Star Wars: Tales from the Jedi Order - No Rest for the Weary

NO REST FOR THE WEARY

 Geonosis, 22 BBY

The smell of smoke choked the air. The presence of smoke obfuscated his vision. Eeth Koth had no idea where he was. He wasn’t even sure if he was still alive.

His whole body felt numb, but his connection to the Force had not dulled. He could sense that someone was moving him, pulling him out of the wreckage he had found himself pinned under. Focusing himself, Koth withdrew into his mind to retrace the steps he had taken to bring himself to this moment. He remembered Master Windu briefing him and two hundred other Jedi on their mission to rescue Obi-Wan Kenobi on the planet Geonosis. He remembered battling against a legion of battle droids and Geonosians, watching as his fellow Knights were gunned down and slain. He remember boarding a gunship provided as part of reinforcements led by Yoda himself. He remembered the gunship being shot down by enemy fire and sent plummeting towards the ground. And then… darkness.

He opened his mouth to take in a breath and instantly let out a ragged cough. He then felt a hand gently press down on his chest as he was laid down on the ground.

“Easy, Master Koth,” he heard a familiar voice speak calmly. “Let the Force give you strength.” 

Rubbing soot out of his eyes, Koth managed to open them wide enough to see his surroundings. He was still on Geonosis, surrounded by searing sand and towering rock formations. In front of him laid the burning wreckage of the gunship he had boarded with Masters Sora Bulq and Tarados Gon. Bulq himself stood beside Koth, using the Force to heal his injuries, but there was no sign of Gon. Koth closed his eyes to shut out the gruesome sight, instead listening to the sounds of battle in the distance.

“Where are the others?” he croaked, his voice weak.

“Preoccupied, I’d imagine,” Bulq replied. “I’ve sent out a distress call. Hopefully someone will pick it up and find us, before the Separatists come back to finish the job.”

Koth shook his head. He was still struggling to grasp the scope of this whole situation. When he and the rest of the Jedi Council had learned of the Sith’s return ten years ago, he could not have even begun to imagine what it would mean for the galaxy. He had, of course, heard tales of the Sith and knew about the galaxy-spanning conflicts between the Jedi and the Sith that had lasted for thousands of years. But never once had he thought that the Sith would ever return, let alone in his lifetime. And now, the galaxy was on the verge of a conflict the likes of which it had not seen in nearly a millennium. Were the Jedi prepared to defend the galaxy from such a conflict? That was a question that Koth didn’t think even Master Yoda had the answer to.

Of course, he didn’t know for a fact that the Sith were behind this. But ever since Master Qui-Gon’s report and subsequent death, Koth had felt the growing darkness. This conflict only exacerbated those feelings.

The nightmares are going to get worse, he dreaded.

As he began to use what little energy he had to heal himself, Koth spotted another one of the clone gunships fly over to his and Master Bulq’s position. As it landed, its side doors opened up and two of the white-armored clone soldiers disembarked, each one carrying a medpac. Accompanying the clones was a grizzled human male, the stern features of whom Koth instantly recognized as those of Master Tholme.

“Master Bulq, Master Koth,” Tholme said to them in acknowledgment. “I am glad to see you are both alive and well.”

“Yes, although Master Gon was not as fortunate,” Bulq said, nodding to the wreckage of their gunship.

Tholme bowed his head solemnly. “He is one with the Force now.” Changing the subject, he then said, “The Separatists are in a full retreat, and Count Dooku has escaped. We are picking up as many survivors as we can before taking further action.”

As one of the clone troopers applied the medpac to his wounds, Koth looked up and narrowed his eyes at Tholme, feeling that something was amiss here. “Forgive me, Master Tholme, but I do not believe I saw you at the briefing. I thought you were staying at the Temple.”

Tholme acknowledged his comment with a stiff nod. “Yes. And as far as anyone else is concerned, I am still there. My network has been tracking Count Dooku’s movements for some time now, and while Geonosis may have caught us off guard, we have a reasonable guess as to where he might move next.” He turned his attention to Bulq and placed a hand on the Weequay’s shoulder. “Master Bulq, if you are up to the task, I would like you to accompany me.”

“Of course, Master Tholme,” Bulq replied. “I am always ready.”

The other clone trooper with a medpac offered it to the Weequay Jedi. “Sir, your injuries—”

“Are minimal,” Bulq cut him off. “Master Koth needs it more than I do.”

“Let’s get him back to the command center and then we can proceed with our mission,” Tholme said. “Can you stand, Master Koth?”

Koth winced as he slowly got up to his feet. The clone trooper tending to his wounds helped him up and allowed the Zabrak to use him as support. “I… can manage,” he said.

“Good. Let us make haste. Count Dooku awaits.”

With that, Tholme and Bulq swiftly made their way back to the gunship, with Koth staggering behind with the aide of the clone trooper. Perhaps it was because of his wounds, but he found it difficult to summon any amount of energy that would match the zest that his fellow Jedi were demonstrating. A small part of him, ashamedly, wanted to go back to where he was laying and just rest there, waiting for this whole thing to blow over.

But there would be no rest for him today. There would be no rest for him for a very, very long time.

*  *  * 

The nightmares had gotten worse.

For the past decade or so, ever since Master Qui-Gon had first informed them of the Sith’s return, Koth had began to see a dark figure in his dreams. For the first few nights, it had barely been noticeable, forgotten in the background. Then it had become more prominent, making its presence known yet still too vague to really make out any details.

Now, he could he make the dark figure out clearly, although they never turned to show their face. Their black cape fluttered in the wind as they stood atop a high precipice. Below them, fire consumed a helpless village as the corpses of innocents piled up. Screams rang out from all directions as a woman’s voice called out in panic.

“No, not my baby! Please, don’t take my baby!”

Koth always woke up at that moment, breathing heavily as his body broke out in a cold sweat. He was always able to clear his mind through meditation, but it was a cycle that had become more and more frequent in recent years, even more so with the war well underway. He had yet to inform any of his colleagues about this occurrence, not wanting to worry them and add on to the stress that the war had already caused. He knew it was not right to withhold such secrets… but he was also worried of what they would think of him if they did.

As a member of the Jedi Council, Koth felt that he was expected to represent the ideals and highest standards of the Order. If the others found out that he was suffering from nightmares, would they remove him from the Council for fear of how the nightmares had affected his mental health? Would they worry that the dark side had clouded his mind too much for him to serve as a level-headed and clear-minded judge?

Koth knew that his introduction into the Jedi Order had not been a standard one. Rescued from the slums of Nar Shaddaa, Koth had nearly been deemed too old for training until the Council had ultimately relented after realizing the clarity of his mind. It had been because of that clarity that he had been accepted into the Order, selected as a Padawan by Master Kosul Ayada, and completed his trials, eventually sitting on the Council himself. He had gotten to where he was now because of the clarity of his mind; if that was now in jeopardy, then so was his own status within the Order.

He knew it was against his training to be possessive about anything, but his place in the Jedi Order was all he had. He did not know where he would turn to if he now longer had the Jedi Temple to call home. His mind went back to his former apprentice Sharad Hett, who had voluntarily left the Order in order to be with his family. Of course, tragedy had forced him to go into exile on Tatooine, but before that he had had a family to go to. 

Koth did not have a family. As an orphan, he had no recollection of his parents and knew not of any other living relatives, if he even had any. As far as he was concerned, the Jedi were his family. If he didn’t have them, he would have no one.

He hung his head low, ashamed. Jedi were not supposed to be attached, and yet here he was feeling attached to the Order. If he could not function as a person without letting go of the Order, then was he truly a Jedi?

Perhaps he would simply start his life anew. That was what Sharad had done after the tragedy that had afflicted his homeworld; he had found a Tusken woman on Tatooine and bore a son; a son who now served as an honorable Jedi Knight himself. When he had lost his family, Sharad had started a new one. Maybe that was something Koth could do….

A chime sounded at the door to his quarters and he quickly perished the thought. It would have to wait, until after the war was over. Then, if the nightmares persisted, he would decide where his future lied.

After putting on his tunic, Koth walked over to the door and opened it. A clone trooper with green and yellow markings on his white armor stood before him, snapping to attention with a quick salute.

“General Koth, we have just received our new orders,” said Captain Lock. “Command wants us to track down the Separatist raiders that have been attacking hyperspace routes. We have a lead already that will take us to the Arda system.”

Koth nodded. “Very well, Captain. Set a course for Arda.”

He took in a breath as he braced himself for the mission that laid ahead. There would be no rest today.

*  *  *

The nightmares had stopped.

At first, Koth had taken this as a good sign. The war had finally taken its toll on him and he had been forced to admit to his colleagues on the Council of the dark visions that had been plaguing him for the past ten years. Worried about his mental state, the other Masters had no choice but to remove him from the Council, yet they had encouraged him to seek meditation and even directed him to remote worlds that were attuned with the Force where he would be able to find some peace of mind, away from the war. But he had no intention of taking their advice. He had already made his decision.

The nightmares had persisted for a short time after he had left the Order. Then, one day, they had miraculously stopped. He had already found himself a new home on a planet well on the edge of the Outer Rim, joined a local clergy, and was on his way of becoming a man of faith. He had found a new calling. A new family. He was finally at peace.

Then, the following day, the Republic fell.

The Jedi had been branded traitors by the Supreme Chancellor, who now called himself Emperor, and everyone Koth had known was now either dead or in hiding. Thirteen years after Master Qui-Gon had delivered his warning, the Sith had finally returned and taken their revenge.

The nightmares had stopped because they had become reality.

No one on his new homeworld knew who he was. When he had left the Order, he had decided to adopt a new name to reflect the new chapter he had started in his life. Eeth Koth was no more; he was now A’Kosul Sharad. His new identity was an homage to both the Jedi who had trained him as well as the Jedi he had helped raise, while also taking inspiration from Tusken naming culture. Just as A’Sharad was named for his father in accordance to Tusken tradition, Eeth named himself after the closest he had ever had to a father figure. 

There was no chance the Empire would be able to track him down through this new name. Only those closest to him would be aware of the inspiration behind either name, and by this point they had likely already perished in the Purge.

Five years elapsed. A’Kosul Sharad continued his new life in peace, blissfully unaware of the outside world. The Empire had no presence on this world, its name difficult to find in even the most comprehensive of databanks. He was now a priest in the Order of the Ganthic Enlightenment, and he had been able to find love, just as Sharad had in his exile. Her name was Mira, and while she was a great deal younger than him, their love for each other burned brighter than any sun. Their love, if one wished to be poetic, could ignite the stars.

And, as of today, it had borne new life.

“Congratulations,” the midwife droid intoned. “It’s a girl.”

A’Kosul beamed as he looked down upon the infant cradled in the droid’s arms. She was the most beautiful thing he had laid his eyes upon since he had first met his wife. He instinctively held out his arms but stopped as he glanced over at Mira, laying on her bed as she recovered from the exhausting birth.

“May I… may I hold her, dear?”

Mira smiled at him, tired yet still full of life. “Of course, darling. She’s yours.”

He had only taken a step forward when the door opened, bathing the room in light. A dark shadow eclipsed the sun and a chill passed through like the wind of winter. A long, almost mechanical exhalation of breath preceded the vocalization of a name he had not heard spoken in five years.

“Eeth Koth.”

He felt his body freeze up as he looked upon the dark man standing in the doorway. He recognized the figure to be the one from his nightmares. The one who had haunted him for thirteen years.

“No,” he breathed. “Not here. Not now.”

The dark man stepped forward as A’Kosul raised his hands, conscious of the fact that Mira was watching them both with a confused and terrified expression.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said calmly. “I’m not him anymore. I’m no one. No threat to anyone.”

The dark man took another step towards him.

“I’m just a priest now,” A’Kosul continued. “I bring people peace. Officiate weddings and funerals. That’s all. I have no loyalty to the Jedi; not after they kicked me off the Council.”

As he spoke, he kept his arms to his sides, moving his right hand in a secret gesture that only Mira would be able to detect and understand. The people of this world had a special way of communicating through gestures, something which had helped ensure the Order of the Ganthic Enlightenment’s secrecy for countless years. Clearly it had failed now if the Empire had been able to find them, but perhaps it would buy his wife and child some time. Mira picked up on his signals and quietly ordered the droid to bring her their daughter. The dark man did not pay her any heed, keeping his attention solely on the Zabrak man in front of him.

“Listen,” A’Kosul said evenly. “If you just go… leave us be… I can offer you something. I have codes. Secret contact frequencies. I can tell you how to find other survivors. Just… let us live.”

It was a bluff. He knew deep down in his heart that he could never betray the Jedi he had considered his family for so many years, even after they had failed to help him when he had needed it. He knew this, and the dark man knew as well. The Dark Lord of the Sith simply stared at him through the opaque lenses of his mask as he uttered a single word.

“Funerals.”

A’Kosul narrowed his eyes. Time had run out. It had been fun while it had lasted.

With one hand, he seized the midwife droid with the Force and hurled it at the Dark Lord. With his other hand, he blasted a hole through the brick wall, creating an opening wide enough for Mira to escape through. Keeping his attention focused on the Sith, he ordered her to run and she wasted no time in fleeing through the newly-made escape route, holding their baby tightly in her arms.

Turning to a nearby alcove, he called upon the Force again to summon his lightsaber to his awaiting hand. The Council had allowed him to keep it when he had left the Order, trusting him enough that he would only use it to defend himself rather than to deliver his own form of justice in the name of the Force. He had stayed true to his word, and for the first time in five years he ignited its emerald blade, shining as brightly as it had been when he had first constructed it. The hilt felt comfortable in his hand, having modeled after the lightsaber of his own teacher after Master Ayada had become one with the Force. It had seen much use over the years; perhaps today it would serve him one last time by slaying a Sith Lord.

Adopting the traditional opening stance of the lightsaber form Shii-Cho, holding his blade high and ready, Eeth Koth smiled grimly at the Dark Lord.

“Now… let us pray.”

Leaping high into the air, he let out an emotional cry as he lunged at the Sith Lord. No longer bound by the Jedi Code, he did not hold back. He let the Force carry him, subjecting himself to its raw and utter nature. He was not going to take any chances; not when he finally had something to lose.

There would be no rest today.

Star Wars: Tales from the Jedi Order - Journal of a Missing Padawan

JOURNAL OF A MISSING PADAWAN 

To: Colonel W. Yularen, Imperial Security Bureau

From: Office of Imperial Intelligence Director

Date: 17:8:14 GrS (1 AE)

Per request, the following records were retrieved from a datapad found during excavation efforts at the Jedi Temple following the conclusion of Operation: Knightfall. Said records are believed to originate from a journal authored by former Jedi Commander Ahsoka Tano (status unknown, priority level 3). Most of the entries on the datapad were either corrupted or erased; these were all that were retrievable.

It is highly suggested that these records be forwarded to the Inquisitorius for use in their efforts to track down and eliminate all remaining Jedi. Failure to do so will incur the disappointment of His Imperial Majesty.

It should be noted that not all entries are dated. Intelligence has done its best to include speculative dates based on context clues, but such dates are, again, speculative and designated appropriately. 

* * *

[Entries 1-137 were irretrievable]

Entry 138 (13:5:16)

I can’t believe it! I’m a Padawan! I never thought this day would come.

I haven’t met my Master yet, but I hear he’s a real piece of work. A lone wolf kind of guy. Very aloof. But I’m sure I’ll get him to come out of his shell. A part of me wishes that I’d been picked by Master Plo, but… well, Jedi aren’t supposed to be picky. Besides, I think he’s already got a Padawan….

Anyway, I’m supposed to pack up my things and move into my new Padawan quarters. Wow, I can’t believe I’m even saying those words. It feels so surreal.

I can’t help but feel uneasy, though. I overheard on the HoloNet that there was an assassination attempt on the Senator from Naboo. Things have been getting pretty scary in the galaxy as of late. I hope that everything sorts it out soon; I would hate for my first day as a Padawan to start with somebody important getting killed….

Entry 139 (13:5:17)

Boy, they were not joking. Master Lonfil is something else.

First off, he’s not just a “lone wolf”; he’s a literal wolf. Wolfman, rather; a Shistavanen I think they’re called. But he’s also not a people person. I’m getting the impression that he only took me on as a Padawan out of obligation rather than because he wanted to.

Secondly, he’s already got me doing exercises that my body just can’t handle. I don’t know what he thinks I am, a Boltrunian or something?

I wish I could say there was more that happened today, but my entire time was spent doing arduous exercises. Hopefully there is more to being a Padawan than just this, because so far, I am not enjoying it.

But I suppose “enjoying it” was never the point….

Entry 140 (13:5:20)

Well, this is just great. My first mission as a Padawan and I blew it.

We were sent to the lower levels of Coruscant to track down a Senate Guard that was making some rather illicit dealings with spice traders. We found him and cornered him but I… kind of got ahead of myself.

I don’t want to get into the details, but, needless to say, the Senate Guard is now in the medbay with a blaster-burned hand and I’ve been confined to the Archives as punishment, to teach me a lesson about patience. I’m also apparently not supposed to hold my lightsaber in a reverse-grip stance. Master Lonfil says that it’s “too dangerous” and can get others, or myself, hurt. Well, someone should tell Master Drallig that because I’ve seen him teaching that form to students.

Now I’m really wishing Master Plo had taken me as his Padawan. I don’t think he’d be as much of a grouch as Master Lonfil is.

Entry 141 (13:5:21)

I should have been there. I could have saved him. Why didn’t he take me with him?

Master Lonfil is dead. A lot of Jedi are. The Republic is at war now, and we are supposed to lead some new “Grand Army.”

I’ve always been taught that Jedi were peacekeepers, not soldiers. Sure, there are some exceptions to that unwritten rule, especially if you go far back enough in the history books. But that’s in the past, and we’re not supposed to dwell on the past.

Of course, this is now. I wonder what future generations of Jedi will think of this looking back… if we’re not still serving as soldiers.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. The Council of Reassignment hasn’t summoned me yet; everyone’s been too busy to remember me. Of course, I’m not the only Padawan who’s been left without a master. Scout lost her master at Geonosis as well. So did Iskat, and Bairdon.

I’m not alone but I feel alone. I’ve never felt so lost in my life. 

I hate ending these entries on such dour notes. Hopefully my next one will be a bit more optimistic.

Entry 142 (13:5:23)

It’s been two days. Still no word from the Council.

Scout hasn’t heard from them either and is afraid she’s going to get reassigned to the AgriCorps. Is that what’s going to happen to me? I don’t want to sound awful, but my connection to the Force isn’t as… unpredictable as Scout’s. Surely there’s some Master out there who would want to take me as a Padawan.

Entry 143 [entry undated; speculated to be approximately a week after the First Battle of Geonosis]

Well, it only took little over a week. Alright, good news and bad news time.

Good news: I’ve been reassigned! And it’s to Master Plo!

Bad news: It’s only temporary. Only reason I’m being assigned to him is because he’s been given a mission that shouldn’t be too combat-heavy, so he has time to give me some instructional guidance, at least until I’m given a more permanent reassignment.

I know I should be grateful—Scout and Iskat still haven’t been reassigned—but I still can’t help but feel that I’m being held back or passed over.

Who knows, maybe Master Plo will be impressed enough with me that he’ll take me on as his full-time Padawan.

A girl can dream, I suppose.

[Entries 144-250 irretrievable]

Entry 251 [entry undated; established to be written prior to the Battle of Christophsis. Will need to cross-reference with Database Division for exact date]

I can’t believe this is happening. Scout is going to be sooo jealous.

So, I’ve been reassigned again. What a surprise. I wonder if this is normal for Padawans? Could it be a bad thing that I’ve been jumping around so much?

Whatever, doesn’t matter now, because I’ve just been reassigned to the Chosen One himself: Anakin Skywalker!

Yes, you read that right! I didn’t even know he had been knighted at this point. It makes sense, especially after all the press he got for the Battle of Virujansi. I’ve heard some whispers at the Temple that it isn’t, like, “official-official” and that it’s only a formality because we’ve lost so many Knights to this war and the Chancellor says that we need more generals… but I’m getting sidetracked again.

I’m supposed to meet with him on Christophsis, where the Republic’s been countering the Separatist offensive in the Savareen sector. I’ll also be given a command position in the 501st Legion as Jedi Commander; hopefully this means that if Skyguy gets fed up with me, I’ll just be reassigned to another General in the division.

But I hope it doesn’t come to that. I really do.

[Entries 252-500 are either lost or irretrievable. The following entries are either corrupted, unmarked, or undated. Their inclusion here are for the sake of completion and unlikely to be useful in tracking down this Jedi]

Unmarked entry #1

Just got back from a mission on JanFathal. Met a Jedi named Callista. She’s… interesting, for lack of a better term. Kind of unorthodox. I mean, so is Master Skywalker, but she’s a bit… different. I’ll just leave it at that.

Unmarked entry #2

I’m drifting again. Technically I’m still assigned to Master Skywalker but he’s been on a lot of solo missions without me. Almost like he doesn’t want me around. Master Kenobi is a lot more friendly; almost wish he’d become my teacher instead. But I don’t want to say anything because my status is already unpredictable as it is. I don’t want to make things worse.

Unmarked entry #3

Heading out to the Chrelythiumn system to answer a distress call. I’m surprised Master Skywalker is bringing me along for this one, since it’s so far out in Wild Space and we’re going to be stuck together in a cramped ship for a while. Heh, maybe the Council got on him for not being a proper teacher.

Unmarked entry #4

There’s always a bit of truth in legends there’s always a bit of truth in legends there’s always a bit of truth in legends there’s always a bit of truth in legends there’s always a bit of truth in legends

Unmarked entry #5

She lives in me and I live in her. Niphal will always be with me. Morai will guide me to her.

Unmarked entry #6

They’ve been talking about me. They think I’m not fit for training anymore. Say I’m too far gone.

But am I? If anything, I am more certain about myself than I have ever been in my entire life. I have seen the true purity of the Force. I am closer to the light than I’ve ever been; than any Jedi has ever been. 

Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps the path of the Jedi isn’t the one for me. Perhaps it never has been.

Perhaps my destiny lies elsewhere.

Unmarked entry #7

The Council has summoned me. They are going to cast me out of the Jedi Order.

I’m not going to give them that satisfaction.

I decide what path I will walk, not them.

Scout, if you find this journal (because I know you like to go through my stuff), know that the Jedi path is not the only one. You don’t need to force yourself to fit in. You can choose your own destiny. They can’t stop you. No one can.

Until our paths cross again—

May the Force be with you.

* * *

To: Office of Imperial Intelligence Director

From: Office of Imperial Security Bureau Director

Date: 17:8:16 GrS (1 AE)

Per further consideration, as well as persuasive input from Lord Vader, it has been decided that these records and all copies are to be destroyed, as well as any possible traces of the subject’s existence. All Jedi who are marked Priority Level 3 by the Inquisitorius will be dealt with as time allows but are not a pressing concern as of present time.

Colonel Yularen extends his appreciation for the prompt response to his request.

Star Wars: Tales from the Jedi Order - Keeping Score

 KEEPING SCORE

Wasskah, 40 BBY

“How does it feel, Jedi, to lose to a Trandoshan?”

Plo Koon remained silent as he sat cross-legged in the cage he had been placed in. The Trandoshans standing guard had spears pointed at him through the steel bars, ready to strike if he so much as flinched. Their leader chuckled, a guttural sound, as she paced away from the cage and walked over to the second captive Jedi. Lissarkh was sitting on her knees, her hands binded by stun cuffs, as she looked downcast at the ground, wincing as the older Trandoshan brushed a claw against her face.

“You have done well, daughter,” the lead hunter hissed. “With this catch, the Scorekeeper will award us many points.”

“I didn’t,” Lissarkh stammered, tripping over her words. “I’m not—”

“You’re not what? Not my daughter? Was it some other hatchling that was taken from my nest by that wretched Wookiee Jedi? Trandoshan Jedi are a rare sight in the galaxy, and you are young enough to be that very hatchling. Unless there is more than one female Trandoshan Jedi in the galaxy that is your age, which I very much doubt.”

Lissarkh squeezed her eyes shut and Plo Koon could sense his Padawan’s growing apprehension and anger. He sent calming thoughts to her through the Force while keeping his attention on the older Trandoshan female.

“If you are indeed correct that my Padawan here is your daughter, Hunter Yavassk, then I believe you have a different account of the story than from what I have been told.”

Yavassk snapped her head back to the Kel Dor Jedi, her forked tongue slithering from her mouth. “And just what is your version of events, Jedi?”

“As I understand it, the Wookiee Jedi you speak of—Master Tyvokka, my former teacher—came to this sector seventeen years ago to rescue Trandoshan hatchlings from being sold into slavery. Your daughter happened to be one of them and, sensing that she was Force-sensitive, brought her with him to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo Koon inclined his head slightly. “Is that accurate to how you understand it?”

“What you Jedi saw as slavery, I saw as an opportunity,” Yavassk retorted. “The Zygerrians were offering to train our children to become skilled hunters, the best that Trandosha would ever have to offer. Eternal servitude to their future masters was a small price to pay for pleasing the Scorekeeper. You Jedi had no right to interfere!”

“These hatchlings included not only your own but those taken from the Speaker-Above-All himself. Many Trandoshans believed that the Wookiees were responsible for the kidnappings and the Senate sent us to investigate. You overstepped your boundaries and that incited a response from the Jedi.”

Yavassk sneered at Plo Koon, baring her teeth. “You think I care what the Spineless-Above-All thinks? He is too weak willed to stand up against Senator Yarua and fight for the representation we deserve. His children would have fared far better under the guidance of the Zygerrians.”

“I do not believe kidnapping children is making quite the statement you want it to make,” Plo Koon said.

“Enough!” Yavassk snarled. “We have wasted enough time already. It is time for us to hunt.”

“But you have already captured us.”

“Capturing a Jedi is one thing. Killing is another.” Yavassk grinned wickedly. “You will be released into the wilderness and my clan—including my daughter—will hunt you down. Whoever kills you will be rewarded greatly by the Scorekeeper.”

“No!” Lissarkh protested. “I will not participate in your game. He is my master and—”

“You are a Jedi no longer,” Yavassk snapped at her. “You are a Trandoshan, now and forevermore. You will do as the Scorekeeper wishes.”

“No. I won’t—”

“Lissarkh,” Plo Koon said calmly. “Do as she asks.”

Lissarkh stared at her master in surprise. “But—”

“My decision is final. If your family wishes to hunt, then a hunt they shall have.”

“That’s more like it.” Yavassk motioned for the guards to step away and open the cage. “Since I’m feeling generous, you will have a ten minute head start. That should make it challenging enough.”

Plo Koon rose to his feet as the cage opened. As he stepped out, he gave one last look at his Padawan, who stared back at him with wide eyes of confusion. Without a word, he then turned and ran into the forest.

*  *  *

True to her word, Yavassk did not shoot the starting blaster until exactly ten minutes later. By then, Plo Koon had found his hiding spot and waited patiently for the Trandoshan hunters to make their way through the forest.

He had expected that this mission would have led to this. The Council had been hesitant to send any Jedi to Wasskah to investigate claims of missing children, both Trandoshan and Wookiee alike. When Master Tyvokka had investigated similar such claims seventeen years ago, it had only worsened tensions between the two races as many Trandoshans believed that it had all been a set-up by the Wookiees and that the Jedi had deliberately sent Tyvokka in order to paint the Wookiees as heroes. As most Jedi separated themselves from the culture of their homeworlds, the Council had not expected such a connection to be made and were thus reluctant to potentially make the same mistake.

It was only when Plo Koon volunteered himself and Lissarkh for the mission that the Council agreed to send Jedi to Wasskah and potentially bring an end to the kidnappings. While Lissarkh had long since distanced herself from her people’s culture, having been brought to the Jedi Temple mere weeks after being hatched, the presence of a Trandoshan Jedi being the one to save the missing children would have hopefully convinced the Trandoshans that the Wookiees were not to blame and that Yavassk was acting entirely of her own accord. 

As it turned out however, there were no missing children. It had all been a trap, as Yavassk had been banking on the fact that the Jedi would send someone as they had in the past, and her family would be able to acquire “points” from their deity the Scorekeeper for killing a Jedi. The fact that Yavassk was also reunited with her daughter was merely a bonus, from what Plo Koon had gathered.

Reaching out with the Force, Plo Koon could sense that the Trandoshans were on their way to find him, Lissarkh being among them. He and his Padawan had been both deprived of their lightsabers, although Lissarkh had doubtlessly been given a weapon of some kind by her mother. He only hoped that she did not give into her emotions and use it for the wrong reasons. This would be a trial she would have to face alone, without his guidance, if she wished to become a true Jedi Knight.

In the distance, Plo Koon heard something snap, followed by an alarmed wail. By the sounds of it, a trap had been sprung by one of the Trandoshans—likely a trap that had been intended for Plo Koon himself. Were the hunters so blind as to miss their own traps?

A few moments later, he heard another cry as one of the other hunters fell into a pit. He then listened as a third was taken out by flying darts, a fourth by a log thrown at his face, and a fifth was launched into the air, flying directly over Plo Koon’s hiding spot. The bushes behind him then startled to rustle and he braced himself as he slowly turned around, ready to face his hunter.

“Master?”

Plo Koon allowed himself to relax as Lissarkh poked her head through the bushes. “It would appear you have won the game, my young Padawan.” He gestured to where the Trandoshan hunter had flown over. “Was that your doing?”

Lissarkh nodded somewhat sheepishly. “I pretended to know exactly where you were and led them into their own traps. They were too focused on the hunt to realize what I was doing.”

“It would appear you did know where I was hiding.”

“Well, yes. But not where I made them believe they were hiding.”

Plo Koon chuckled as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Well done, Padawan. Now then, let us have a talk with your mother.”

“I’m right here, Jedi.”

Master and apprentice turned around to see Yavassk emerge from the bushes opposite of where Lissarkh had emerged from, a vibrostaff clutched tightly in her claws. Both of their lightsabers were secured safely to her belt, placed within a lock that would make it difficult for either of them to grab their weapon with the Force.

“You disappoint me, daughter,” Yavassk growled, glaring at Lissarkh. “You could have earned a place in the Scorekeeper’s good graces.”

“The Scorekeeper means nothing to me,” Lissarkh protested. “I am a Jedi and I trust only in the Force.”

“Only because that is how the Jedi have warped your mind,” Yavassk hissed. “There’s a reason they kidnap children so young, before their minds have had a chance to develop even the most basic of functions. It is so they indoctrinate you with their ideals and make it so that you can never question them.”

Lissarkh narrowed her eyes. “That is where you are wrong, mother.”

Yavassk laughed bitterly. “And how is that?”

“Because I have questioned it. Many times.”

Plo Koon glanced at Lissarkh but said nothing. She stepped forward until she was between him and Yavassk, separating them from each other. “During my final year as an Initiate, I met a youngling who had been brought in from Gallus. Because his species lived on formaldehyde, he had to be placed in a small vat or exo-suit filled with it in order to live. I then asked my clan’s teacher why he couldn’t have been taught on Gallus, and I was told that it was because all Jedi must cut ties with their homeworld in order to become a true Knight of the Order. I didn’t understand that reasoning, and none of my teacher’s answers satisfied the question that was really burgeoning in my head.

“I didn’t get my answer until my second year as a Padawan. My master and I traveled to a planet where the people were under the threat of a warlord. Said warlord had a connection to the Force, but it was raw and uncontrollable. It made him a danger to everyone around him, including himself. Unfortunately, his powers got too far out of hand and we were unable to save him before he perished. If he had been found by the Jedi Order at an earlier age, then perhaps he could have been trained to control his powers and become a respectable Jedi Knight. Maybe then, he and the people he killed would have still been alive.

“The Force is a gift, but it can be a dangerous one when left unchecked. That is why the Jedi Order exists; so that power can be controlled and used for good, rather than evil. But it must be done from an early age, or else it will be too late to temper the storm that will come.”

Yavassk snorted in disdain. “It is just as I feared. Your mind has been warped too much by their teachings. I am afraid you are too far gone. But no matter.” She raised her vibrostaff over her head. “I am sure the Scorekeeper will reward me greatly for killing two Jedi instead of just one.”

With a battle cry, the Trandoshan lunged at the two Jedi. Before she could reach them, a blue blade emitted from one of the lightsabers secured to her belt, breaking through the lock she had on it and stabbing her in the leg. As Yavassk cried out in pain, Plo Koon summoned his lightsaber to him with the Force and used it to cut through Yavassk’s arms, dropping them and the vibrostaff to the ground. Howling in pain, Yavassk dropped to her knees as Plo Koon pointed the blade of his saber at her neck.

“I’m afraid the Scorekeeper will not be keeping score for you today,” the Jedi Master said coolly.

A furious glare was the only response the Trandoshan gave him.

*  *  *

“We will be sure to inform both the Chancellor and Senator Yarua of your successful mission,” the Republic Judicial said as Yavassk was led onto an awaiting shuttle. “I’m sure they will be intrigued by the fact that a Trandoshan Jedi was responsible for the apprehension of such an elusive criminal.”

“That they will,” Plo Koon said. He looked over to Lissarkh and saw that she had her back to the rest of them, staring into the forest from which they had escaped. “Give me a moment, lieutenant,” he then said to the Judicial. “I must have a brief word with my Padawan.”

The young Commenori man nodded and walked back to the shuttle, leaving Plo Koon alone with Lissarkh. Walking over to his apprentice, he put a hand on her shoulder and she broke her gaze from the forest to look up at him.

“Your master was the one who brought me to the Temple, wasn’t he?”

Plo Koon nodded. “That he was.”

“Was it a coincidence, then, that you chose me as your Padawan?”

“In the Living Force, there are no coincidences,” Plo Koon replied. “From the moment you were brought to the Temple, Master Tyvokka informed me that you would be a special case. And I knew he was right when I first saw you at the Apprentice Tournament.”

Lissarkh continued to stare at him, as if she was studying him with her reptilian eyes. “He had just died, hadn’t he, when you took me on as your apprentice? Did his death influence your choice?”

Plo Koon sighed as he looked away, staring at the forest himself. “Perhaps it did. I had always believed that he intended on making you his Padawan once you were ready. Perhaps the Force guided me to you when he became one with it.”

“Are you glad it did?” Lissarkh sounded half-joking when she said this, but Plo Koon did not take it that way. He turned to face her directly, both hands on her shoulders.

“Very much so.”

Lissarkh’s mouth curved into a grin. “So am I.”

Plo Koon’s comlink chimed at that moment and the Kel Dor Jedi answered it. “Master Plo, this is Lieutenant Dodonna. We are all set. Whenever you’re ready to leave….”

“We will be joining you shortly, lieutenant,” Plo Koon replied. With a nod to his Padawan, the two Jedi turned away from the forests of Wasskah as they headed back for the ship, ready to leave it and the history it carried well enough behind.

Star Wars: Tales from the Jedi Order - What They Grow Beyond

 WHAT THEY GROW BEYOND

Coruscant, 44 BBY

“It sounds like the operation on Galidraan was an overall success!”

Yoda saw the Chancellor’s lips move, heard the words coming from his mouth. Yet it took him a long while to realize that the words were being spoken directly to him, with the expectation of a response. By the time he realized this, Master Windu had already taken the responsibility of answering, no doubt sensing his elder peer’s unease.

“Indeed, Chancellor,” the young Korun man said. “Your men in the Judicial Forces are to be commemorated for their victory.”

“Ah, but it was the Jedi who won the battle,” replied Chancellor Kalpana, seated at his desk with withered hands clasped before him. “Were it not for their presence, the Mandalorians would have surely proved victorious.”

Yoda’s long ears twitched and he did his best to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice. “Victory there is not to be had in this for either side. Killed, many Jedi were.”

“Yes, and their losses will certainly be mourned,” the Chancellor said. “But the goal was nonetheless accomplished, was it not? The Mandalorian invaders were crushed and defeated, their numbers reduced to but one man.”

Yoda lowered his head to hide his deep frown. He knew it would be pointless to explain the root of his disquiet to someone like Chancellor Kalpana, a man who saw the Battle of Galidraan as nothing more than fuel for his reelection campaign. To Yoda, it meant something far more deeper, more personal, than even some of his fellow Jedi could grasp.

The Jedi had gone to Galidraan at the personal request of the planet’s governor, who had said that Mandalorian warriors were invading his homeworld and slaughtering his people. This news had come as quite a shock to some in both the Republic and the Jedi Order, as the Mandalorians had been thought to have foregone their warriors ways since the Excision that devastated their homeworld nearly seven hundred years ago. In response, the Republic had sent Master Dooku to lead a task force of Jedi and Judicial Forces to quell the uprising. While the Mandalorians were indeed crushed, killing all save for their leader according to Dooku’s report, eleven Jedi had also been killed in the process along with most of the Judicial Forces that had accompanied them. It was perhaps the bloodiest battle the Republic had ever seen in the past few centuries. Not since the disastrous Nihil conflict had this much blood been shed.

Not for the first time since hearing the debriefing report did Yoda wonder if such violence was even necessary. He understood why Jedi had been sent in the first place, of course; the Order had a long, millennia-spanning history of dealing with Mandalorians. As Kalpana had said, the Judicial Forces would have been swiftly wiped out had they alone been sent to Galidraan. It was perhaps only thanks to Master Dooku’s own knowledge of the Mandalorians’ warrior ways, having studied their history in the Archives, that “victory”—if it could be called that—was achieved.

Yoda was brought back to the present moment when he sensed the door to the Chancellor’s office opening. He peered over his shoulder to see Dooku himself stride into the room, trailed by the young blonde woman that was his current Padawan learner. Komari Vosa was no older than eighteen, and yet her blue eyes carried a heaviness that Yoda had only seen in more experienced Jedi Knights and Masters. It was a heaviness that carried over to her master, whose grave expression was enough to chill even the hottest of environments.

“Ah, Master Dooku!” Kalpana greeted the Jedi, no doubt oblivious to the weight that burdened their shoulders. “Thank you for taking the time to visit me personally. I wanted to congratulate you on your success at Galidraan.”

“There are no congratulations to be had for something like this,” Dooku replied, his deep voice thick with solemnity. “We Jedi find no pleasure in taking lives, even those of our enemies.”

Kalpana nodded curtly, clearing his throat. “I understand, Master Jedi. Regardless, I am sure the people of Galidraan are grateful for your actions in defending their world. And I can assure you that the Republic is grateful in seeing an end to these Mandalorian interlopers.”

“The ensured safety of the Republic is enough, Chancellor.”

Yoda studied Dooku carefully from where he sat, analyzing his former student’s face. Although Dooku did his best to hide it, Yoda knew him well enough to see the conflict in his eyes, the shame and the remorse. No Jedi ever took pleasure in killing; that much of what Dooku had said was true. But Yoda sensed that there was something more to his old Padawan’s discomfort, something that he could not yet put into words. Perhaps it was not that different from what Yoda himself was feeling in regard to this incident.

Then again, Yoda doubted anyone in this room could ever fully understand or relate to what he was feeling. None of them were as old or as experienced as he was. Even Chancellor Kalpana, whose old age had become a major detriment to his reelection campaign, had nothing on the eight centuries Yoda had lived. Yoda remembered the Mandalorian Excision after all; he had been a mere Jedi Knight back then, but he remembered it nonetheless. He alone fully understood the root of the Mandalorians’ resentment against the Republic and the Jedi. The Battle of Galidraan was perhaps the inevitable culmination of that resentment; a bloodbath that had been unavoidable.

Yoda cast his emerald gaze to the Chancellor, who stared back at him from his warm, wrinkled face. Wise as he was, Kalpana’s eighty years were but a droplet of water in the vast ocean that was Yoda’s life.

“I will not detain you any longer, Master Jedi,” the Chancellor said. “I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. Besides, I am due for a session in the Senate in a few hours.”

Yoda nodded absently and was the first to rise from his seat, with Windu shortly following him. After bowing in farewell to the Chancellor, they turned for the door, where Yoda expected to see Dooku and his Padawan still standing there. However, the two Jedi were already gone, walking ahead of Yoda and Windu before either pair had the chance to acknowledge each other. As they walked out of the Chancellor’s office, Windu glanced at Yoda, a dark eyebrow raised.

“I sense unease coming from those two,” the younger Jedi Master said. “As well as from you.”

Yoda sighed, putting both hands on top of his cane. “Very perceptive you are, Master Windu.” 

At twenty-eight, Mace Windu was the youngest member of the Jedi Council, having been appointed not too long ago. Regardless, the young man exuded a wisdom in him that Yoda had seen in few Jedi outside of those already sitting on the Council.

Age is more than a count of heartbeats. Age is how many times you have failed.

If that lesson, one that had been passed down to him by his own teacher long ago, was true, Yoda wondered if that meant he was beyond the years he had physically lived… or if he was still catching up.

“Distress I sense in Master Dooku,” Yoda continued, walking alongside Windu to the turbolift that Dooku and Vosa had just gone through. “In his Padawan as well. A deep scar the conflict on Galidraan has left on them.”

“Indeed,” Windu said gravely. “It has been many years since this many Jedi have been lost in a single year. Between this and the conflict against the Stark Combine, I dread that a pattern is beginning to emerge.”

Yoda grimaced. “Let us pray that it does not become one.”

*  *  *

Upon returning to the Jedi Temple, Yoda knew right away where to find his former apprentice.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was where many Jedi went when seeking a place to meditate. Its flowing waterfalls and verdant flora created a serene environment that allowed one to clear their mind and attune themselves with the Force. Yoda himself had come to this retreat more time than he could count, and it was here that he found Dooku sitting alone in the center of the expansive chamber, his back to his former teacher.

As Yoda approached his old Padawan, careful not to disturb his meditative trance, Dooku suddenly spoke, stopping the older Jedi Master in his tracks. “Komari did well on Galidraan.”

Yoda harrumphed, clasping his hands over his walking stick. “Killed many Mandalorians, did she?”

“She held her own against twenty of their warriors. An impressive feat, wouldn’t you say?”

“Impressive?” Yoda grunted. “Impressive, is it, to take lives?”

“A Jedi takes lives only when it is necessary,” Dooku replied. “In this situation, it was necessary for her to strike down her enemies. If there had been any other option, I’m sure she would have taken it.”

“Certain, are you? Much conflict I sense in young Vosa. Desperate to please you, she is.” 

Dooku opened his eyes and slowly looked over his shoulder to look at Yoda, a questioning gleam in his dark eyes. “To please me?”

“See it, do you not? Knowing you as well as I have, difficult to please you often are. Make your students desperate for approval, you do.”

Dooku arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Seen it in young Qui-Gon, I have. See it now in young Komari, I do.” Yoda sighed, hanging his head low as he shook it. “Important it is to show your Padawan when they are on the right path… just as important it is to show them when they are diverging from that path. A balance to be kept there must be.”

“I fail to see how I am doing things wrong, Master,” Dooku said defensively. “Besides, if I recall, you were rather difficult to please yourself when I was your student. Perhaps we are not so different.”

Yoda’s ears twitched as he reflected on his former student’s words. He thought back to the many times a young Dooku had expressed frustration at Yoda’s way of teaching, which often involved him leaving Dooku to figure things out for himself rather than to tell him plainly how to solve a particular problem. Yoda had known it would have been the best way for his apprentice to learn and become a great Jedi, and become a great Jedi Dooku had. But perhaps Dooku had taken the wrong lesson from that. While Yoda saw it important to let students figure things out on their own, it was also just as important for their teachers to encourage them and to guide towards the solution rather than to leave them wholly in the dark. Dooku had apparently missed that aspect of the lesson, for it was because of his aloof nature that Padawans like Komari or even Qui-Gon often did foolish, ill-advised things in order to get some semblance of approval from their master. The fact that it had taken young Komari to kill twenty Mandalorians in order to get any form of praise from Dooku was also not an encouraging sign.

Had Dooku failed to pick up on an important aspect of the lesson Yoda had taught him all those years ago? Or had Yoda failed to make it clear to him?

It was not the first time Yoda had asked himself such a question. Having trained as many Jedi as he has, for as many years as he has, it was inevitable that he would one day ask himself the question no teacher ever wanted to ask: Where did I go wrong?

Yoda shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. There was no need to go down that line of thought; Dooku had not yet given any cause for it. There was still room for improvement, yes, but that was true for both of them—as it was for all Jedi, young and old.

After holding Dooku’s gaze for a long time, Yoda said, “Perhaps not. Even so, advise you I do that you not let your Padawan think that killing enemies is the only way to elicit praise from you.”

Dooku nodded sagely as he turned away. “Yes, I plan on a talk with her after I have finished meditating.”

“Disturb you no longer, I shall,” Yoda said, already turning away. “May the Force give you peace.”

“Thank you, Master. And may the Force give you the same.”

Yoda allowed himself a smile as he turned and walk away. Despite the assuring words however, he still could not help but feel that there was still a cloud hanging over him. Perhaps he would need to return to the Room of a Thousand Fountains to clear his mind as well…. 

*  *  *

It was not until several hours later, after the funeral held for the eleven Jedi that had fallen at Galidraan, did Yoda find the remaining root of the cloud.

After most of the Jedi had left the chamber, he found Qui-Gon Jinn—Dooku’s first Padawan learner—still standing in the room, looming over one of the sealed coffin chambers. Master Adi Gallia, a close colleague of Qui-Gon’s, also lingered in the chamber, observing her fellow Jedi with a concerned expression. She then met Yoda’s gaze and, with a simple nod of his green head, she too departed from the chamber, leaving the old Master alone with the forlorn Qui-Gon.

As Yoda slowly made his way over to him, Qui-Gon began speaking without looking up from the coffin chamber. “I failed him.”

Yoda looked up at him, tilting his head to one side. “Failed him?”

“If I had been a better teacher—a better Jedi—then Feemor would still be alive,” Qui-Gon elaborated, closing his eyes. “He would not have fallen to those Mandalorian barbarians.”

“Blame yourself for others’ shortcomings, you should not,” Yoda said sternly. “Taught him everything you knew, you did. Passed the Trials, he did. From that point, separate your paths became. Feemor’s strengths and weaknesses became his own, just as have your own you do.”

“That doesn’t explain Xanatos.”

Yoda sighed heavily, bowing his head. “Had this conversation before, we have. A complicated case, your second Padawan was. Too old he was for training; attached to his homeworld, his family, his wealth.”

“Yes, I made a mistake in bringing Xanatos to the Temple,” Qui-Gon said. “Perhaps I made a mistake in even taking on a Padawan in the first place, let alone taking on a third.”

“Every Jedi makes mistakes, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said solemnly. “Defined by their mistakes, some of the greatest Jedi Masters are.”

At last, Qui-Gon diverted his gaze from the lowered coffin to meet Yoda’s gaze. His blue-gray eyes, wrought with conflicting emotions, carried an aura of surprise. “Even you?”

Yoda allowed a small smile. “Me, especially. Over eight hundred years have I lived; mistakes I have made, how many do you reckon?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “To be honest, Master, I find the concept of you making a mistake to be impossible.”

“Impossible, hm? Make mistakes often, I do. Without even realizing it, perhaps.”

“What do you mean?”

Yoda gestured with his walking stick. “Walk with this, I do. Touches the ground everyday, it does. How many insects do you think I have killed with it, without meaning to?”

“I’m pretty sure Coruscant is too sterilized for there to be insects in the first place—”

“Another world, then. Dantooine. Visited there I did, not so long ago. Festering with life it is, big and small. Walked through a garden with my stick, I did. How many lives were lost then, hm?”

Qui-Gon’s expression became one of contemplation as he looked away from Yoda; not at the coffin containing Feemor’s below but rather up ahead, at nothing in particular.

“Learn from our mistakes, every Jedi must,” Yoda went on. “Not the first Jedi are you to have lost a Padawan, nor will you be the last. Many students have I lost; more than anyone can count. But stop me from teaching that does not.”

Yoda allowed those words to hang in the air as he turned to leave the chamber. He walked a few steps towards the exit, then stopped to look over his shoulder at Qui-Gon one last time. The other Jedi Master, deep in thought, managed to meet his gaze.

“We are what they grow beyond, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said quietly. “That is the true burden of all masters.”

Qui-Gon acknowledged his words with a simple nod. Yoda then walked out of the chamber, his shoulders straining from the weight put upon them.