The Final Prophecy Read Free

onlyoutnumbered, but poorly armed. How can you call yourselves warriors, to attack in such a way?”
    “They are Shamed Ones,” the warrior sneered back. “They are outside honor. They are worse than infidels; they are heretic traitors, not to be fought but to be exterminated.”
    “You fear us,” the tracker rasped. “You fear us because we know the truth. You lap at Shimrra’s feet, yet Shimrra is the true heretic. See how this
Jeedai
has laid you low. The gods favor her, not you.”
    “If the gods favor her, they do not favor you,” the warrior snapped.
    “They are delaying us,” the tracker told Tahiri. She noticed he had blood on his lips. “They delay us while another tsik vai arrives.”
    “Quiet, heretic,” the war leader bellowed, “and you may yet live to snivel a little longer. There are questions we would ask of you.” His expression softened. “Renounce your heresy. This
Jeedai
is a great prize. Help us win her, and perhaps the gods will forgive you and grant you an honorable death.”
    “No death is more honorable than dying by the side of a
Jeedai
,” the tracker answered. “Vua Rapuung proved that.”
    “Vua Rapuung,” the warrior all but spat. “That story is a heretic’s lie. Vua Rapuung died in disgrace.”
    For answer the Shamed One suddenly bolted forward, so quickly he took the leader by surprise, bowling into him before he could raise his weapon. The other two turned to help, but Tahiri danced forward, feinting at the knee and then cutting high through the warrior’s throat when he dropped his guard to parry. She exchanged a flurry of blows with the second, though it ended the same, with the warrior flopping lifeless to the ground.
    She turned to find the tracker impaling the leader with hisown amphistaff. For a moment they stared at each other, the Shamed One and she. Then the Yuuzhan Vong suddenly dropped to his knees.
    “I prayed it was you!” he said.
    Tahiri opened her mouth, but heard the stir of treetops that could only be another flier arriving.
    “Come on,” she said. “We can’t stay here.”
    The warrior nodded and bounded to his feet. Together they ran from the clearing.
    An hour or so later, Tahiri finally halted. The fliers seemed to have lost them for the time being, and the tracker had been gradually dropping behind. Now he staggered against a tree and slid to the ground.
    “A little farther,” she said. “Just over here.”
    “My legs will no longer bear me,” the tracker said. “You must leave me for the time being.”
    “Just under this shelf of stone,” she said. “Please. It may hide us from the fliers if they sweep here.”
    He nodded wearily. She saw he was clutching his side, and that blood covered his flank.
    They scooted up beneath the overhang.
    “Let me see that,” she said.
    He shook his head. “I must speak to you first,” he said.
    “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
    His eyes widened. “No!” he said, so vehemently that blood sputtered from between his lips. Then, more quietly, “No. We thieved a ship from an intendant and came here to find the world of prophecy. We saw you land—is this the place, one-who-was-shaped? Is this the world the Prophet saw?”
    “I’m sorry,” Tahiri said. “I don’t know what you mean. This is Dagobah. I came here for … personal reasons.”
    “But it cannot be coincidence,” the tracker said. “It cannot.”
    “Please,” Tahiri said. “Let me see your wound. I know a little about healing. Maybe I can—”
    “I am dead already,” the tracker gruffed. “I know this. But I must know if I have failed.”
    Tahiri shook her head helplessly.
    The tracker straightened a bit, and his voice strengthened. “I am Hul Qat, once a hunter. Or I was, until the gods seemed to reject me. I was stripped of my title, my clan. I was Shamed. My implants festered and my scars opened like wounds. I gave up hope and waited for dishonorable death. But then I heard the word of the Prophet,