Chapter
25

As Luke’s life drained away, a soft buzzing filled his ears. His muscles relaxed like never before. Overhead, rancors still tossed stones. He saw a blinding flash as one boulder hit an Imperial walker, and the machine split, giving off a fierce actinic glare as it burst.

Overhead, part of the mountain exploded outward, tearing away. Luke could see Nightsisters there, climbing the steep cliffs, halfway suspended by use of the Force, like great black arachnids dangling from their webs.

A sharp ache throbbed through his temples, and Luke turned to his side. A boulder dropped beside his arm, shattered, and distantly he could still hear screams and, mingled with them, Teneniel’s voice.

“The Jai never die,” she said. “Nature cherishes them. Nature.”

A body fell beside him with a thud—the corpse of a clan sister, her metal helmet askew, the tiny gems and skulls bobbling. The sun was getting brighter, he noticed as he watched the dark red blood draining from her mouth.

Luke did not feel like he was dying so much as expanding. He could hear noises all around, minute digging sounds of some salamander scratching beneath the rocks, worms burrowing beneath his head, a bush scratching a rock as it tussled with the wind. Everywhere was life, everywhere he could feel it, see the light of the Force glowing around him, in the trees, in the rocks, in the warriors above him on the mountainside.

The salamander raised its head above the soil, and it glowed with luminous Force. Hello, my little friend, Luke thought. The salamander had green skin and fierce little black eyes. It opened its mouth, and a white mist came out, stroked Luke as if it were a finger, and Luke understood that he was seeing Force, not just feeling it. A gift, the lizard whispered. This is a gift for you, and the gentle light stole over him, reinforced Luke’s waning Force. Above him, the bush that scratched the rocks seemed to twist, and twigs of light bent down to cradle his head. Here, here it is, the bush whispered. Life. A nearby rock glowed white, and on the distant plains, one of the Blue Desert People raised its head as it fed in the rushes by the river, and its red eye stared across the leagues. Friend, it said, offering support.

Luke seemed to hear Teneniel’s words, “Nature cherishes them,” and he did not know if he was subconsciously controlling the Force, or if the life around him actually sought to heal him, but he saw the Force all around him, and he grasped those threads more easily than he’d ever done before.

To control the Force, to use the Force, was not such a violent thing as he had imagined. It was everywhere, more abundant than rain or air, offering itself. He had hoped someday to become a Jedi Master, yet now realized that there were levels of control he had never envisioned, far beyond anything he had dreamed.

The sweet power stole through him, and he did not know if he commanded it, or it commanded him. He knew only that he felt something heal in his head as ruptured veins closed, and then the vision ended.

He lay for a long time with his eyes closed, unable to do more than breathe, and wait for the Force to strengthen him.

Leia called his name, and Luke’s eyes snapped open. The sky was so magnificently black that it seemed a perfect night had fallen. There were no more chaotic sounds of battle. On the mountains, he could see lights, torchlights in the hands of villagers, and one person walking down the treacherous mountain path, torch in hand. He thought Leia must be up there. “Leia,” he called. “Leia?”

On the mountainside, the torchbearer held the torch aloft, looked down over the cliff. “Luke?” Han called. “Luke, is that you?”

“Han,” Luke called weakly. He lay back in the blackness, felt at his side for his lightsaber, mustered energy to thumb the switch, hoping Han would see its light.

Distant voices came to him indistinctly. Someone grabbed him, shook him. A bright light shone in his eyes, and Han said, “Luke! Luke! You’re alive! Hang on. Hang in there.”

Han sat for a moment, holding Luke’s hand, and Luke could feel Han’s terror. “Listen, buddy,” Han said. “I’ve got to go. Leia is waiting for you up top. Take care of her for me. Please, take care of her.”

Han tried to pull away, and Luke could sense the terror and desperation that raged in him. “Han?” Luke said, grasping his wrist.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Han said. “You’re not in any shape to help me, this time.” Han pulled away, and Luke felt as if he were swirling in darkness.

After what seemed an eternity, someone grabbed him, lifted him up. Luke managed to open his eyes, but could keep them open for only a moment. He was in the hands of peasants, a dozen rough peasants in simple leather tunics, torches held high. Han told them with deep concern, “Get him out of here! Carry him back up to the Millennium Falcon!”

The voices buzzed in his head, questioning. “Yeah, yeah, the Falcon, my spaceship,” Han said. “Take him there. I’ve got to go!”

Then the hands lifted Luke, and the peasants carried him, and Luke let himself rest.