Loden turned, fighting to stay on his feet, but still with enough energy to push down with the Force. The lights Ro and Uttersond had used to dazzle him toppled down on the Nihil leader, followed by the table where Loden had hung night and day. Anyone else would have felt satisfaction at the grunt that issued from the masked man, but Loden Greatstorm wasn’t anyone. He was a Jedi Master, and he needed to find his former Padawan.

Loden was vaguely aware of Ro pushing himself up from beneath the equipment as he lurched out into the corridor, pounding the pommel of his lightsaber into the controls. The door slammed down, and Loden spun the weapon in his hand, igniting it to burn through the locking mechanism.

A million and one sounds assaulted him at once. The thrum of his blade, the rumble of distant engines, and explosions from outside, as loud and confusing as the cacophony he had endured at Uttersond’s hands. He shook them away, only barely aware of where his amputated lekku should have slapped against his shoulders. He had lost so much, but he needed to move. He didn’t require a voice in his head to tell him that.

Loden ran, his disrupted balance almost getting the better of him more than once, following the disembodied voice. He found a door, opened it, and stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was still seeing things.

A woman was suspended in a web of tubes and cables, her body withered, the exposed skin parched and colorless, almost like the mummies Loden’s ancestors used to bury beneath the grassfields on Ryloth.

“It was you,” he whispered, reverentially. “You’ve been talking to me.”

Have I?

He blinked. Had the crone’s lips moved? Could those milky eyes see him?

You must go.

“Not without you.”

He went to step in through the door, only to be stopped by another wave of vertigo. He sagged against the doorframe, willing the universe to stop spinning.

I am already gone. Here, but there. Far, but near.

“What does that mean?”

He needs you. You need him. I can see it, Loden. Why can’t you?

“I am Jedi.” It was a statement of fact, a bulwark, to banish the nausea and set him on the right track. The woman was right. She had been right all along. He needed Bell.

My time will come soon enough. Go, Jedi. Be one.

There was a crash from down the corridor. Ro was breaking out.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

No. The thanks should be yours, Loden Greatstorm. You brought me back. You showed me the way.

Loden ran.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

The Grizal camp

Bell ran.