The Dark Side

~10~

Neri'el didn't remember the masked man standing over her fallen, broken body. She didn't remember him turning his back on her, leaving her to die. She didn't remember Master Luke finding her. Nor did she recall him bandaging her wounds and taking her far away. She didn't remember meeting a man named Lor San Tekka on a distant desert planet whose name she hadn't memorized. She didn't remember seeing Luke vanish into the night with the swish of his cloak. 

For the next six months, Neri'el was silent. She didn't speak, rarely ate and spent most of her time learning how to use her new limb. Oh yes, that was one thing that Tekka had given her. A mechanical leg for her missing left limb. It was awkward at first and still a terrible struggle for the girl. But with perseverance and a willpower strong enough to move mountains she forced herself to learn.

"Neri'el."

The blonde haired woman stood to her feet and with a slight hobble, made her way into her home. Her home was a sand colored tent, much like that of a Tusken Raider's. The sand from the planet got everywhere. In one's hair, clothing, food and eyes.

Neri'el hated sand.

The beating sun's heat decreased monumentally as she slid into the tent. The air inside the tent was cooler and easier to breath than the baking, sultry air from outside. A small wooden table sat up in the middle of the tent and the elderly man, whom had become Neri'el's caretaker, gestured for her to take a seat across from him.

She sat and silently watched him through her calculating green eyes.

The old man tilted his head to the right, peering at her face. He was not a young man. His face was wrinkled and scarred. His lips were chapped from the long time spent on this rustic planet. But his eyes. They were young. They danced all the time as if the man was always secretly enjoying a private joke.

"Neri'el, it is time for you to continue your training," the elderly man said slowly.

Neri'el's eyes flicked immediately from the man to the sandy floor. They had discussed this many times through use of hand signals and body language.

Neri'el refused to take up the mantle of Jedi. She had once adored the idea of the Force. Craved it, yearned for it, and spent many years learning to control it. Until that day when she learned of the Dark Side of the Force. When she learned what else a Force wielder is capable of doing.

Neri'el shook her head, her blonde hair rippling.

The old man studied her and let out a deep breath.

"Neri'el," he began but she just kept shaking her head, "Neri'el."

A choked sob escaped her pink lips and Neri'el immediately stifled the noise with her hands. Tears began cascading down her cheeks as memories began to cycle their way back into her mind.

Glazed over eyes, the scarlet stained grass, the red saber piercing Jempa's heart.

Another cry leapt from Neri'el's mouth and she tightened her grip over it. She continued shaking her head and tears flew from her face, splattering wet drops onto the dirt floor.

"Neri'el," the old man said softly, his voice in her ear.

Two, withered hands gently were placed on her shoulders attempting to calm the poor girl down. The touch worked and slowly Neri'el forced herself to stop shaking. She drew in a shuddering breath yet kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Neri'el, it is in the past. There it will stay. The only one who can hurt you is yourself," Tekka said in a quiet voice.

The silver and ebony masked man with the cross pieced lightsaber invaded Neri'el's thoughts, staining her memory with his image. Her emerald eyes flew open as another gasp left her lips.