Drake Cromwell:
Ghosts of Decades Past

Memories… phantoms… ghosts of another time. Images of yesteryear swirled and danced before Drake in a kaleidoscopic panorama of color and sound. It was always like this during his healing trances. While the body rebuilt itself, the mind roamed freely, exploring the deepest recesses of Drake’s mind, conjuring up visions of another time and place. Visions of…

“Crap!” Drake yelped as he took the full force of his martial instructor’s thrust to the chest and tumbled backwards, his practice blades flying from his hands and landing some distance away. “You are losing focus, Drake. Allowing your emotions to control you rather than controlling them,” Master Alvis scolded. Irritation and shame warred for supremacy in Drake’s mind as he painfully acknowledged his teacher’s words and sprang to his feet. He was only nine years old, but his unusual size and drive to excel had resulted in his advanced placement ahead of other students his age. It bothered him immensely that he was not living up to his instructor’s expectations. “I shall endeavor to correct my error, Master” Drake said in a tone of mature formality that was almost comical coming from one so young. Retrieving the practice blades, the young apprentice fell into an invitational combat stance, silently daring his instructor to try the same trick twice. Master Alvis, the greatest duelist in the province, and possibly on the planet, smiled gamely and launched a blinding series of feints and parries at his student. The sound of force-field blunted blades clashing echoed through the sweltering summer air as the two individuals slashed, parried, leapt, spun, cart-wheeled, and back-flipped their way around the ancient high cliffs of the monastery’s mountain-side home. Younger and less-accomplished Apprentice Outriders trained predominantly within the ten thousand year old walls of the monastery, but a chosen few were allowed to practice outside where the master trainers themselves preferred to exercise. Millions of years of wind erosion and harsh gravity had worn down all but the sturdiest and most enduring of rock formations, leaving the area a virtual wilderness of stony pillars and towers, some as wide as a gravball field, others no thicker than a Verpine’s forearm. The height of these pillars varied to a similar degree, some reaching several hundred meters into the air, others being no more than half a meter in height. It was atop and between this wilderness of stony edifices that the two trained, leaping and spinning from pillar to pillar, using their long and powerful grasping arms to stabilize their trajectories and push off into new ones. Drake and Master Alvis had been at this for hours now, neither truly tiring of the sheer physical joy of the exertion. Drake loved to push himself and Master Alvis was always happy to oblige him. Both knew he really ought to be back at the monastery studying his texts, but today was special. Today, Master Alvis was leaving for a year-long personal journey of exploration.

Irritation and a tinge of loss filtered back into Drake’s mind as he thought of his instructor’s impending departure once again. Intellectually he well understood the need his master had to get away for awhile, but Drake’s youthful immaturity still felt petulant unhappiness over the unfairness of it all. Drake also recognized that his feelings were a result of his youth, which redoubled his irritation until once again his concentration failed him at a crucial moment and he found himself sailing clear over the edge of an eighty meter pillar. “Drake!” Master Alvis shouted as his student plummeted towards the rocky ground below. Even with the tough, reinforced body of an Orlean, Drake risked severe injury from an uncontrolled fall of this height. Fortunately, Drake had no intention of allowing himself to fall uncontrolled. Reacting to the danger with lightning reflexes, Drake focused his concentration on the ground and reached out with the Pulse. The hot summer air whipping past him seemed to slow as his rate of fall lessened until he hovered in mid-air some five meters above the ground. Looking up to his master in rueful embarrassment, Drake shrugged his massive primary shoulders and allowed himself to float gently to the ground. Pulse-enhanced speed brought Master Alvis to his side moments later, a stern look of reproach on his face. “I think that’s enough training for one day, young one. Your lack of focus will get one or both of us killed!” he said. Drake struggled to retain his composure, but it was evident he failed as Master Alvis continued, “I know you wanted to spend today with me, Drake, but your emotional reaction to my impending departure is clouding your ability to be where you most need to be, which is in the here and now!” Clearly unhappy, Drake nodded mutely, then flashed a wicked grin as he shouted “Race ya back!” and dashed off shrieking in childish delight. Master Alvis might be the best duelist in the province, but Drake knew he was far faster in a foot race.

Master Alvis smiled as the young Orlean streaked along the ground, already nearly out of sight, and reached out with his mind to Grand Master Linclare at the Monastery as he began his own trek back to the ancient fortress. ‘Linclare’, he mentally called out ‘I am happy to announce that your prize pupil is returning for his daily dose of scholastic torture.’ Master Alvis could feel the vaguely disapproving emotions behind Linclare’s response as she shot back ‘At least my torture isn’t likely to get him killed! How’d the little nashtah do today, anyway?’ Master Alvis mentally chuckled ‘If he could’ve paid attention to what he was doing, he would’ve been a real threat! The boy has more potential than I ever did, and he’s not yet ten summers old! And the sheer size of the lad! He puts more force behind a swing than half the adults I know, and that’s even without calling on the Pulse!’ Admiration shone in Linclare’s response ‘Well, when one such as you says that, it is certain to be true. The boy’s thirst for knowledge is just as unyielding. He’s already reasoning and thinking on levels students twice his age struggle to attain. If he can learn to control his emotions he will be one of the greatest Outriders to ever be trained at our temple. He truly is amaz… one moment, please, one of the priests is chattering about something or another.’ Master Alvis felt his mental connection with Grand Master Linclare cease, and increased his pace to catch up with Drake. The exercise grounds were roughly thirty kilometers from the monastery compound, which meant that even at Pulse-boosted speeds it took several long minutes to reach there. He was slowly gaining on Drake, who was obviously holding back for his benefit, when Master Linclare contacted him again. The relaxed mood of moments earlier was gone, replaced with an alarming sense of fear and apprehension. ‘Master Alvis, you must call Drake back to you at once!’ Linclare practically shouted into his mind. Concerned, Alvis asked ‘What? What has happened, Linclare?’ ‘First recall the apprentice! The others will be heading your way shortly! Do it now!’ Linclare ordered. Shaken by the tone of command in her voice, Master Alvis reached out through the Pulse and touched Drake’s mind. ‘Drake’, he thought-said, ‘return to me immediately! Grand Master Linclare orders it!’ He saw Drake skid to a stop and look over his shoulder in alarm and confusion. Never one to blatantly disobey a command, Drake shrugged and sped back towards Master Alvis. Satisfied that the youngster was returning to him, Alvis turned his attention back to Linclare and thought-asked ‘What is going on, Grand Master?’ The familiarity of friendship was gone from the conversation, replaced with the formality of a student requesting instruction from his master. ‘The Empire is going on’, Grand Master Linclare responded ominously. The news just came in over the holonets, Order 66 has been extended to include non-Jedi Pulse Traditions. Darth Vader himself and a team of Inquisitors have just dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the system to enforce the order.’ Despite over six decades of training, unmitigated horror swept over Master Alvis as the implications of what this meant sunk in. They would all be hunted down and destroyed, just like the Jedi. Not just the Orlean Outriders, but the Soul Scholars of Teleschemar, the Mind-Healers of Jaramanthus, the Terlinean Ascetics, and all the other minor orders throughout the galaxy. The Grand Master’s thoughts intruded upon his own. Alvis could feel the mixture of sadness and resignation that tinged the thought-words as she sent to him ‘By the customs of our Order and the Laws of our People, I, Grand Master Serena Linclare of the Chiantar Provincial Monastery and Bishop of the Holy Temple of the Church of Universal Life of the Chiantar Province do formally name Master Torgsten Alvis as my legal and spiritual successor. Upon my death, Master Alvis shall take on the rank and responsibilities of Grand Master of the Chiantar Province Monastery and Bishop of the Church of Universal Life. May Life protect and guide you, my student… my friend. The apprentices are headed your way now. I have sent half the junior instructors to herd them along and aid you in the days ahead. Try to get offworld if you can, but do not return to the monastery. I fear there will be nothing left to return to.’ Tears rolled down Master Alvis’ face as his mentor’s thought-words echoed in his mind. She had already broken contact and he knew it would be futile to try to contact her again. He knew as well as she did what must be done, and though he hated the necessity, he also obeyed its demands. Drake finally came to a skidding stop in front of him and asked in evident distress “Master, what has happened? Why do you cry? What is going on?” He had never seen Master Alvis, or any master Outrider for that matter, cry before and Master Alvis’ earlier command in the name of the Grand Master worried him greatly. Master Alvis cleared the tears from his eyes and composed himself before looking to Drake “Hell has come to Orlea, my young apprentice, and we must outrace it in order to survive. Come, we must prepare for the arrival of the others…’ Confusion tore at Drake’s mind as his senses seemed to blur and an insistent pain nagged at him, calling… calling…

Calling him back to the present… Opening his eyes, Drake grimaced as his body protested its earlier abuse at the hands of Inquisitor Morgaine. His eyes flicked to the chronometer on the wall. Sixteen hours had passed since he entered his healing trance, and still the Pulse had not seen fit to fully heal his injuries. Every muscle in his body shrieked outrage as he forced himself to his feet. ‘This is wrong’, he thought silently. ‘I usually emerge from a trance feeling rested and refreshed, not battered and beaten. I should be almost fully healed by now, and yet I sense that I have many hours more to go.’ Drake staggered to the bridge of the Iridium Ibliton and checked his flight status. After returning to his ship, he had taken off and put his ship into orbit around one of the moons of Abatrarg, the lone gas giant in Korbin’s star system. Satisfied that all was well, he returned again to his meditation chamber and resumed the traditional healing position on the marble slab that served as his meditation platform. The various aches and pains in his body slowly ebbed away as he once more entered a deep trance, and his mind once more explored the past…