If he died now, everything he had put into place over the last ten years died with him. Zannah would have to start at the beginning. She would have to find and train an apprentice, even as she was still learning the full extent of her own abilities. She would be stumbling blindly forward, beset by enemies on all sides. It was almost impossible to imagine she wouldn't make a mistake that would lead to her downfall… and the extinction of the Sith.
She couldn't allow that to happen. For the sake of their order, she had to keep him alive. And though Darovit might not have the knowledge and power to heal her Master, she knew someone who did. Someone who had saved his life once before.
"Make sure he lives," she said to Darovit, an implied threat in her tone.
Leaving the medical bay, she marched to the cockpit and sat down behind the controls. She punched in a course for Ambria, but she wasn't heading back to their camp. She was going to see a man called Caleb.
Though Caleb's camp was less than a hundred kilometers from their own on Ambria, Zannah had never met him. She knew him only from the tales of her Master. Bane had told her the healer was strong in the Force, but he didn't draw on it the same way the Sith or Jedi did. Light side and dark side had no meaning for him; his was the power of nature.
Her Master's words hadn't made sense at the time, but as they came in to land near the tiny, dilapidated shack Caleb called home, she began to understand. There was power in this place; it called to her, but in a strange and unfamiliar language.
She could smell it in the air when the cargo doors of their ship opened, and she could feel it beneath her feet when she jumped down from the ship. With each step she took, the ground seemed to vibrate, humming with a sound too quiet to hear, but deep enough that she could feel it in the back of her teeth.
Darovit walked behind her, manipulating the controls that guided the Lomnda's medical gurney. It floated along beside him, supporting Bane's still-unconscious form. As he had been when Zannah brought him forth from Belia's stronghold, her Master was once again being unceremoniously transported like cargo hovering a meter above the ground. This time, however, he was supported by re-pulsorlifts rather than the Force.
"This place is amazing," Darovit breathed. "I've never felt anything like this before. So… raw."
Zannah recalled that, even though he lacked the power of the Jedi or Sith, her cousin was also attuned to the Force. She briefly wondered if it was possible that he shared the same type of talent as Caleb, then decided it made no difference why she was here. Four days had passed since they'd left Tython, and Bane had grown steadily weaker. If they didn't find help for him here, her Master would die.
Judging from her first glance, she didn't hold out much hope for his salvation. As was common on Ambria, they were surrounded on all sides by a desolate, arid wasteland stretching out as far as the eye could see. The only features of the landscape, other than a few scattered rock outcroppings, were Caleb's shack and fire pit. The camp appeared to be deserted.
The shack was small, a few meters on each side. The walls were angled at forty-five degrees, meeting at a peak in the center, making the structure resemble a crudely built pyramid. Where or how Caleb had acquired the wood was impossible to say, but it was obvious he hadn't replaced it anytime recently. The timber was faded and bleached by years in the sun, and though it wouldn't rot in Ambria's dry climate, hundreds of long vertical cracks had formed in the grain as the moisture was leached away. On the wall facing the fire pit was a small doorway leading into the hut. A tattered blanket hung down across it, fluttering slightly in the desert wind.
The fire pit was nothing more than a small circle of round stones, scorched and blackened from years of smoke and flame. A metal stand supported a large iron pot over the center of the circle for cooking, though the pot was empty and the fire was cold.
Zannah remembered from Bane's tale how Caleb had plunged his own hand into the pot when it was filled with boiling soup, scalding himself to prove to her Master he feared no pain and couldn't be threatened or intimidated.
Ten years ago the healer had initially refused to heal her Master, though ultimately Bane had compelled him by threatening the life of Caleb's daughter. Zannah wondered if, should they find him, he would refuse to help Bane again.
"Hello?" Darovit called out, his voice sounding small in the emptiness all around them. "Hello?"
Zannah moved slowly to the ramshackle hut and drew back the blanket in the door. The only thing inside was a small sleeping mat in the corner. She stepped back from the door, peering out at the empty wastelands around the camp to see if there was anywhere else Caleb might have gone. Darovit mimicked her actions, then offered up the only logical conclusion.
"Nobody's here."
It wasn't just Caleb that was missing, Zannah had to admit. Where were the medicines the healer would use to cure those who sought his aid? Where were the basic supplies-food, water, fuel for the fire-he would need to survive?
She recalled that Caleb had come to Ambria to escape the war between the Jedi and the Sith. Unfortunately for him, the war had eventually followed him even to this remote world. Yet the healer had maintained a steadfast neutrality during the conflict, refusing to aid followers of either the dark side or the light; only Bane had successfully compelled him to make an exception to his rule. Maybe with the end of the war, he had renounced his solitary ways and returned to the world of his birth, reintegrating himself into galactic society. It was just one of several possibilities that would explain his disappearance.
He could have died. It had been ten years since Bane had visited the camp, and though Caleb couldn't be that old, it was possible something had happened to him in the ensuing decade. Ambria could be a harsh and dangerous world; the healer might have been slain and devoured by the hssiss, the fearsome carnivorous lizards that sometimes emerged from the depths of Lake Natth to feed.
The planet had its share of sentient predators, too. The handful of people who still lived on the world survived by picking through the remains of the battles that had once raged over its surface and in the skies above, finding damaged items and old technology they could restore and sell offworld. Most of the junkers, as they were called, were simple folk just trying to get by. But a few had become desperate criminals, willing to kill over anything of value-like Caleb's missing collection of medicine and supplies.
Or maybe the healer had fallen victim to some disease or affliction even he couldn't cure. If he had died of natural causes, it wouldn't take long until the various desert scavengers carried off the last of his remains, leaving behind no evidence of what had happened.
It was clear there was no help to be found here, but there was no point in going anywhere else. Bane had a day, at most, before the orbalisk toxins reached lethal levels in the tissues of his body. Zannah simply stood there, unable to even think what she should do next. And then she remembered another detail from her Master's tale.
Caleb had tried to conceal his daughter from Bane. Her Master had easily discovered her cowering inside the shack; there was no other place to hide in the small camp. At least, there hadn't been ten years ago,
"Wait here," she said to Darovit, leaving him to watch over Bane on his gurney.
She went back into the shack, kicking the sleeping mat aside to reveal a small trapdoor in the floor. She used the Force to fling it open, and was rewarded with the sight of a man staring up at her from a small cellar.
His expression wasn't one of fear, nor even anger. Not exactly. He looked more like he was weary; as if he knew his discovery was going to lead to a long and tedious exchange.
"Out" Zannah said, stepping back and dropping her hand to the handle of her lightsaber.