The Black Knight and The White Queen

Chapter 1

The dark rider came from the East, in mid-afternoon. He came alone, black cloak fluttering behind him, looking like the shadow of a hawk sweeping over the barren hills. His horse was flat-out galloping across the countryside. He didn't come by the road, which swept southwest, around the mountains. He came across the foothills – he'd crossed the mountains, the shorter, but far harsher, route to Jakku.

Rey watched him from atop an outcrop, with a sense of detached curiosity. A lone rider poised little threat to the village, and in any case, he was riding from the East. The raiders came from the North, and in great numbers. She didn't care to meet him alone, in the hills, though, so she regarded his progress for a moment longer before tugging the reins and turning her own mount around. He was riding hard, and her horse was admittedly old and thin, but she had a head start, and she knew these hills better than anyone.

She'd been riding and playing in these dry, dusty hills her whole life. Her adoptive father hadn't had the heart to make much of a lady of her. Every morning, without fail, she'd studied her letters and arithmetic and languages. After her noon meal, he hadn't known what to do with a little girl, and so she'd become a rapscallion. Helping the serfs with their work seemed infinitely more interesting than needlework or painting, so she'd endlessly pestered the stable boys, been thrown off a pony more times than she could count, picked vegetables with the old women, brought goats in for the night, and hunted rabbits in the short, stubby bushes that dotted the rocky, sandy soil.

Luke was dead, now. They'd buried him in the hills, without much ceremony, three weeks ago. He'd seemed to know his death was imminent, retreating to his room and sitting deep in thought, barely eating. On the last day, he'd sent a mysterious letter, via horseback courier, and then wordlessly gone to bed, and expired during the night.

This dark rider wasn't their courier returned to them. Rey knew, though, that he must have something to do with Luke's letter. There was no other reason to ride over the mountains to the far reaches of the Empire.

She circled around the village, rather than cut through it, pushing the old horse into a reluctant canter. Jakku was little more than fifteen or twenty stone cottages, shanties, and sheds, huddled in a dip in the hills. It sat in a hollow, sheltered from the wind and sandstorms, and at the north end, on the lip of the hollow, was the manor house. It was far too humble to be called a manor house, but it did sit on an outcrop, with a view over the village, the hills, and the snow-capped mountains beyond, giving it some appearance of importance.

Rey rode around the back of the manor, urging the animal under her up the hill. The barn and dusty yard were quiet as she slung her leg over the side of her still-moving horse and slid to the ground. Three or four years ago, this area to the rear of the manor would have been bustling. Jakku had never been rich, but it had been industrious, at least, and the manor had been the epicenter of all activity.

Now, it was dusty, and dry. She couldn't remember the last time it had rained. The cattle and goats and horses had dwindled in numbers, succumbing to the drought. People had begun to dwindle too – to old age, or sickness, or they'd simply slip away during the night to eke out their existence elsewhere. Somewhere that wasn't so dry and dusty and hot, likely.

The old horse groaned with relief when she lifted the saddle off his back. He ambled into the corner of the barn, nibbling at the scraps of hay on the floor. Rey frowned at him, counting his ribs. The years-long drought had made whatever grass grew in the hills wither, and they couldn't afford barley or oats.

She shook off thoughts of all the things they couldn't afford – Luke had always managed their finances, and she couldn't quite mount the courage to look at the ledgers yet, knowing their situation was likely dire – and crossed the yard purposefully. She ducked into the narrow door cut into the limestone walls, shouting for her old nursemaid.