Star Wars: The Old Republic

Marr

~Chapter Forty-Two~

What are allies, but enemies with common goals and much to lose…

On the cusp of waking, I became aware of the wind stealing between the cracks in the walls, the snap of a healthy fire and distant thunder. None of these things were enough to rouse me.

The stench of overcooked porridge assaulted my senses and to my surprise, my stomach responded with a hearty growl.

My awareness hovered between unformed dreams and the taunting of these mundane absolutes until a sudden and shrill siren blared around me and I was as alert as if the fire goddess herself had touched me.

Reflex provoked me to reach for my lightsaber, but I stayed my hand just as quickly. When the last vestiges of sleep cleared, it was not a siren but the mewling of a demanding infant.

"Enough!" I barked in the general direction of the tireless howling.

My focus sharpened and I spied the infant across from me, amber brown eyes wide and lower lip quivering.

"That's better."

Before I could take satisfaction in the fledgling silence, the boy took to wailing anew, this time with greater urgency and volume. I winced at the abject misery puckering the pudgy tear-stained face.

"Zho! Tend your damn youngling. Zho!" I bellowed, but only the echo of my voice answered.

The cries grew louder and more persistent.

"I don't think the Core worlds can hear you…yet."

If I didn't know better, I would have sworn the boy took my words as a challenge. The combination of numbness and pins and needles suggested I'd slept in the same position for too long. My body quaked as I pushed myself to stand on unsteady feet. The fever clung to me still and every platelet in my bloodstream urged me to leave, but I knew it would be folly to do so.

"Blasted Jedi." Bracing myself against the wall, I crossed the chamber, pausing only long enough to stir the thick paste bubbling in the pot. A crusty skin of burned porridge coated the bottom of the pot and I lifted it away from the tripod suspending it.

Steam puffed out of the blackened cauldron and the infant reached for me. His chest rose and fell in speedy bursts and I hoped he'd tired himself out.

I eased myself down to sit next to the child. "Perhaps if you'd been quieter your mother wouldn't have left you—and now you've driven the Jedi away too. What would you do, if I left as well?"

His expression suggested he understood me, but I knew that was impossible. Despite my harsh words, the boy calmed when I spoke. Perhaps the Jedi spoke to him to ward off the insanity that comes from being alone for too long.

He crawled closer and scampered onto my lap. His fat short fingers prowled over my armor and when his explorations bored him, he sank against me, a wriggling weight against my chest.

Gurgling sounds in his belly told me, he too hungered for the meager concoction Zho had left behind.

"Hungry, are you? So am I—but it's too hot to eat." I summoned the pot and the earthenware bowl and utensils to my side.

The boy watched the levitating items and waved his arms. "Entertaining is it? Hmph." I smirked under my mask and spooned out a mound of porridge into a dish and set it aside.

The infant squawked for the bowl and reached.

"No. Still too hot. We must wait."

A distraction was needed lest the boy grow more aware of his needs and cry out again. I levitated the spoon before his face, careful to keep it beyond his reach to make a game of it.

He grasped the other spoon in his hand and tossed it. It fell to the ground with a metallic clatter and he pouted.

"You want to see them dance, do you? Hmph." No sooner had I uttered the words, I willed the second utensil to join the first and the boy squealed with delight. The spoons kept a maddening orbit around each other and the boy wobbled, growing dizzy from his attempt to track them both.

I pitied the child—coveting a gift he would never have, despite the Jedi's hope otherwise. It wasn't impossible, but very unlikely. He lacked the shining thread of divinity that linked all Force users, but what he lacked in sacred ability he made up for with enthusiasm, and I pitied him all the more. The day he would learn the truth would be a painful one.

"They'll make no Jedi of you...but don't despair—their lives are drab. Who in their right mind would wish to live as a Jedi does?"

I hadn't expected an answer but received one anyway.

"Corrupting my charge, Marr? I haven't been gone a half hour," Zho replied good-naturedly as he re-entered the chamber.

"He's not worth my effort, Zho. Nor yours."

"I plan to give him time. The Force will find him and I will teach him all I can when it does."

"You're a foolish old man," I muttered and shook my head.

Zho set aside his satchel and fed the armload of twigs and sticks he'd gathered to the fire. "I prefer patient."

"Your certainty…makes me wonder who his parents are. Perhaps a pair of errant Jedi unable to adhere to your passionless dogma?"

"Nothing quite so romantic, I'm afraid—more of a matter of—practicality. His parents aren't suited to the task of raising him. Besides if his family were of real importance, would I have left him with you?"

The Jedi's reasoning made sense and though I sensed there was something he was holding back, I let the matter fall again.

The boy's interest strayed from our exchange back to the bowl of porridge. Without thinking, I stirred the cooled mush and offered it to the boy. He craned his neck like a baby Alderaanian night bird, devouring spoonful after spoonful.

"Tell me, Marr, do you have children of your own?" Zho collected a dishful of porridge for himself and sat across from us.

"No."

"Mmm, perhaps one day?"

I didn't respond and when the bowl had been scraped clean, I took what remained of the porridge from the pot for myself. "Your cooking skills leave much to be desired, Jedi."

Zho smirked and finished eating. "The fever—it still torments you, yes?"

"Less than before, but it remains." My gaze fell on his satchel. "You spoke of a ritual."

"That I did. And while I was gathering wood, a solution came to me about our predicament."

"I'm listening."

He dug into his satchel and withdrew seven milky white crystals, each of differing size and clarity. "I found these in my explorations. It seems the Rakata used them to fuel their gadgets—and if they can be used to fuel, they can also be used to contain."

"Explain."

"You will channel each of the Dread Master's energy into a crystal and trap it inside. This crystal," he said, holding up the largest, "This one, will be used to purge the effects of your poison fever and your connection to them. But for this to work, you will need to trap them before you can cleanse yourself. I realize how this looks and what I'm asking of you, Marr."

"What makes you think, I have the strength to channel one, nevermind all six? Their ability surpasses my own even before their blood weakened me."

"That is why I will help you, by restricting the flow of their power to you, with my battle meditation. Rather than a river, their power will flow to you in a trickle. It will be time-consuming, but you should survive."

"Should…hmph." I examined the crystal—a tall hexagonal with several thready inclusions at its heart.

Zho collected the child and saw to his needs before dressing him in clean rags. The Jedi held the boy on his hip, swaying until the child dozed.

"And what of these crystals after the ritual? What will become of them? If the Emperor has an inkling of their existence, he will seek them out."

"After the ritual, you will travel to Voss and seek the one called Mala-Ro. He's a powerful prophet, the most powerful the Voss have ever known—his ability to see into the future is second to none. Give him the crystals and he will conceal them. He will know. The seventh crystal—you will destroy it after the mission is complete. You will regain your strength and be free of the Dread Masters and their poison blood."

"And where do I find this prophet?"

"He's a recluse. Travel to the Dark Heart. All Voss know of it, and all avoid it. It is a haven for the mad and reckless. You will find Mala-Ro there—but know this, the Voss are wary of outsiders and most will be unwilling to help you."

"Perhaps I should take you as my hostage given your familiarity with the world and this prophet. If I go alone, they may decline to assist me. This is a matter of importance for both our governments."

"The Voss will not care if I am your hostage. I don't matter to them. You don't matter to them. We are outsiders—but I will take you to Mala-Ro, I promise you. I will meet you there in the Alien Enclave. From Voss, I will find my own way and return home with my charge."

"If we don't matter to the Voss, why would they assist us in concealing the crystals?"

"Because they understand evil—and its nature like few others."

"How do they know this?"

"They themselves, are plagued by an entity called Sel-Makor. It resides in the Dark Heart—Mala-Ro guards the gateway so that none will fall prey to its malevolence. If anyone can help us, it is Mala-Ro. He will know."

"It would seem we have few other options…shall we begin?"

"Allow me to make the preparations, Marr."

"Agreed."

((to be continued…))