The Magis Saga: From the Jedi Archives

I Am A Jedi

Fear. The kind that makes you think of nothing else.

Branded on his heart, it took the form of a question; how can I save someone from a destruction so deeply desired?

Always the same answer... give everything.

This was no cobble hovering in the sky. The gigantic mass of rock, nearly forty feet in height, half that in width, carefully descended onto the sharp tip of an equally impressive mass, jutting out of the red soil.

20,000 tons of rock.

Eleven of these perfectly balanced monoliths stood throughout the vast valley. On a high plateau's overlook, a man sat, withering, eyes closed, hands folded. Smooth lines of red, like branches, ran down his dark skin. Often mistaken as paint, they were a hallmark of his vanishing species. He wore robes that were golden in another life. That memory clung tightly, refusing the last bits of fabric to the advancing wash.

A pebble, no bigger than the tip of his finger, alighted from the ground to level with the man's temple. The man opened his eyes—eyes fighting for life.

A vision cut through his mind.

The blade, red as blood, clashed then dropped; blistered hands and a contorted face fell behind it. One of the great round slabs was ripped open by an invisible power. The rocks above toppled.

The man reached out to stop the collapse; his veins bulging across his visage. Another burst like a bag. Then another. The slain men and women split his mind like an axe to wood. Cracking. Shattering. Neither visions or towers responded to his commands.

He reached forward, arms taught, hands clenching air. He dropped and breathed dust.

Eleven lost lives. Eleven fallen towers. They plummeted vertically as if swallowed. The thunder echoed between the dozens of buttes standing watch, like the rumble of hunger from the belly of a planetary beast, and the valley choked on disturbed soil.

The man coughed and lifted his face from the dust. His flesh seemed pulled tight against his skull. He noticed the small pebble and reached out to it. It skipped about as if in pain, but it did not rise. The man sobbed then froze as a shadow passed over him.

He stared up at a figure whose back was turned. It was dressed in black robes and a single metallic plate encased its neck and scalp. "Traitaris," Magis whispered. It couldn't be. How could the enemy be here? Magis felt another presence and turned. It was walking on the air toward the cliff. Magis realized now a vision before his eyes. "Emeric?"

A few brown locks peeked underneath the black hood. Emeric's once strong features and regal stature were sunken and hunched. The cliff morphed into the bowels of a temple Magis once called home. Now it slept in malice and woke in vengeance.

"Master Sol," Emeric bowed.

"He will come today," Traitaris answered. His voice made you think of awaking in the night to disturbing sounds. "An indispensable moment for you, when you will be tempted to rejoin him." The figure turned revealing gruesome burn marks across his face. The pieces of flesh appeared to be glued together making him look half alive; strands of hair fell across his haggard expression. He circled Emeric. "The dark side demands everything. You know how, Darth Imperium." He stared into Emeric. "You must kill him. Only then will you master yourself. No more memories. No more sorrow."

"Emeric!" Magis shouted, but the vision faded.

Clouds were gathering in the far west. Soon they would thinly mask the day star and, for brief moments, the planet's southern hemisphere would look as faux gold so that greed might be stirred up in passing travelers. Here was exile with ubiquitous heat, decay, and forgotten pasts. The man looked toward the north, where the rains would fall in the woods. There was the temple.