The Mark of the Crown

8

Elan tossed the headdress and bowcaster into the side compartment of her swoop. She dusted off her hands on her trousers. “The standing stones are sacred to the hill people,” she told Qui-Gon. “You almost destroyed them.”

“I did not mean to.”

“You chose the field of battle,” Elan said crisply.

“I needed cover,” Qui-Gon said.

Snowflakes began to twinkle down from the sky. Elan cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Ever hear of boulders? Trees?”

Qui-Gon resisted the temptation to argue. She was deliberately putting him on the defensive. “Do you know the attackers?” he asked instead.

She shrugged. “Bandits from the city outskirts. They make raids up here occasionally. There are always rumors in Galu that the hill people hoard gold. The greedy fools think it’s true. I wish they’d leave us alone. We don’t bother them.” She gazed at him stonily. “Who sent you to find me, and why?”

“Queen Veda sent me,” Qui-Gon said.

She waved a dismissive hand. “Then go back to Galu. I don’t recognize her authority.”

“Don’t you want to know what she wants?”

Elan crossed to the swoop and swung a leg over the saddle. “Something about the election, I’m sure. It’s no concern of mine.” She pointed back the way Qui-Gon had come. “The way back is that way. Don’t stay in the hills. You’ll be sorry if you do.”

He didn’t know if she was threatening him, or warning him against other bandit attacks. Another swoop flew toward them and stopped, hovering in the air. A tall young man with bluish skin gave Qui-Gon a quick glance, then turned to Elan. “Bad storm coming.”

“I know, Dana,” Elan said, casting a worried eye at the sky. “When they come in, they come in hard.”

As if to illustrate her words, the snowfall suddenly began. The flakes were like hard crystals, peppering Qui-Gon’s exposed skin. He leaned over to retrieve the survival pack he’d dropped when the fight began. The pain cut him to the quick, and he let out an involuntary hiss.

“He’s wounded,” Dana said.

Elan frowned, annoyed. “I can’t send you back, I suppose. Wounded, with this storm. You’d never survive. And night falls quickly in the mountains.”

Qui-Gon waited. His wounds hurt him. But they would heal. Now it appeared that he was lucky to have them. Elan’s conscience wouldn’t allow her to send him on alone.

“One night,” she warned him. “That’s all. Now climb up behind me. And don’t fall off. I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

The hill people weren’t overly friendly, but they were kind. Their encampment was made up of white domes of various sizes constructed out of a flexible material that was bolted to struts. Inside his small dome, Qui-Gon found every comfort and convenience—thick carpets and quilts, a glowing heater, a small kitchen and bath, even a datapad for his personal use.

Dana told him that a healer would come to dress his wounds. Qui-Gon did the best he could himself, but he could not reach the gash he’d received on his back when he fell. He slipped out of his tunic and waited for the healer to arrive.

Even though the storm howled outside, the dome felt solid and warm.

There was a knock on the dome door, and he called out for the person to enter.

Elan ducked through the doorway, carrying a small bag. She shut it quickly behind her to keep out the wind and snow. “Good, you’re ready,” she said.

“You’re the healer?” Qui-Gon asked, surprised.

She nodded as she set out vials of ointment and rolls of bandages. When she looked at him, her blunt gaze was challenging. “Surprised? I’m not the healing type, is that it?”

“No, that’s not it,” Qui-Gon answered. “I have just never known a healer who could pilot a swoop like that.”

A reluctant grin tugged at her mouth. “All right, let’s see what we have here.”

She inspected his wounds and dabbed more ointment on one, then dressed it. “You did a good job.”

“Jedi are trained as healers, too,” Qui-Gon said. “I can’t reach the one on my back.”

“Turn around.”

Qui-Gon felt the coolness as she dabbed salve on his wound. The salve soothed the burning. “Thank you for such comfortable quarters,” he said.

“We do not live like barbarians, no matter what the city people think,” Elan answered. She unrolled a bandage.

“I didn’t think you did,” Qui-Gon said. “And it has been my experience on many worlds that ignorance breeds fear. The fearful make up stories about what they fear.”

“Yes,” Elan said coolly. “The city people are ignorant and fearful. I agree. So why would I want to live among them?”

Qui-Gon tried to curb his exasperation. Talking with Elan was like trying to catch a drifting snowflake. Whatever he said, she found a way to make his meaning disappear.

“So that is why you won’t participate in the elections?” Qui-Gon asked. “The support of the hill people could make a difference to the right candidate.”

“And who is the right candidate?” Elan asked. She still worked on the bandage on his back, so he couldn’t see her face. He could only feel her cool, expert fingers and occasionally the brush of her hair against his skin. “Deca Brun, who shouts slogans and murmurs promises? Wila Prammi, who has been a slave to the royal system and now talks of democracy? That young fool, Prince Beju? No thank you, Jedi. I don’t trust the elections, I don’t trust the Queen, and I don’t trust the candidates. I am happy where I am.” She patted the bandage in place, then rose. “I’m finished.”

Qui-Gon turned to face her. “Thank you. You feel no loyalty to Gala?”

She replaced the vials and bandages in her bag with quick motions. “I feel loyalty to my own people. I can trust them.”

“What about your world?” Qui-Gon asked, easing back into his tunic. “Gala is about to undergo a great change. A good change. Shouldn’t the hill people be part of it?”

Elan picked up her bag. She turned to him impatiently. “Is that why the Queen sent you? To ask for my support for her son?”

“No,” Qui-Gon said quietly. He watched her face carefully. “She sent me to tell you that Prince Beju is not King Cana’s true heir.”

“And why should she tell me this?” Elan demanded. “And why should I care?”

“Because you are the heir,” Qui-Gon said. “You are King Cana’s daughter.”

Elan blinked. He saw the shock on her face, and saw how she was trying to control it.

“What lies are these?” she asked, taking a step backward. “Why did you come here?”

“Lies or truth, perhaps only you can discover,” Qui-Gon said. “I only say what has been told to me, and what I’ve come to believe. Queen Veda recently discovered that King Cana had a child before he married her. That child is you. The Queen says she wants you to know your birthright.”

“This is a trick,” Elan said flatly. “A trick to lure me back to the city. She wants to imprison me, scatter the hill people—”

“No,” Qui-Gon interrupted firmly. “I believe she only wants you to know. That is all.”

Elan whirled around, her pale silver hair flying. She stalked toward the door. “I won’t listen to this.”

“What about your parents?” Qui-Gon asked, raising his voice to be heard above the howling wind. “Your mother?”

Elan turned to face him again. “It is none of your business, Jedi. But I’ll tell you so that you will not try to confuse me with lies again. My mother lived in the hills all her life. She never went to Galu. My father was a great healer, renowned by all the hill people. You are wrong.”

“I am sure that those who raised you are worthy people,” Qui-Gon said. “But Cana’s blood may be in you, Elan.”

She stared at him icily. “Perhaps you actually believe the Queen’s lies. But Qui-Gon, I tell you that there is a plan behind her words. It is up to you to find it out.”

“She is dying,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “She is thinking of her legacy. It is a gift she gives to you.”

“I don’t believe it, and I don’t want it,” Elan answered firmly. “This is my legacy.” She gestured to take in the dome and all that was outside it. “These are my people. We are all outcasts. You’ve seen how Gala is ruled by powerful families. The hill people began a hundred years ago when those who were different—whose eyes were too dark, whose skin was too dark, who had no family—took refuge here. We made our own society, and freedom is our first rule. My parents gave me this heritage. I am proud of it. I don’t want any crown.”

“You make a large decision in a very short time,” Qui-Gon observed.

Her dark eyes studied him. “And what is this to you, Qui-Gon Jinn?” she asked softly. “You have come a long way, almost lost your life, just to tell me this. But Gala is not your world. Its people are not your people. I have ties to something. Do you? Why should I listen to talk of legacies from someone who has no ties?”

Qui-Gon fell silent. Elan was trying to wound him. Some of what she said merely echoed his own thoughts.

“My comlink was not working earlier,” Qui-Gon said. “Is there any way I can contact my apprentice in Galu?”

“We jam communications in the hills for our protection,” Elan answered. “But we will let you contact him as soon as the storm lessens. Speak to Dana.”

She opened the door. The fierce wind blew back her hair and clothes and sent an icy draft toward Qui-Gon. Elan didn’t flinch.

“Tell your apprentice that when the weather clears, you will be on your way,” she added. Then she ducked out into the storm.

The door banged shut behind her. He had come a long way for nothing. His mission had failed.