Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [24]
When Luke did return several days later, Callista knew instantly that he had been unsuccessful. She was unable to read him in the way she had once sensed emotions with her Jedi potential—but she could tell by his demeanor and downcast expression that he had not found the answers he sought.
She met Luke on the landing grid in front of the pyramid. The other Jedi students emerged one by one to welcome their Master home. Callista ran to him. Luke moved quickly, delighted to see her. He caught her in his arms, holding her close, but said nothing.
She kissed him, then spoke quietly into his ear. “General Kenobi did not answer your summons?” she asked.
He looked at her strangely, blinking his cool blue eyes, and then smiled. “I keep forgetting you were a Jedi so long ago that you knew Obi-Wan when he was a young military commander.”
He averted his gaze. “No, he didn’t answer.” Then he spoke quickly as if to reassure her. “But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m going to keep trying—and so are you,” he said.
“You can bet on that,” she agreed. “I’d do anything so we can be together.”
“So would I,” Luke said, “if only I knew what to do.”
“Let’s go greet the others.” Callista slipped her arm around his waist. He held her, and the two walked toward the temple. “I’m sorry you didn’t find the answer,” she said, “but just having you back makes me happy.”
“That much I can give you,” Luke said, “but I hope we can have more … so much more.”
“We will,” Callista said.
CHAPTER 8
A heavy, warm rain sheared through the jungle, pattering on the glossy leaves. Master Skywalker ignored it, or accepted it, as he led his group of students along the wet pathways through the undergrowth surrounding the Great Temple. Droplets of glittering water danced across their Jedi robes.
Kyp Durron looked up at the open patches of leaden gray sky through the tall trees. The rain caressed his face with pearly fingers that traced the contours of his chin and ran into the hollow of his throat. Others might have taken the gloom and storm as an ill omen, but rain brought life to the jungle moon, and Kyp considered it a healthy change from the humid sunshine.
Cilghal, the Calamarian Jedi Knight, walked directly behind Master Skywalker. Her watery blue robes rippled around her, already soaked, though they looked as if they were designed to be wet. Her salmon-colored skin glistened, and she blinked her large fish eyes in contentment at the rain.
Kyp walked beside the cloned alien Dorsk 81, whose smooth skin and rounded features made him appear streamlined, with all the sharp edges worn away. Dorsk 81 had pale, olive green skin, wide yellow eyes, and an open innocent face. The cloned alien had been fighting to regain his self-assurance, struggling with generations of identical and talentless predecessors in his genetic line. Kyp and Dorsk 81 had become close companions in the past year. They had opposite personalities—which might have made them clash, but somehow the two filled each other’s empty spots.
Master Skywalker led the group of trainees through the hushed underbrush, where even the birds and insects remained subdued, hiding under the shelter of thick leaves from the downpour.
They came down an embankment to the wide river that sliced through the jungle, a broad ribbon of greenish water that teemed with life. The current flowed swiftly; thousands of pockmarks dimpled the surface as rain pounded down.
Across the river and through the rain, Kyp could see the ruins of another Massassi temple, the tall, crumbling Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster. Nearby, the large power-generating station hummed and steamed in the afternoon shower.
Master Skywalker stopped at the bank, his feet squishing in the mud. He spread his hands at his sides as if drawing up lines of Force from beneath the surface. He shrugged back his hood. His pale brown hair had darkened from the falling rain and lay plastered in thick clumps against his head. Raindrops