Star Wars_ The Jedi Academy_ Champions of the Force - Kevin J. Anderson [9]
Leia didn’t recognize the other handful of Jedi candidates, but she knew Luke had been diligent in his Jedi search. The call still rang out across the galaxy, inviting those with the potential to become new Jedi Knights.
Even though their teacher now lay in a coma.
Cilghal raised a flippered hand. “We are glad you could come, Leia.”
“Ambassador Cilghal,” she said. “My brother—has there been any change?” They walked heavily back toward the oppressive temple. Leia believed she already knew the answer.
“No.” Cilghal shook her squarish head. “But perhaps your presence will do something that ours cannot.”
Sensing the solemn mood, the twins refrained from giggling and exploring the musty, stone-walled rooms. As the party entered the gloomy ground-level hangar bay, Cilghal led Leia, Han, and the twins to a turbolift.
“Come on, Jacen and Jaina,” Han said, grabbing their hands again. “Maybe you can help Uncle Luke get better.”
“What can we do?” Jaina asked, her liquid-brown eyes wide and hopeful.
“I don’t know yet, honey,” he said. “If you come up with any ideas, let me know.”
The turbolift doors flowed shut, and the platform rose to the top levels of the temple. The twins clung to each other in sudden uneasiness. They had not recovered from their fear of turbolifts since the last time they had ridden one all the way down to the decaying bottom levels of Imperial City. But the ride was over in a moment, and they stepped out into the grand audience chamber of the Great Temple. Skylights spilled sunlight on a broad, polished-stone promenade that led to a raised stage.
Leia remembered standing on that stage years before, after the Death Star had been destroyed, presenting medals to Han, Chewbacca, Luke, and the other heroes of the battle of Yavin. Now, though, her breath caught in her throat. Han groaned beside her, a deep, grieving tone that she had never heard him make before.
On a bier at the end of the room lay Luke—like a body stretched out for a funeral in an echoing, empty chamber.
Her heart thumped with dread. She wanted to turn around so she wouldn’t have to look at him—but Leia’s feet compelled her forward. She walked with a rapid step that became a run before she reached the end of the promenade. Han followed, carrying the twins, one in each arm. His eyes were red as he fought to keep tears from flowing. Leia already felt a wetness on her cheeks.
Luke lay in repose, swathed in his Jedi robe. His hair had been combed; his hands were folded across his chest. His skin looked gray and plasticlike.
“Oh, Luke,” she whispered.
“Too bad you can’t just thaw him out,” Han said, “like you rescued me from Jabba’s Palace.”
Leia reached out to touch Luke. Using her own abilities with the Force, she tried to reach deeper, to brush against his spirit—but she felt only a cold hole, an emptiness as if Luke himself had been taken away. Not dead. She had always felt she would somehow know if her brother died.
“Is he sleeping?” Jacen said.
“Yes … in a way,” she answered, not knowing what else to say.
“When will he wake up?” Jaina asked.
“We don’t know,” she said. “We don’t know how to wake him up.”
“Maybe if I give him a kiss.” Jaina clambered up to smack the motionless lips of her uncle. For an absurd moment Leia held her breath, thinking that the child’s magic just might work. But Luke did not stir.
“He’s cold,” Jaina mumbled. The little girl’s shoulders slumped with disappointment when her uncle failed to wake.
Han squeezed Leia’s waist so hard that it hurt, but she didn’t want her husband to stop holding her.
“He’s been unchanged for days,” Cilghal said behind them. “We brought his lightsaber with him. We found it beside his body on the rooftop.”
Cilghal hesitated, then moved to stare down at Luke. “Master Skywalker told me I have an innate talent for healing with the Force. He had just begun to show me how to develop my skills—but I’ve tried all I know. He is not