A Wet, Pretentious Story ch. 6 - 8

[pronker]

Part Six

Anakin had fond memories of barns.

On Tatooine, eopies could weather sandstorms well enough, but most owners took pity on their dumb beasts and sheltered them in large municipal barns of thick adobe. Smells and soft snorts of creatures from banthas to eopies to pet dinkoes permeated the unlit structures, making them altogether one of the nicest memories Anakin brought away with him. As he surveyed the deserted barn that he and Obi-Wan discovered in the same clearing as an equally deserted farmbuilding just off the trail, Anakin looked at the stalls' size and envisioned what kind of beast normally resided here. There was a clean, thick pile of bedding material, shredded liana fiber from the looks of it, heaped in the center of the floor, swirling in the oncoming storm's advance breeze. Whoever lived here had loosed their animals, but prepared for their return in advance. The barn's door was opened freely, not a sign of a beast's crashing through, not a hinge broken. As to what sort of beast, it was smaller than a suubatar, but larger than an akk dog, Anakin surmised as he sniffed a rich odor in the air, a grain aroma that smelled pungent, barnlike, and well, likeable. Anakin grumped to himself a bit about the Council's emphasis on politics, politics, and more politics in their briefing and not a whit about natural history. Well, that is their focus now, Anakin, what with the war and all. They didn't expect us to crash in the back of beyond like this. No more Living Force-sensitizing trips to Ragoon-6 for the duration, I guess. How sad. Anakin hadn't rationalized the Council's actions like this before, and wondered if this wasn't what they called maturity.

Obi-Wan poked at the nibs of fiber with his bare foot, stooped and crumbled a handful between his fingers. He glanced out an unglazed window at the roiling gray clouds. "A storm coming and we have shelter, Anakin. Things could be worse."

Anakin nodded, leaning on the broad windowsill. Obi-Wan stood beside him and together they watched as a blast of wind bent the proud trees. Moments later a lone crack of lightning split the sky. Thunder grew in intensity and just when it should have stopped, it changed in character, continuing for several minutes. The Padawan looked questioningly down at the Master, who listened intently. "Drums," he said. "From a few kilometers away." He could not see Anakin's face now as he leaned in his general direction to shout over the drums' booming. "I sense no danger." And he didn't, though his Force perception had an odd flavor to it, a glimmer of something outside his experience. But life-threatening? No.

Anakin slumped on the bedding, scooping out his body's outline while he lay back. Rain pounded steadily against the glazed tile roof of the structure. He yawned. Considering the strong wind flowing in from the window, they would need to huddle for warmth tonight, even with putting their shed tunics and leggings back on. There was an almost pleasant cool dampness in the air, so unlike last night's mugginess. Anakin could handle dry desert heat much better.

The lightning flashes were nearly non-stop now as the storm hit the clearing in full force, strobing the barn's former comfortable gloom. Obi-Wan hollowed a place beside him and lay down. Without a word, he opened his arms. Anakin draped his braid forward and pressed his back against Obi-Wan's chest while Obi-Wan flung a leg over Anakin's hips. Anakin's shivers faded as he fell into sleepy silence. Obi-Wan soon followed, rearranging his senses once more to tune out white non-threatening noise as his face pressed into Anakin's brush cut hair. It was when he examined the miasma of the omnipresent jungle, equating it similarly to his Force perception of non-threatening odor, that he immediately noticed a slight change.

"Anakin, are you feeling all right?"

Anakin shifted in his arms. "No. I'm not. It's due to all the river water that I swallowed, I think, but I have an intestinal upset."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Say no more. Me, too."

Unless they had access to water purifiers, the citizens of Trow must be hardy indeed to endure these microbes' invasion of their bodies. This last affliction, albeit minor, could place the two Jedi in harm's way; a sudden attack of the symptoms might distract them until the spasms passed. Obi-Wan's guts gurgled faintly. Not again.

The river splashed.



 

Part Seven

Flocks of greenish-gray birds screeched in the post-dawn clear air, but stopped their cacophony just as a non-white noise crack! echoed in the barn and brought Obi-Wan and Anakin to alertness. Obi-Wan reached for his lightsaber with his right hand, noticed immediately that it was numb from Anakin using it for a pillow, and changed to his left hand, thumb on switch, not activating it yet. There were two entrances to the barn and six Billaqori entered each, with one sliding over the windowsill. The thirteen formed a tight phalanx, their mud-colored skin and short black hair smeared with a kind of pattern in ochre paste. The tallest was somewhat shorter than Obi-Wan. A large male with a towering feathered headdress placed both hands before him atop his meter-long weapon. Looks like a vibro-axe, Obi-Wan thought. He and Anakin stood back-to-back.

Headdress said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice that was only slightly accented, "Jedi. You are off course."

Obi-Wan replied, "We lost our boat in your river. We are en route to Nepsa for the Congress of Tribes. If you could spare an escort ... "

As the twelve armed subordinates looked to Headdress, Anakin noticed that one of them seemed to gauge them measuringly for some reason. She whispered to the ostensible leader and he nodded. "Jedi are always welcome to join the Billaqori at our most important festival today. This very night is our sacred time," he said.

"Is that why the farmstead is deserted?" Their briefing had been on planet-wide politics only; perhaps this was a local rural festival.

"All within walking distance of a village must come to a Gathering. We honor our Mother tonight. When Dormin did not answer the drums last night, we knew something was wrong here."

That was how their presence was known, then; a dead-man's-switch arrangement.

"No one was here when we arrived before sundown last night," Obi-Wan said.

Qikal shrugged. "There are other trails than the one we took to arrive here. Dormin has a large family and may have started early to give himself more time for the trip. He is a pillar at the Gathering, so we --- I --- thought it worthwhile to investigate." Qikal smiled rapturously. "I knew that he would never dishonor the Mother."

Mother being everyone's mother, as in a generic all-giving avatar, Obi-Wan surmised. Why hadn't Mace included Trow's basic religions in their briefing? This was a common enough belief system, the Mother giving life, sustaining life, procreating more life ... Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about this suddenly. "Of course, we should be honored to observe your ceremony tonight. It is, possibly, a one-night ceremony?" Not the eighteen-day Mother ceremony on Supairp Prime, please. Not the endless speeches, ceremonial creations of blood brother kinships that had nearly drained him dry, with ritual wrestling bouts afterwards to see who could refrain from fainting the longest. Please. Though some called serving the Force a religion, the Jedi Order had very few rituals; the basic grounding of belief in the Force was an everyday thing. The only holidays observed were Republic holidays; any other special days had to do with individual rejoicings such as lifeday celebrations, Knighting Day anniversaries, and Master-to-Padawan first Braidings. All this was to Obi-Wan's secret relief. He had faith in abundance; he didn't need exhortations on previously selected days. He allowed none of this to show on his face as he asked delicately, "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi and this is my Padawan-learner, Anakin Skywalker. And your name is ... ?"

There was grace in the middle-aged leader's bow. "Qikal. My name is Qikal." He turned to Anakin. "'Padawan-learner' ? Is this your son?"

"Apprentice, sir. My Master is training me to be a Jedi Knight." Anakin spoke up.

"He is in my charge. He will assist in our negotiations with your Congress." Obi-Wan took over the conversation as he recalled the odd tinge to the drumbeats' Force perception.

The woman who assuredly was the leader's advisor smiled warmly. "It is as the Mother wills. One partner for each of us," she said, touching Anakin's arm. "And he is old enough."

I don't like the sound of that. Obi-Wan placed himself pointedly between Anakin and the advisor. "Qikal, what precisely will we be expected to do?" He saw Qikal notice his lightsaber, appraising it as a weapon.

The thirteen had such broad smiles that their ochre makeup cracked on their cheeks.

The river bubbled.

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Part Eight

The smiles broadened even more, if possible. The Force rippled in that unusual way that it had last night when lightning cracked, thunder boomed and drums superseded thunder. A different tinge embellished the happiness coloring the Force around the ecstatic Billaqori. Obi-Wan didn't know what to make of it.

Anakin did know what to make of it, and his general state of nervousness kicked into overdrive. Surely this tinge was natural to the humanoid Billaqori, as it was to all beings. Surely it would have no repercussions on him.

"Welcome to the Billaqor tribe. We of the Upper-Cremba-on-Gitchy village will share our bounty with you, Jedi. Joining in our Festival of Plenitude honors us." They commenced to embrace Obi-Wan hugely, one after the other, to his surprise. They were shorter than he was, but quite well-built and strong. Good thing those intestinal upsets seem to have dissipated in the night, Obi-Wan thought as one Billaqori actually squeezed him enough to hoist his feet from the ground. Ever the diplomat, he returned each hug with equal fervor, smiling graciously all the while. Beside him, Anakin enjoyed equal treatment, although no Billaqori could lift him from the ground. The assistant to Qikal stood apart. There was something predatory about her, Obi-Wan thought.

"Anakin, observing this festival of theirs will gain us transportation, I believe, and perhaps an escort," Obi-Wan said after the welcoming group dispersed to secure the farmstead. The thirteen helped themselves to food and drink from stores, since they hadn't brought any provisions with them in their pre-dawn rush.

Anakin flicked a glance towards the silent, beaming assistant. "Master, you said 'observe,' they said 'join,' did you notice?" Some of the Billaqori ochre makeup had come off on Obi-Wan's chin during the cheek-to-cheek rubbing part of the embrace and Anakin wiped it off for him.

"Their Basic is good but not perfect, Padawan. I'll explain the difference to them." As Qikal approached once more with packets of a purplish paste, Obi-Wan chanced, "Leader Qikal, my grasp of your charming custom is limited. Am I to understand that you allow outsiders to actually join in? Doesn't this offend the Mother in some way?" Obi-Wan's only perfect grade in Diplomacy Training came from Master Lingus, whose series of lectures that the Padawans nicknamed How To Lay It On Thick drew small crowds. Ask a leading question when under duress, she'd said. Throw all their beliefs into question. But in a nice way.

Qikal handed each of them a packet and said slowly, enunciating each syllable in a way that all beings did when speaking to foreigners, "I say again, welcome to our tribe, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. As the Mother wills, everyone in her territory without a mate will find one tonight. Any offspring will be birthed next spring in the utmost season of Plenitude." Qikal smiled with all his teeth. "No outsider yet has refused the honor. You would be the first." He ran his thumb around the tip of the weapon that Obi-Wan originally had thought similar to a BD-1 Cutter vibro-axe, but now appeared to be a small force pike.

And where did they get force pikes? Later, Obi-Wan, later. Obi-Wan heard Anakin's gulp of astonishment as his mind flashed to various scenarios: One: Fight. He could Force-push them all away without harming a soul. In case of pursuit, he and Anakin could run into the jungle through unknown territory with dwindling supplies, barefoot. Absently he rubbed his lightsaber's hilt. Possible, though by now he realized that the Billaqori had a simple but effective way of communicating with their outlying settlements, meaning that more battles might await them. While the Jedi extraction team that was surely en route would track them down eventually even without Obi-Wan's and Anakin's overt help, battling their way out of this would not help the Republic's cause at all. Risky. Two: Acquiesce. The path of least resistance, least possibility of danger to his Padawan, the mission and by extension, the Billaqori, and last of all, himself. More likely.

Anakin's thoughts blanked as he saw his Master nod unsmilingly towards Leader Qikal. 'Honor the Mother?' At that moment, he very much wanted his own mother, to advise him at the very least. He broke open the packet of what turned out to be a nutrient paste and shoved it in his mouth with his fingers. He finished it before registering what it tasted like and when Obi-Wan handed him his own as well, ate it the very same way. This time he did notice the flavor; it tasted like something all-natural, unspiced and extremely bland. Probably very healthy and good for him. Probably something Padmé would enjoy. Certainly something Obi-Wan would relish. He didn't much like it.

When their troop marched leisurely down a five-person wide trail towards Upper-Cremba-on-Gitchy, Anakin found another reason to dislike the Billaqori. Their ochre makeup covered up most of the orange mold showing behind ears and at the waistline of their roughly-woven lavalavas, but not all. He made a moue of distaste upon discovering this, but schooled his features to impassivity when Obi-Wan shot him a look.

The river subsided.

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