ossus record and using the closet droid's memory banks to run simulations. The result of this 'nerdery' (as Ozz called it) was a set of possible coordinates for Balaam's 'home amidst flame'.

Following these coordinates, Ozz brought the Lucky Star gliding down through clouds of ash, past the volcanos and lava fields and towards the planet's milder climates.

"This part doesn't look so bad," he mused. "Less lava and fire, more trees. Trees are nice, yeah?"

Nathan looked up from the notebook. If he'd had glasses, he would have adjusted them. "Woah, woah, I thought optimism was my thing,” he said wryly. “Don't steal my thing. I only have, like, two."

Ozz grinned, continuing to stare ahead. "Place could use a good safety check, though."

"Great, now I have none."

They landed and did the regular passive sensor checks. Only a few life forms, nothing they could track. The woods, ash-choked as they were, seemed clear.

Nathan strapped on his blaster and grabbed his old mining helmet from a rack. "I'll head out and see if I can't find the last piece of this puzzle. You're staying here."

Ozz was already halfway cloaked-up. He stopped and gave Nathan a look of alarm.

"What? No, kid, I'm good to go. The leg’s practically perfect. Good as it was, anyway. Besides, you need a guy at your back."

Nathan shook his head. "What those guys did to you on Dagobah...you're not in fighting shape, pal. Besides," he said, frowning out into the ruddy forest. "I don't trust this place. This has to be the worst planet we've visited so far, and we've had some doozies.”

                “Ain’t that the truth.”

                Nathan’s mind was made up. “I think I should go alone, and make it quick. You keep the ship warm."

Ozz frowned, but hung his cloak back up and set aside his blaster.

"Warm won't be a problem..." he raised a worried eyebrow. "You sure you'll be alright?"

"Oh, stop it with the motherly instincts. Yeah, I'll be fine! Wish me luck."

Nathan ducked past the bulwark and out of sight, leaving his partner slouched in his chair. Uneasy and off balance, Ozz watched him go through the viewscreen.

"...Good luck, pal."

The Ash Forest was long, gray, and monotonous. It had the look of a forest after a fire, but nothing here was really burned, just hardened. The bark was like charcoal, and the leaves snapped instead of crunched. Nathan fumbled his way through the woods towards one of the likely locations, looking around for any other signs of life. Eventually he found a singular rocky outcropping surrounded by steam vents, with a homestead carved into the stone.

Jackpot.

Cautiously, he crept closer to its front door, keeping a careful eye out for anything suspicious.

The house looked used, but no one was home. Maybe travelers made use of the place for shelter during ash storms.

Inside, he found tablets with markings like those on the trees on Dagobah. Balaam's personal writings.

This was it, the last piece of the puzzle. The other half of the coordinates. He started to jot everything down in his journal, just in case, committing it both to paper and to memory. He repeated it under his breath as he went. He couldn't help but grin while he did.

Until he heard something, that is.

He grabbed for his blaster, rushed outside, and stopped dead in his tracks.

                A figure stood before the house, a tall being clad in a mask and dark robes.
                The creature that had been traveling with Syfot. The thing that had captured him in the tunnels on Ossus. It stood stark and thin, as black as the ground it walked on.

                “This one’s world, once again suffering the pains of birth. Have you seen such a thing before, a twice-born world?” it said slowly. “Mustafar is a wonder.”

                "What do you want?" Nathan asked, his voice cracking. He cursed that timing.

The thing looked at him, its movements jerking and odd. "No. What do you want, Nathanyal Bookard?” Immortality, as well?"

                "Are you a vision? Like Mayla from before?"

                "Is this one a vision?" The thing thought about it, apparently genuinely curious. “The question bears asking, but no. Not as you intend. This one serves Bogan, as did they who once lived here. That this one might attain such heights of darkness, such purity. Such oneness. Do you know Bogan, Nathanyal?”

                Nathan shook his head. “I’ve got no idea what you’re saying.”

                “You see, Nathanyal, all wish to be someone of note, wish to feel the aches of pleasure, wish to gain and win precious treasures for themselves. All wish to gather power to themselves, power that grants choices and control. Bogan offers this. Bogan serves those who serve Bogan. And this one has come for such a treasure.”

                Nathan subtly took a step to the left, shifting to block the door and the writings inside. “What treasure?”

                “No time for games or tricks,” hissed the Vu’othh. “This one’s servants draw near. As this one serves Bogan, these serve with no thought of themselves. Do as you will, Nathanyal. Onward comes your torment. Onward comes your death.”

                The creature seemed to fade from view, its tall, thin form replaced by a tree as though it had never been there at all.
                The eerie silence of the forest was punctuated by a sound, a bellowing of voices, a discordant word chanted in unison. Another followed, and then still more, until, from every direction, many voices shouted together. The voices were angry.

                Nathan’s heart raced. There was nothing but trees in every direction, no visible source for the noise. Turning, he took stock of his defenses, but all he had was the homestead and his blaster. How long could he hold out? He couldn’t run towards the voices and get caught in the woods. It would be better to wait in the safety of the house and see what he was dealing with, before he made a decision.
                He leapt inside and began to stack old rubble and debris, stealing moments to look into the woods.

                The chanting was coming closer. Finally, he saw it: yellow eyes, wide-brimmed hats, dozens of them, rising from the ashy ground. Cloaked figures, the same pallid color as the forest, each of them wielding a long skewering pike. They marched towards him to the rhythm of their shouts. They saw him and their pace quickened. He could hear their heavy footfalls, the snapping leaves and branches, like hammers falling on anvils.
                With a shock of mortality, he was stunned with the truth of what was happening:
they were going to kill him.
He was going to die.
Despair swooped in like a bird of prey, its talons grabbing at his heart. His mind reeled as he tried to find options, desperately tried to think of a way out.

                “Hey! Let’s talk about this!” he cried. “I can give you what you want!”

                His heart stopped in his chest: The mask of the Vu’othh appeared beside him in the dark of the house.
                “Yes, Nathanyal. You can.”

                Nathan felt long fingers wrap around his throat, and fought uselessly as his feet left the ground and he was hurled from the door of the house.
His vision flipped and tumbled and went blank as he crashed into the ground. Groaning, he registered a new pain his arm, one he tried to ignore as he scrambled to his feet. His eyes fellon his blaster a few feet away, which he dashed for and reclaimed, stumbling in the ash as he turned to defend himself.

He fired at one of the cultists and watched the shot go wide, striking the black bark of an ironwood tree. Cursing himself, he tried to steady his shaking arm before firing again.

The cultists were drawing close, and formed a circle around the homestead. Their chants were deafening; Nathan wished he had a free hand to cover his ears, but raising his arm sent a splitting pain through his shoulder, and the blaster was in his other hand, so he had no choice but to listen. Glowing eyes joined tgoether until the points of yellow light seemed to be a floating ring, and their cloaks disappeared into the ashen backdrop.
He backed away from the sharp points of their barbed pikes, glinting in the light of the lamp hanging by the door. They held in a circle around him, a guarantee of death for the one in the middle.
                Nathan felt utterly helpless, but he still had one way to fight back. He raised his blaster and fired.
The shot caught one of the cultists, but only served to stagger it, making its pike waver. Nathan jumped forward, kicking the shaft away and trying to rush past, like he did facing the third-years at the orphanage. But these weren’t orphans, and his attempt to escape spurred them to fly into action. Pikes whirled and thrusted, and Nathan dived and spun to avoid them. He failed.
                He fell to the ground with new wounds. Something had happened to his leg, and it wouldn’t move the way it should. He slumped, felt the ash against his face. The sky was sullen and red above the trees. He tried to focus on it, to ignore the cultists surrounding him and their stupid chants.
                This was it.
                He thought of the ghost on Ossus. Would he become a ghost, too? Would his spirit “return to the force”? Would it hurt? What would happen to Ozz? Thoughts of Mayla flashed in his head, not the sour thoughts of the last few days, but the bright, driving thoughts that had made him quit his job on Targonn and go searching for her with nothing but a fool’s hope and a grumpy Iakaru.
                It had been a good ride. He hoped it would be over quickly.

                The dark creatures formed their circle, The Vu’othh stood over him at the head.
               
                “Now,” it hissed. “You have the gift. This one will have the book.”

                Nathan couldn’t move. He felt the strap of his bag go loose as a cultist cut it free. They rummaged in it, throwing it aside and presenting the valued object to their master.
                Long-fingered hands touched the cover of Luke’s journal.
               
                “Is the Jedi your god, Nathanyal?” asked the Vu’othh reflectively. “One day he will be god of many. False, human. But all seek one to worship. Most find unworthy idols. Waste not your time, Nathanyal.”
               
                Nathan spat into the ash. Luke told him he wanted that back. Nathan said he could trust him. Another disappointment.

                “Yes,” slithered the Vu’othh, its dark, priestly visage complete now that it held scripture in its hands. “Go. You will yet serve Bogan.”

                Nathan, not understanding, waited for death, but it didn’t come. Hands grabbed him, pain arced through his body.

                “Chase him to his starship,” the Vu’othh commanded.

                Three of the cultists stepped forward, and Nathan regarded them with the bored, detached look of someone who’d expected death. Only now was he realizing what was happening, that he had a road to follow, a way out.
                He didn’t waste a second. Limping and stumbling, he hurried back towards the ship. The cultists followed him, walking just a little faster than Nathan could manage, prodding him with their pikes like some kind of cruel dewback driver. He wondered what they wanted, what this gained them.
                They drove him all the way to the Lucky Star.

                “Nate!” he heard Ozz shout. “Nate! Get away from him, you--!” Ozz came stumping down the ramp, blaster raised.

                “Ozz…” Nathan said weakly.
               
                Livid,, Ozz herded Nathan past him to safety. “What did you crazies do to him? What happened! No, get back! Eat this, creepies!”
                The cultists raised their pikes, and Ozz unloaded with his blaster. All three collapsed into ashes as they were pierced by the bolts. Their bodies, their clothing, their pikes, all gone.
                Ozz glanced at his blaster as though it had been the cause of their disintegration. It had not. What had wasn’t important. He smashed the button to close the ramp and hurried up to Nathan, who had collapsed into a chair, weak and defeated. Ozz grabbed for the medkit, throwing it open and unspooling bandages and uncapping syringes.

                “Kid, what happened!”

                “I’m okay,” Nathan groaned. “Can we…get out of here?”

                “Next time, I’m coming too. N-no more solo missions, you got it?”

                “I…got it. Are…are you crying?”

                Ozz wiped his eyes with a sleeve. His usual posture began to return. “What? No! Maybe. You gave me a hell of a scare, kid! Geez, you’re a risky investment…”

                Making sure that Nathan was stable, Ozz bustled to the ship’s controls, fast-tracking their liftoff. “We’ll be okay, kid. Got that? You’re a tough son-of-a-gun,” he said, forcing himself to sound casual. “Now, let’s get off this rock!”

                “Ozz.”

                “What? What is it, kid?” He turned back toward his co-pilot, who was entering coordinates into the Navicomputer.

                “I’ve got the coordinates.”

                “What! Are you kidding me? You’ve barely got a leg to stand on and you bring those back too? You’re something else, kid, really. Where are we headed?”

                “Bad to worse,” Nathan laughed, though it turned into a cough. “The planet Korriban.”

                “Ooof. Not you. You’re heading for a nap, first. Nice long nap. Maybe some green milk. How’s that sound?”

                Nathan chuckled, and nodded. His body was wracked with pain, and he felt dry and strung-out and traumatized.

                “That…that sound’s great, actually.”