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But they were his hope, now. They were his army. Once, not long ago, he had dared to dream that with them behind him he could pull Shimrra—Supreme Overlord of the Yuuzhan Vong—from his polyp throne, cast him into the pits, and assume his place.

But there had been setbacks. His eyes and ears within Shimrra’s palace had been uncovered and killed. More of his followers were discovered every day, and fewer answered the call.

Their faith was wavering, and it was time to give it back to them.

“Hear me!” he called, his voice soaring above the Prayer of Redemption. “Hear the voice of prophecy!”

The chanting subsided, and an eager silence descended.

“I have fasted,” he said. “I have meditated. Last night I sat here, beneath the stars, waiting for I knew not what. And in the darkest hours, a great light fell about me, a cleansing light, the light of redemption. I looked up and there, where the stars gaze down upon us, was an orb—a world, a planet in the skies above us. Its beauty made me tremble, and its power pressed down on me. I felt love and terror at once. And then those emotions subsided, and I felt—belonging. I knew that the planet itself was alive, welcoming me. It is the planet of the source, the planet of the Jeedai, their secret temple and fount of their knowledge and wisdom—and I saw us, the Shamed, walking with the Jeedai upon its surface, one with them, one with the planet.”

He dropped his tone from singsong to a near growl. “And in the distance, I heard Shimrra’s wail of despair, for he knows this planet—this living planet—is our salvation and his doom. And he knows it will come for him, one day, because it will come for us.”

He lowered his hands, and for a moment the silence prevailed. Then a great roar went up, keen and joyful, and Nom Anor heard what he most wanted to hear—the sound of hope, the cry of the zealot—his name on the lips of a multitude.

What matter that he had put the story together from a few conversations and rumors he had collected from Shimrra’s palace before his informant died? There was a planet, rumored to be alive in some unusual way. Shimrra was terrified of it, and had had the commander who brought the news of it slaughtered out of hand, along with all his crew. His story would give his people hope. It would encourage them to fight. And when they were captured, and told the prophecy to their punishers, it would get back to Shimrra, and bring his fear back home.

Better, Nom Anor had heard from old sources in the Galactic Alliance that the Jedi had mounted a search for just such a planet. What they wanted with it he did not know, but it seemed the planet had repelled at least one Yuuzhan Vong battle group, so perhaps its people had potent weapons.

In any event, rumor would build on rumor, reinforcing the veracity of his vision, strengthening the resolve of his followers, knitting their single strands into ropes and the ropes into cables until they were strong enough to knot around Shimrra’s neck and strangle him.

Strength swept through him as the sound of his adopted name built toward the heavens. He looked out over them, and this time was much less offended by their faces.

PART ONE

VISION

ONE

She was being followed.

She paused and wiped a damp wisp of yellow hair from her forehead, touching in passing the scars that marked her as a member of Domain Kwaad. Her green eyes scanned through the many-legged gnarltrees, but her stalkers weren’t yet showing themselves to the usual senses. They were waiting for something—reinforcements, probably.

She hissed a mild shaper’s curse under her breath and started off again, picking her way over moldering logs, through sluggish mists and dense brakes of hissing cane. The air was a wet fever, and the chirps and trills and bubbling gulps from canopy and marsh were oddly comforting. She kept her pace the same—there was no reason to let them know she was on to them, not yet. She did alter her path subtly—no point in going to the cave until this was dealt with.

Or I could lead them there, she mused, attack them