“If you seek an overclan, why trouble the Yiwa with your presence?” Behind him, his clanfolk stirred expectantly.
“You know how the Borokii move about, and how they would react to being tracked by machines.” Kyakhta held his suubatar ready.
Mazong laughed, and several of his supporters smiled. “They would blow them out of the sky, along with any who came after them.”
“Haja,” Bulgan agreed. “So we seek them out in the time-honored way.” He indicated the community by the lake. “A fine camp, but as usual, a temporary one. It is ever such for the Yiwa, as for all Alwari. In your recent traveling, have you come across any of the overclan?”
Trotting forward, a magnificently bedecked female whispered into one of Mazong's aural cavities. Indicating understanding, he looked back up at the visitors.
“This is no place for conversation. Come down to our camp. We will eat, and talk, and consider your needs.” Looking past the two guides, he locked eyes with Luminara. “An agreeable color, blue. No indication of whether the individual behind it is likewise.” Turning, he urged his sadain to a gallop. Yelling and waving their weapons, his clanfolk followed him.
The visitors trailed at a more sedate pace. “It doesn’t seem too promising, Master.” Having grown used to the said attire of urban Ansionians, Barriss found herself captivated by the Yiwa’s purposefully wild appearance.
“On the contrary, Padawan, a good merchant knows that getting a foot in the door before the servomotors can slam it shut is half the battle in making a sale.”
They were guided to a transitory central square that had been created by placing half a dozen of the self-erecting huts in a semicircle facing the lake. Laughing and squealing children appeared from nowhere to flank the group, while the youthful equivalents of Anakin and Barriss stared in obvious envy at the two Padawans. Anakin did his best to stifle any incipient feelings of superiority. It was an ongoing problem with him that Obi-Wan had been at pains to point out on more than one occasion.
Their suubatars were taken away amid mutterings of admiration for such first-class mounts. Luminara had a momentary concern for their supplies, but Kyakhta reassured her.
“We are officially guests now, Master. To steal anything from us would be to breach ancient traditions of hospitality. The thief would be cast out permanently—if not fed to the shanhs. Worry not for your belongings.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Forgive me for not trusting you, Kyakhta. I know you would have said something if there was any reason for concern.”
They were led to the edge of the lake. A section of reeds had been cleared away to provide a clear view across the tranquil body of water. Small balls of black fluff darted among the reeds, chirping like runaway alarms. Intricately woven mats topped with thickly padded cushions had been set out on the bare ground. While the adults went about their business and children barely coming into their manes watched silently from a respectful distance, Mazong and two advisers sat cross-legged opposite their guests. Food and drink were provided. Luminara took one sip of the dark green liquid placed before her and immediately choked on the spicy concoction. A concerned Barriss was at her side in an instant.
Mazong grinned, then smiled, and finally had to place a long-fingered hand over his face to cover his muted laughter. His advisers did little better. The ice was broken, and none was the wiser for knowing that the Jedi had tolerated the strong local liquor without difficulty, only to fake her reaction for the very purpose of putting their hosts at ease.
That did not mean, however, that by gagging embarrassedly she had instantly gained their friendship and assistance.
One of the advisers, an elderly female whose sweeping arch of a mane had gone entirely gray, leaned forward. “Why should we help you find the overclan?” This anticipated question allowed Obi-Wan to launch into an explanation of their purpose in coming to Ansion. The Yiwa listened quietly, occasionally bending to eat or drink from the modest meal that had been set out before them.
When the Jedi had finished, the two advisers caucused, then whispered something to Mazong. He indicated agreement and turned back to the guests.
“Like all the Alwari, we dislike and remain ever suspicious of the motive of the city folk, even though we all do business with the Unity. What you ask would change relationships on our world forever.” Raising a hand, he forestalled Luminara's comment. “However—that is not necessarily a bad thing. Time changes everything, and even the Alwari must adapt. But before we will ever agree to do so, we must have guarantees that our rights to our traditional way of life will be protected. We know there have been previous visitations by representatives of the Senate. Those we do not, and will never, trust. As for the Jedi”—once again Luminara found him staring at her—“we have heard that they are different. That they are honorable. That they are highbred. If you can prove this to us, to our satisfaction, then we will feel secure enough to at least point you in the direction of the Borokii.”
Luminara and Obi-Wan whispered while their guides and the two Padawans looked on. When the older Jedi separated, it was Luminara who spoke.
“Ask of us what you will, noble Mazong, and if it is within our power to comply, we’ll certainly do so.”
Exclamations of satisfaction came from the chief and his advisers. What kind of proof do they want? Barriss found herself wondering. What kind of assurance could offworlders give to natives that would convince them of the genuine good intentions of their visitors?
Unsurprisingly, it was not what she would have expected.
Rising, Mazong gestured toward the camp. “Tonight we will have a proper feast. There will be entertainment. Among the Alwari, it is traditional for guests to provide it. We have never heard of representatives of your Senate deigning to do this. To us, this says that they have no souls. If the Jedi can show us that they, like the Yiwa, also have souls, then the Yiwa will believe they possess what their politicians are lacking.”
Barriss’ lower jaw dropped. To her surprise, Luminara was smiling agreeably. “We will meet your terms, noble Mazong. But I must warn you: aesthetics are not the first thing a Jedi masters. You may find our presentations less polished than those of your usual guests.”
All but openly affable now, Mazong stepped forward to place a hand on her head. The long fingers reached to the back of her neck. “Whatever you do, it will have the virtue of novelty. For now, though, I have only one question, that has troubled me since you first arrived.”
Looking up at the Yiwa, she felt only slightly concerned. “What is it?”
“Why,” he asked frankly, “do you tattoo your chin and under-lip instead of the top of your head, as is proper?”
Intensely curious about everything around her, Luminara was struck by the flickering light from the portable glowrods that illuminated the mock central square. Nor was she shy in asking Mazong about the phenomenon.
“If you like, my friends and I can try to fix those lighting devices. Their internal schematics are fairly simple.”
Mazong expressed confusion. “But there is nothing wrong with them.”
She hesitated. “They should be supplying steady light. Constant illumination.”
The Yiwa chieftain’s response surprised her. He laughed. “Ou, we know that, O wise observant Jedi. But we remember, and honor, the ways of our ancestors, who could hold such gatherings only by torchlight.”
Realization dawned on her. The glowpoles had been deliberately modified to simulate the flickering of torchlight. Among the Yiwa, it appeared, retrogressive aesthetics took precedence over cutting-edge functionality. She wondered if they would find the same reverence for ritual among the overclan.
Her thermosensitive robes warded off the evening chill and kept out the ever-present wind as she took her place alongside Obi-Wan and the two Padawans. Mazong sat down nearby, his two elderly female advisers close behind him. It seemed as if most of the clan had crowded around the open space. Hundreds of bulging Ansionian eyes glistened in the l
ight from the glowrods. On the far side of the encampment, torpid dorgum and irritable awiquod grunted and hissed as they jostled for space with the more high-strung sadains. A few deeper hisses, like steam escaping from a sauna, indicated the location of the travelers’ suubatars.
For the second time since their arrival, food and drink had been laid out in copious quantities. Having already consumed samples of Yiwa fare, they found that the individual components of the lavish banquet had lost some of their exoticism. They were delivered straight from the transportable high-tech kitchen by lines of young Yiwa clad in guest-greeting finery. Kyakhta and Bulgan sat like regal potentates, still unable to quite believe their good fortune. Thanks to Barriss’ and Jedi largesse, for two clanless vagabonds they had come a very long way in an exceedingly short time.
There was music, of a sort, produced by a quartet of seated Yiwa. Two played traditional handmade instruments, while their younger colleagues opted for free-form electronics. The result was a cross between the sublime and a porgrak in its final death throes. Luminara found her ears simultaneously outraged and captivated.
Beyond the music, there was no entertainment. That, she knew, was shortly to be provided by the clan’s guests. If this was deemed acceptable, they would then hopefully receive useful answers to their questions. If spurned, they would have to find another, more amenable source of information as to the current whereabouts of the overclans.
At last nearly everyone had eaten their fill. The spiraling squeal from the local band faded away, losing itself in the vastness of the prairie night. Sipping on the needle-thin tube of a bulblike stuicer, Mazong turned expectantly to his company.
“And now, my friends, the time has come for you to prove to us that Jedi have not just ability, but inner essence, unlike the representatives of the great but soulless Senate.”
“If I may suggest—” Kyakhta began. The chieftain shut him down with a sharp gesture.
“You may not suggest, clanless vagrant. The Yiwa remain uncertain about you.” Looking back to the Jedi, he smiled. “Rest assured no matter how badly you do, we will not eat you. We do not keep every tradition.”
“That’s nice to know,” Obi-Wan murmured. He wasn’t concerned about whether or not he and his companions were considered suitable for consumption. He was worried about a dearth of information. If the Yiwa refused to help them, they might waste weeks searching for the Borokii. During that time, the mischief-makers and would-be secessionists among the Unity were not likely to be idle.
It was also important that everything they did not only found favor with their hosts, but did not offend any of their inscrutable and closely held customs. Not knowing the details of these in advance, the Jedi could only proceed as best they could, while watching for any indications that their calculated response might be offending the Yiwa.
“I’ll go first.” Barriss rose abruptly to her feet. Moving to the center of the open space, which had been carpeted with a fresh flooring of clean quartz sand taken from the beach that fronted the lake, she turned to face her friends. There was a stir among the watching Yiwa. What would the flat-eyed, many-digited, maneless female visitor do? No one waited with more curiosity than Anakin.
Luminara gestured encouragingly at her Padawan. Nodding, Barriss reached down and removed the lightsaber from her belt. Immediately, several of the armed Yiwa went for their own weapons. Seeing the other visitors remained seated and calm, a confident Mazong waved off his agitated sentries.
In the chill, still air of early night, Barriss’ lightsaber blazed. She held it aloft, glowing perpendicularly, its soft hum rising above the approving murmurs of the watching Yiwa. Not exactly a dynamic performance, Anakin reflected, but certainly an arresting image. He wondered if their hosts would consider striking a pose sufficient to satisfy their requirements.
And then Barriss began to move.
Slowly at first, darting from left to right and back again, then north to south, her footprints laid out a design in the sand that marked the four points of the compass. The Yiwa saw right away what she was honoring with her movements. As a nomadic people, they were particularly appreciative. The Padawan moved faster and faster, gradually increasing the speed of her jumps until she was bouncing from point to point as if dancing atop a concealed trampoline. All the while she held her flaring lightsaber aloft, the spear of luminance piercing the night. The athleticism of the performance was a tribute to her conditioning. It went, Anakin decided admiringly, well beyond the basic Jedi training.
Then, just when it seemed she could move no faster, she began to twirl the lightsaber. Spectators gasped softly, and there sounded the first hisses and whistles of genuine admiration.
It was a revelation to Anakin, who until now had never thought of the conventional Jedi lightsaber as anything but a weapon. That outside the fencing arena it could also be a thing of beauty had never occurred to him. But in Barriss’ hands it was transformed from a lethal tool into an instrument of effulgent splendor.
Spinning rapidly now as she continued to skip between the four points of the compass, the beam of spectral energy fooled the eyes into seeing a solid ring of light above her head. She began to swing the lightsaber, creating a lambent disk first on her right side, then on her left. Leaping from north to south, she brought her knees up to her chest and passed the beam beneath her feet, drawing sharp inhalations of surprise and awe from her audience. Several times she repeated the dangerous jump. Looking on as intently as any Yiwa, Anakin knew that if she misjudged height or swing, she could easily cut her feet off at the ankles. A greater miscalculation could result in the loss of an arm, or a leg—or her head.
The potential deadliness of the dance added greatly to the suspense, and to the brilliance of the performance. Drawing to a conclusion, Barriss jumped straight toward Mazong, executed a double flip with the lightsaber whirling beneath her, and landed on her knees not an arm-length in front of him. To his considerable credit, the Yiwa chieftain did not flinch. But his eyes never left the spinning lightsaber.
Another bit of Alwari lore was imparted to the visitors as the assembled clan demonstrated their approval not only with hisses and whistles, but with a mass cracking of the knuckles of their lissome, long-fingered hands. Waves of popping swept over the gathering. As for Mazong, he quietly consulted with his advisers.
Breathing hard, her lightsaber deactivated and refastened to her belt, Barriss resumed her seat alongside her companions. Luminara leaned over to whisper to her Padawan.
“A fine exhibition, Barriss. But that last stunt was truly treacherous. It would make me unhappy to have to return to Cuipernam with you in less than one piece.”
“I’ve practiced it before, Master.” The Padawan was well pleased with herself. “I know it’s a dangerous move, but we do want to make as strong an impression as possible on these people so that they’ll help us.”
“Striking off your own limb would certainly make an impression.” Seeing the younger woman’s expression fall, Luminara reached out and gave her an encouraging hug. “I don’t mean to be overly critical. You did well. I’m proud of you.”
“So am I.” Obi-Wan glanced to his right, to the pensive young man seated next to him. “It’s your turn, Anakin.”
That snapped Anakin out his introspection. “Me? But Master Obi-Wan, I can’t do anything like that. I haven’t been trained for it. I’m a fighter, not an artist. Nothing I could do would begin to approach Barriss’ presentation.”
“It doesn’t have to approach it.” Obi-Wan was patient with his Padawan. “But the chieftain clearly indicated he wanted to ascertain the existence of a soul in all of us. That means you, too, Anakin.”
The younger man chewed his lower lip. “I don’t suppose my sworn and witnessed statement to the effect that I have one would be sufficient?”
“I think not,” Obi-Wan replied dryly. “Stand out there, Anakin, and show them some soul. I know that you have one. The Force overflows with beauty. Draw on it.”
&
nbsp; With great reluctance, Anakin unfolded his legs and stood. Aware of the many eyes on him, humanoid as well as Ansionian, he strode slowly to the center of the sand-paved clearing. What could he possibly do to convince these people of his inner nature, to show them that he was as much a feeling being as the gravity-defying Barriss? He had to do something. His Master had insisted on it.
He didn’t want to be here, in this circle of light in the middle of a nowhere place on a nowhere world. He wanted to be on Coruscant, or home, or…
The one memory that overrode all others jarred something loose. Something from his childhood. It possessed the virtues of simplicity: a song; slow, sad, and melancholic, but full of affection for the one who was listening. His mother had sung it to him frequently, when money was scarce and when desert winds howled outside their simple dwelling. She would appreciate the words of that song, which he had struggled to sing back to her on numerous occasions. That opportunity had not presented itself for many years now, ever since he had left her and the world of his birth.
Now he imagined that she was here, standing before him, her comforting and reassuring face smiling warmly back at him. Since she was not here to sing along with him, to remind him of the words, he was forced to draw entirely on his memories.
As he imagined his mother standing there before him, everything else faded away: the expectant Mazong, the onlooking Yiwa, his companions, even Master Obi-Wan. Only she remained, and himself. The two of them, trading stanzas, singing back and forth to each other as they had when he was a child. He sang with increasing strength and confidence, his voice rising above the steady breeze that swept fitfully through the camp.
Star Wars: The Approaching Storm Page 13