Shock exploded through Luke and he literally stumbled backward a step.

“W-what?”

He thought of the female presence aboard the Jade Shadow, slipping into his dreams and even those moments of borderline wakefulness. A body curved into, an arm draped over him … He had been so convinced it was Mara. It was her ship, she had been his wife. Why wouldn’t it be Mara?

“What is it, Skywalker?” It was Gavar Khai, and his voice was concerned. No doubt he was thinking anything powerful enough to distress Luke was something they all needed to worry about. And maybe it was.

“It wasn’t me,” Mara repeated.

Who else could it—

And he knew. Horror and repugnance buffeted Luke. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Luke forced back the shock and nausea. It would serve nothing now.

“No, it wasn’t,” he managed finally, his voice raw. “I should have known. I’m sorry.”

Her brilliant green eyes were kind. She was beyond annoyance or jealousy. “You couldn’t have. She is ancient, and powerful, and dangerous. Very dangerous. But you’re onto her now. She is never what she appears. Remember that. And next time you feel a ghostly presence lying beside you—” She smiled, even as she began to drift downward, her face becoming a smaller oval in the dark water, her hair a fiery nimbus, “—make sure it’s me.”

Luke laughed, a sound that was almost a sob, and nodded.

“Skywalker, if you have anything to share with us that could help us, please do.” It was Taalon’s voice, cold and irritated.

Luke took a deep breath. “We need to return. Now.”

Ben stifled a yawn. Sitting beside his father’s body was every bit as boring as it had been back on Sinkhole Station—more so as there wasn’t the fear of the unknown to keep him alert. Luke knew what he was doing, his body was safe, and Ben could still sense nothing of Abeloth.

“Why do you think she’s hiding from us?” he asked Vestara.

“I wish I could say I think she was afraid,” Vestara said. “But I think she’s just playing with us.”

“Do—do you think we can beat her?”

“I am Sith, Ben. I’m supposed to think Sith can beat anything in the known universe.”

Her voice was serious, but when he glanced over at her she was smiling. It faded a moment later as she continued. “But she’s ancient, and very powerful. The only way is if we can trick her, somehow.”

“Trick? Dad wants to go up and start a conversation with her. I’m afraid I have to say I’m with Taalon on that. I don’t think that will do much except get us killed.”

“Yet you are prepared to back his attempt to do so.”

“So are the Sith.” He paused, peered at her. “Aren’t they?”

Vestara’s gaze slid away. “We’ll do whatever is necessary to achieve our goal.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know everything, Ben, I’m just an apprentice,” she snapped.

“Vestara,” he said quietly, “don’t you get tired of this? All the plotting, all the scheming, all the backstabbing? Wouldn’t it be nice to just … trust somebody? To completely let go of your suspicions?”

She lifted her eyes to him again, and there was sorrow in their dark brown depths. “It sounds lovely, Ben. But that’s not my world.”

It could be.

The words were on Ben’s lips, and he might have uttered them, had not Luke begun to stir. He turned his attention back to his father, checking the drip and making sure the transition back to his body would be an easy one.

And it was at that moment that Dyon bellowed, bolted upright, and sprang for the door.

“Vestara!” Ben cried. “Stop him!”

But the Sith girl actually took a step backward and permitted the Force-user to pass. Ben stared at her, anguished and infuriated, unable to leave his father until Luke had fully returned. Vestara turned back to Ben and folded her arms.

Luke’s blue eyes snapped open and fixed on Ben’s face. “What happened?”

“Dyon just bolted,” Ben snarled. “And Vestara let him go.”

Dyon couldn’t believe it. Not-Vestara had kept her word, letting him pass freely, and perhaps stopping Not-Ben from coming after her. He hoped that no harm would befall her for helping him. He reached out into the Force, limited as his ability to do so was, and cried out to the being who had called him here.

I come, I come! he cried silently.

He edged carefully behind the Jade Shadow and turned to regard the plants crowding the bank. He had no weapon; but through them was the only way to get to Abeloth. He took a deep breath, his heart racing, and stepped forward.

The plants did nothing. He laughed, shakily, in relief. He took another step, then another, moving confidently now. They neither helped nor hindered him, behaving like ordinary plants on other worlds.

Dyon took it as a sign, and his spirits continued to lift. Upon reaching the top of the bank he looked over the beach, at the dozen or so frigates there, then up at the volcano. He sensed her there, waiting for him, and tears stung his eyes. Dyon knew he would have to be very careful. He could not allow his enemies to follow him. He believed Not-Vestara about the Not-Sith supporting Abeloth, but even so, he would not put his mistress in danger. It was possible the Not-Jedi might come out and see him.

Slowly, although he ached to break into a run, he cleared another rise and half walked, half slid down the other side.

“You what?” Luke was sitting up now, anger in his blue eyes.

“I let him go,” Vestara said. “I convinced him that I was on his and Abeloth’s side. He was aching to go to her, and he knew where to find her. While I was assuring him that the Sith were his and Abeloth’s dear friends and supporters, I planted a tracking device on him.” She fished in the pocket of her robe, held out a small piece of equipment, and wagged it at them, smiling a little. “And it’s working beautifully. Did you get any insight Beyond Shadows?”

Ben let out a small laugh that sounded like a yelp. “You might have told us, you know.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d trust me.”

“I don’t,” Luke said, “but right now, it really is the only lead we have. We lost Faal. The spirits in the Lake of Apparitions—apparently some old enemies had a grudge to settle. She fell into the water and they dragged her down.”

Vestara shrugged again. “I never much cared for her anyway. I dare say she had accumulated quite a lot of old enemies with grudges.”

“That’s probably true of every Sith,” Luke said. He turned to Ben. “I think we may have an edge we can use against Abeloth, though. She … seems to have a particular interest in me. I’m not sure why.”

“In Jedi, or in you in particular?” Ben asked.

“Me in particular. She—have you felt any kind of a feminine presence on the ship, Ben?”

His son nodded. “Yeah … I thought it was Mom. This being her ship and all, and you and I the only ones on it for a long time. I kind of felt she was looking after us.”

“I did, too,” Luke said. “But I saw Mom in the Lake. And she said it wasn’t her.”

Ben gasped and drew back slightly. He didn’t need confirmation on who it actually was. “That’s … really creepy, Dad.”

“I know,” Luke said, and grimaced slightly. “But the good news is, we can use that against her.”

“She did seem particularly interested in you,” Vestara said. They both turned to look at her.

Ben let out an exasperated sound. “Again, Ves, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t think it was personal. I just thought she was gravitating toward power.” Her voice was sincere, almost apologetic. “I am sorry. I should have said something earlier.”

“Well, at least we know it’s not our imaginations,” Luke said. “Come on. Let’s meet up with Taalon and the others and follow where Vestara’s hound is leading us.”

She was there, waiting for him. She stood outside the entrance to her cave, between the two large boulders on either side. Her dress clung to her tall, strongly muscled form, blown back against her by a gentle wind. It toyed with her thick dark hair, and as she turned to him, smiling widely, her gray eyes were alight with joy.

“Dyon,” she said. “You’ve found me. You’ve come home.”

He stood for a moment, trembling from the exertion, sweat gleaming on his brow, drinking her in.

He loved her. He felt her need of him, her wanting, her yearning—not passionate, but as sweet as it was intense. It was like a vine entwining about him, pulling him toward her. He was unable to resist it, but then, he did not try. He felt seen and known and cherished. Like a lost child who finally has found his way back to a loving mother, Dyon stumbled toward Abeloth.

Peace radiated through him as she caught his hands with her own. Peace, and certainty. She looked up at him, only a little way, for she was tall, and her gray eyes crinkled in a smile.

“I’ve been so alone,” Dyon whispered.

“I know,” she said, touching his cheek gently. “All that you have known, all that you have learned—these beings do not understand who we are, what we are. You have brothers and sisters, Dyon. Scattered everywhere. Once you were with me, here in the Maw. Once, you were all with me. Now you are apart, but one by one, you are all awakening. And once awake, you can hear my call, and come to me.”

“I come,” Dyon whispered. “This is where I belong. All my life, I’ve searched for a purpose.”

“And now you know that purpose,” Abeloth agreed, closing what little space remained between them with a step. Only a few centimeters separated them now. They were so close he could feel and smell her breath, sweet as flowers, caressing his face. “To serve me. To be with me. Part of me. I need you, Dyon. I need you very much.”

“I want to be with you, with my brothers and sisters,” Dyon said. “I want to understand.”

“You will,” she assured him. “You will be with them … with me. As long as I live. And I,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks with her strong, warm hands, “will live forever.”

And that was when the torment started.

He stood frozen in place as securely as if his feet had rooted there. He couldn’t move, couldn’t pull back, couldn’t cry out in pain or in warning, for now he suddenly realized that this being was not what he had thought, was not what she—was it even a she?—had pretended to be. The smile, so loving, grew cruel. It spread across her face, widening like a crack in the ground, the lips growing hideously full in that dreadful smile. Her eyes turned from gray to silver to white and grew smaller, seeming to recede into the suddenly black depths of her eye sockets like something falling into a well. Her hair sprouted, grew, undulating as it rippled to her feet, and the hands, the strong, human hands that had cupped his face so tenderly now became tiny, slimy tentacles that seemed to thrust into his skull, into his brain, and suck out what they found there.

A terrible heat, white hot, seared him there, and he smelled burning flesh. Then his heart spasmed in terror as she moved that hideous, huge mouth closer, closer, until it was touching his own.

She pulled back, and a glowing golden mist clung to her lips. The mist grew, mercifully obscuring her face as she extracted—

A deep, agonized groan was ripped from Dyon, hauled from his innermost soul, floating on that golden mist. Every limb, every centimeter, every cell of him was coming under attack. It was not like the searing, focused pain in his temple; this pain was aching and deep. The pain at his temple changed from white-hot to icy cold, and it began to enter him. As Abeloth pulled forth something—

Life energy, she’s taking my life essence …

—from his body, she gave in return a dreadful cold. A slithering, dark cold that wrapped around his throat, closing it, then his heart, then his entrails, then seeped implacably into the rest of him.

He could feel himself withering up, the desiccation turning him into a living corpse, dried and husklike, as if he had been buried in the sand for centuries.

Abeloth chuckled, a throaty, warm sound. “You have served me well, better than any have in a long time. Soon, we will become one, Dyon Stad. Soon, you will never leave me. And you will have enabled me to continue.”