The Suns of Solamonn: Chapter One

Slender tendrils of lightning chased each other through the violet clouds of Kiffu, crackling and whispering as they collided and dissipated into the atmosphere. The air at ground level was dry and constantly charged, evident by the fine hairs standing to attention on Scarp's nape. The Jedi Knight ran his massive hand across the back of his neck, flattening the hairs temporarily, and then gazed at the sky, half expecting one of the electrical charges to smite him down like a burst from the fingertips of a Sith Lord.

Despite being slumped upon the fallen column he claimed for a seat, Scarp Hed'n was huge. He was one of the few humans who could rival a wookiee for height and girth, and combined with his armor and robes this made him an imposing figure. Even now as he sat, weary and unfocused, desperately trying to clear his mind so that he might meditate, he looked immovable.
Scarp's long hair hung unbraided and wild, framing his thickset, heavily scarred features. His eyes were tightly closed but, had they been open, their color would have rivaled the arcs of blue energy coursing through the skies above.

He grimaced and tightened his grip on his broadsaber, twisting the pommel into the dusty ground at his feet. His two-handed weapon had not been used for almost a week now, but he never let it out of his grip, even when sleeping, and he relished its support now more than ever.
Scarp shook his head again, trying to dislodge the waves of sorrow that washed over him, but he knew it was to no avail. Like his younger brother, Pel, Scarp was acutely sensitive to ripples in the living force, and the recent acts of utter evil and misery had pummeled him relentlessly for days as he listened to the screams of his betrayed brothers and sisters. It had been eight days since Pel had received a coded message spelling out the actions of the Republic and the details of Order 66, and this explained that single day when both brothers had been crippled by the psychic screams of the Jedi Order. Even now, new, terrified voices added to the mix, and Scarp knew that the survivors of the initial purge were being systematically hunted down. Meditation had never come easily to either brother, and Scarp was starting to believe that he would never know inner peace again.

"Master Hed'n, Master Hed'n! I'm doing it! Look!"
The tiny voice came from behind him, and Scarp opened his eyes, twisting his upper body to gaze at the latest efforts of the youngling.
Dwarfed by the towering ruins of the abandoned lightning harvester they called home, a tiny Togruta girl in Jedi robes kneeled before a dancing collection of levitating rocks. She looked at Scarp, excitement in her jet-black eyes, and the rocks fell to the ground. Her face fell equally fast and she sighed.
"I was doing it, Master Hed'n."
Scarp attempted a smile of encouragement, but it came off feeling like a sneer so he masked it quickly.
"Focus, Lig. Keep your mind on your actions, don't look for approval."
"Sorry, Master."
"And don't apologize to me. Save that for Master Pel, he is the disciplinarian."
"Yes, Master."
"Now, try again, and focus on the rocks until you see nothing but the rocks, feel nothing but the rocks, until you are the very rocks."
"Yes, Master."
Scarp finally managed a smile, then turned away from the aqua-striped youngling and scanned the far ruins.
"Now, where are the other two?"
Pidluk 'Lig' Sha'Ligg pulled herself to her feet and stared in the same direction.
"They are sparring, Master. Out by the wells."
"Thank you, Lig. Strange that I could not sense them."
Scarp threw back his hair, rubbing his temples as he stood, throwing the little Togruta into shadow. Sliding his broadsaber into his back sling, he began to stride towards the collection wells, and Lig gathered up the hem of her robes to scurry along in his wake.

As the knight and padawan reached the sunken levels of the harvester, the unmistakable hum of a training saber reverberated the parched air around them, followed by the short yelp of a child. Scarp rounded a pockmarked wall and leaned against a plasti-steel pillar that thrust seemingly without purpose into the sky. He watched as two children, a male Bith and a female Nautolan, squared off on opposite sides of a dark rimmed sinkhole. Lig sat at Scarp's feet, leaning back as far as she dared to rest upon his shins. She knew this would never have been allowed back at the temple, back when her universe made sense. Her comfort seeped into Scarp's consciousness, muting the swirling troubles echoing in his mind, and calming him, so much so that his breathing became deep and slow.
'She truly is a remarkable healer', he thought to himself, gazing down at her budding horns, a smile creasing the skin around his azure eyes as he noticed her perfect meditative form. Scarp then turned his attention back to the other younglings.

The Nautolan, Janst'orr, twirled a training saber in her left hand and smiled, reminding him for all the galaxy of Master Fisto. Janst'orr's coloration was decidedly darker than Kit's, but this only served to add contrast to her brilliant grin. If it hadn't been for the soothing thoughts of the little Togruta at his feet, Scarp would have surely relapsed into mourning for his lost friend. Suddenly the Bith threw his hands out before his scrawny, black-clad body, and Janst'orr flew back in a flurry of tan robes into a pile of stone flakes, scattering them into the air like razor confetti. She clicked off the training saber and threw her arms across her face to shelter from the inevitable rain of sharp stones, but it never came. Tentatively pushing one head tentacle from her face, she risked her large eyes to gaze at the cloud of stones, which floated above her head as if suspended on Kaleeshan glass threads.

"Very good, young Soolad." Scarp acknowledged the young Bith's skill with a trio of slow handclaps. "Now, allow Jan to regain her footing."
"Yes, Master Hed'n." The padawan nodded his bulbous head as he motioned with his hands in the air, drawing the shards of stone away from Janst'orr and allowing them to fall harmlessly down the collection well.
Scarp was impressed. He gently pushed Lig forward as he walked over to Janst'orr who was picking herself up sheepishly. Soolad walked around the well's perimeter to join him as he reached the little Nautolan.
"Your control has developed well, Soolad. You have a mightier force push than any youngling I have ever known."
Janst'orr shot Soolad a curt glance, and then craned her head to look at her master.
"It's not fair when he pushes me over like that."
Scarp immediately forgave her outburst, knowing full well that Pel would never allow a youngling to speak to him in such a manner.
"It is perfectly fair, youngling," he gently chided, "you held the weapon, Soolad merely held his ground."
The Bith approximated a grin beneath his cheek folds and winked one saucer-like eye at the fuming Nautolan.
"Shoulda let me use the saber, Jan."
Janst'orr bit and took a step toward him, her tapered fingers toying with the buttons on the saber's hilt.
"Master Hed'n gave it to me, Sooly."
"And for a very good reason, Jan," interrupted Scarp before the younglings could begin scrapping, "you have certainly proven yourself to be the blade master of our little class, might I ask where you picked up that flourish?"
"You mean this?" Janst'orr flicked on the saber, twirling its bright blue blade dangerously close to Soolad's face before shutting the weapon off. "I'm practicing Ataru. Master Yoda always let me..."
"Form four is a little advanced for a youngling," Scarp said, cutting her off, "I would prefer that you practice what I have shown you."
"But I've done that, Master."
Scarp cocked one eyebrow and fixed her with a hard stare; a stare known to whither wroshyr saplings. "Really?"
Two large pieces of sponge stone, hard enough to bruise, suddenly flew from the ground and seemed destined to connect with Janst'orr's chest. In a blur the blue blade simultaneously flashed on and cut through both missiles, repeatedly.
Janst'orr snapped off the saber and returned it to her belt.
Scarp poked at the pieces of sponge stone on the ground with the toe of his boot.
"Hmm, eight pieces. Master Yoda would be impressed."

Suddenly Lig snapped her head to one side and cocked it as if listening to a faint tune.
Scarp looked at her, and then realized whom she was sensing. He smiled as Lig and the other younglings ran to the edge of the ruins to watch a small dust cloud grow ever closer to their location.
“Master Pel is returning!” Soolad climbed onto a fallen column for a better view.
“Perhaps he brings food!” exclaimed Janst’orr, jumping onto Soolad’s perch and jostling him for the prime spot.
Scarp reached out with the force and probed his brother’s thoughts, but was surprised to find that Pel had clouded them. Try as he might, Scarp could not penetrate the swirling shroud that Pel had created, and the first tiny warning tingles began to dance on his scalp.
“Younglings, get back to the center of the structure.”
“But why…” Soolad began, however he was cut off by Scarp’s sharp rebuff.
“Obey me, youngling!”
Shocked, the little Bith slowly started to climb down, followed by Janst’orr.

Lig, however, had not moved. She pointed one tapered finger in the direction of Pel Hed’n. “There’s something behind him.”
The other two younglings paused and looked in the direction she was pointing. Scarp squinted as he looked past his brother’s rapidly approaching swoop, then his face fell in alarm as he recognized the unmistakably bulbous silhouette of the object in the sky behind him.
In an instant he had unsheathed his broadsaber and snapped it on, its red and blue twin blades combining to create a violet swath of energy. “Get behind me!” he yelled.
“What is that thing?” asked Soolad from behind Scarp’s leg.
Scarp narrowed his eyes and called on the force for strength.
“That, Soolad, is a Republic gunship.”