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Taalon, still held by Gavar Khai, reached into the water after Leeha. Khai grabbed that arm, too, and pulled him back. “It’s too late!” Khai shouted.

And it was. Leeha Faal was already beyond their reach. Luke stared at the sight of her lithe form, still struggling, being borne inexorably downward into an eternal darkness.

Aboard the Winged Dagger, Leeha Faal’s body spasmed. Her vitals spiked and zigzagged crazily and the monitor was beeping wildly.

“What’s going on?” one of her attendants cried, attempting to hold the flailing Keshiri down and trying to read the monitor at the same time.

“I don’t know—I—”

Faal arched, every muscle in her body tight, and then went limp. The jagged lines that had indicated her brain activity suddenly subsided to a flatline, although her heart continued to beat and her lungs to draw breath.

The two attendants stared at each other. Then one of them cleared her throat and pressed her comlink with steady fingers.

“Sumar to Captain Syndor. There has been an incident with Commander Faal. All brain activity has ceased. You are once again the commander of the Winged Dagger. Congratulations, Commander.”

“Thank you,” came Syndor’s voice. He made no attempt to hide his pleasure. “Terminate life support and report back to your stations. We will await orders from High Lord Taalon.”

“What happened?” Taalon demanded. He jerked his arm free from Khai and turned his fury upon Luke. “What have they done to her?”

“I don’t know,” Luke said.

“Liar!” Taalon spat. He pointed at the dark surface of the lake, as calm as if a few seconds ago there had been no life or death struggle. “Who was that? You said the apparitions were harmless!”

“I don’t know who it was,” Luke repeated, keeping his voice calm. “And I said that only the ones I encountered were harmless.” It seemed as though the Depths of Eternity were populated by one’s enemies. Sith though she was—and Luke knew of at least one despicable act she had committed—still Luke pitied her. He somehow intuited that her fate would be nothing as brief and merciful as drowning.

Taalon had seemed unduly upset by Faal’s death, but now he was recovering. “Let us press on. The less time we spend here, the better I shall like it.”

Luke couldn’t have agreed more. He turned to continue, then he stopped.

It had been Mara who had warned him not to go to the mists.

Forget her, she had urged him. She’s one of the old ones. Leave her alone … trust me.

Mara …

“What is it, Skywalker?” snapped Taalon. “I thought you said the answers were there, in the mists.”

He hadn’t seen her, and he had been looking. He had thought, after sensing her so strongly on the ship, that she would be waiting for him. He again looked into the water. He saw many beings, but none he recognized.

He had to talk to her. He trusted her, trusted her more than anyone he had ever known. She had insight now, insight that could help save him and Ben. Surely, she would give it.

“Mara?” he said quietly, knowing that in this place she would hear even a whisper.

At first, there was nothing. He did not repeat her name. She would either come, or not. And then, he saw her, a small shape in the water, floating up to him, her long red hair billowing about her like a cloud.

Despite everything, Luke smiled. “Mara,” he said again. Her emerald eyes opened and she smiled.

“Skywalker,” she said, her voice warm. “What are you doing here again?”

Luke squatted down. It made no sense, she wasn’t physical, any more than he was—even less so—but he still wanted to be closer to her. “The woman in the mists,” he said. “She’s not there anymore. We’ve come for her, Mara. We’ve come to stop her.”

Her red brows drew together in a frown. “I can tell who you’re keeping company with,” she said. “They reek of dark side energy.”

He laughed softly. “That they do,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. They were paying close attention. “And I’m sure they’re highly complimented by that. But I’m comfortable in my choice, for now.