The Way of a Siluan

by heatherxenia

Three AgriCorps Jedi survive Order 66. One is shipwrecked in a remote forest and begins to learn the ways of a quiet sect of Lightsiders known as the Siluans. Another tries to run a farm but is nearly thwarted by the Imperial Agriculture Program. A third takes the path of a Dark Jedi, masterminds Imperial agriculture policy...and sets out to destroy the Siluans. Part I complete.

37. Rites of Healing - Part II

Chapter 37: Rites of Healing – Part II

13 BBY – 11 months – 28 days

~ on the planet Yemer~

Varda sat on the earthen steps of Ava Gerges' abode in the pale light before dawn. At the far edge of the desert plain, the sky was growing orange-pink against the dark teal-blue where a few stars still shone. Immersed in the quiet of the moment, she heard the wicker gate whisper open and sensed another's presence only just before she heard a slightly high-pitched man's voice speak behind her.

"You're up!" Ava Gerges said.

Varda turned and saw that he was carrying a long, hollow tube - made of what might be wood or perhaps a very large dried cactus - in one hand and a long stick in the other. She had not seen anything quite like that in her previous visits to the monastery.

"Are you joining me for the morning chant?"

"Yes, if I may," Varda said.

"Then come."

She got up slowly, careful of her bad hip. Ava Gerges led her to a place near a tall branched cactus, where stones on the ground were arranged in a circle large enough for three or four humanoids to stand. They both stood, facing the slowly brightening horizon.

They waited, with only the chirp of a few insects around them, until a disc of gold beyond pure gold glinted on the edge of the world and reached out to touch their waiting faces. Ava Gerges beat the singing stick slowly twelve times. It gave a woody, resonant sound. On the twelfth beat, the sun broke free of the horizon and Ava Gerges began to chant:

"Come receive the dawn,

standing with hearts open

to receive Light from the light of day,

having passed through night

unbroken by it.

Shine in our hearts, O sacred Light.

Make us live, make us love in the way of peace."

Ava Gerges continued like this for several verses, his chanting voice nasal yet resonant. And the words came with power. Varda felt the air around her sing, and a peace past understanding invited her to partake of it.

When the last words of the chant died away, Varda almost didn't want to move. They both stood in silence for a moment, the sun now warm against their faces. Ava Gerges was the first to speak. "Come, let us work before the day is too warm. Even winter here can be a bit uncomfortable at midday."

Varda followed him, stump-step, back to his house. "What do you have in mind to do today?" she asked.

"I was hoping to go to the Dead Zone," Ava Gerges said, and pointed at the sky, now a pale teal with fine wisps of thread-like clouds. "You see a slight haze? It's probably going to rain in a few days, so I thought now would be a good time to try something. You can come with me if you like, or if you'd rather not, you can stay here."

"I'll come," Varda said without hesitation.

"Good!" Ava Gerges said. "Perhaps if you like we can talk some more along the way."

Ava Gerges brought a covered basket from inside his house and showed Varda to worn-out cargo speeder parked nearby. Solar panels on the short nose and long roof of the vehicle made Varda smile. This was a Siluan speeder, she could tell right away.

The motor, to her relief, was much quieter than the ambulance Dr. Gunma had used to bring her to Ava Gerges' place the day before. "Would you like to tell me more about the girl who stayed with you on Hokto?" Ava Gerges asked, and they fell into easy conversation.

Varda told Ava Gerges about the day Eo came to Hokto, how interested she was to learn about gardening for the first time, and how she later began to repair the starship under Varda's instruction, and so found the digital file reader that used to belong to Ava Yen. "Although she was raised to be a Jedi, she very much wanted to be a Siluan. She wasn't as strong in her use of the Force as others her age, but I understand that is less important for a Siluan, and she knew how to focus, so I taught her as much as I could."

"I was wondering about that when you mentioned about her going to Iwaki. The only other surviving Elder I know of is there, an Ava Kirrin."

"Yes," Varda said, a cloud of sadness darkening her mind again. "That was why she went there. A mutual acquaintance of hers and mine, the young man whose family I'm staying with now, he took her there in hopes that she might train with him."

They were both silent for a minute, just the sound of the wind against the hull of the speeder as they raced along a rough track through the desert scrub. "But I should tell you," Varda added, "I went to Iwaki, in hopes of speaking with Ava Kirrin. I hate to tell you, but his house was destroyed."

"Oh," Ava Gerges said, brow furrowed with sadness. "Did you find any sign of him."

"No," Varda said.

Ava Gerges shrugged. "Well, it is not certain he is gone completely then. But either way, yet shall the Light be unbroken."

Ava Gerges' easy acceptance of the situation left Varda quiet for a while. "I did meet someone else at his place though," she said at length, a little unsure whether Ava Gerges would understand the idea of a wordless conversation with an owl.

"Who was that?"

"An owl. She – I think it was a she – took me to Eo's grave and showed me...several things..." Varda trailed off, more tongue-tied than she had expected.

"What did she show you?" Ava Gerges asked, as matter-of-fact as if Varda had simply been speaking of meeting a fellow humanoid.

Varda took a moment to answer. "She showed me how Eo died," she said slowly. "She showed it to me as if I were there. I...I didn't believe Eo had it in her to face evil with that kind of peace, but she did. She died well."

"For a Siluan, that is everything," Ava Gerges said.

"Yes," Varda said quietly. For a Siluan, it certainly was everything. As for Varda, she felt great strength out of Eo's strength, yet it was not everything. "I also saw the one who killed her," Varda added.

"And what did you think?"

Varda ran her tongue against her teeth, quiet for a minute, then shook her head. "I could have killed her, if I didn't know it was only a vision."

"What you feel sounds quite understandable," Ava Gerges said calmly.

Varda debated whether to say more about who Ry was and her relationship to the soil contamination problem, but she could see the Dead Zone coming up ahead as a stark band of black and brown on the desert plain and so she said nothing. The two fell into an easy silence, Ava Gerges reciting mantras under his breath, Varda closing her eyes to carry out her shielding meditation before they reached the Dead Zone.

As they drove along, Varda eventually felt the hum of life around them fade away and then turn to nothing.

"Here we are," Ava Gerges said.

Varda opened her eyes. The place looked like some asteroids she had been to, but worse: an asteroid is normally devoid of life, but everywhere here were signs of life brought to an end: the blackened branches of dead broom trees, the wind tussling the fur of a dried-out jackrabbit nearby.

Ava Gerges got out of the speeder, cradling a big round basket in one long arm. Varda followed him as he walked a few metres to a place where a bare patch had been cleared in the sandy ground. "Could you hold this for a minute?" Ava Gerges asked, and passed Varda the basket. Whatever was inside was covered with a plain beige cloth. She held the basket with both hands as Ava Gerges reached into his pocket for a pair of gloves.

"Gabran would say we should be wearing life-masks, but we'll only be here a short time," he said apologetically, and bent down to examine the ground and then dig around in it. He pulled out a few round black seeds, no more than half a centimetre each. Standing up, he gently picked them apart, first one, then the others. Varda saw his shoulders slump.

"I collected these seeds at the edge of the Dead Zone," he said. "The poison is weaker there, and some of the broom trees survived. I thought if I planted their seeds here, maybe they could grow, but look..." He held out his long hand to show the seeds nestled in his palm. Varda could see the tiny root that had reached out of the seed-coat but then shrivelled.

"Did you pre-soak the seeds?" she asked.

"Yes, I tried to sow the same ones back at my garden, and they grew without trouble, so even though it was dry I don't think water was the problem. This is the third time I tried. But," he said, letting the seeds fall to the ground and pulling his shoulders straight, "I thought of a way to try again." He held his hands out for the basket, which Varda passed back to him. He took off the cloth that had been covering what was inside.

Inside were nestled little tiny sacs, crocheted from thin dun twine. To Varda's Force-sense, the feel of life in them came very strong in the face of the Dead Zone all around her.

"What are these?" she asked.

Ava Gerges reached into the basket and passed her one. "It's the same seed," he said, "but I thought maybe they need some help, so first I soaked them in water, and then packed them with clean sand from near my house. I mixed in some bits of the roots of another broom tree so that they'll have the microbes they usually grow together with. I thought, maybe, if they can start well, their strength would find itself and they could grow here. But do you have any thoughts for what could help?"

Varda cupped the little crocheted ball in her hands. She could feel the hum of life in the little seed like a faint vibration. She felt somehow protective of it, reluctant to put it in that poisoned ground. Was there anything she could do to help? She closed her hands around the little seed-ball and considered. It had been a while since she had used the technique, but if she focused her energies, she could command the seed to grow. It would almost certainly obey, but what would that prove? She couldn't always be here to command life out of the barren ground, and even if she could, to force another being against its will would in one way or another partake of the Dark Side. Drawing on that power would have ramifications that she didn't want to bring to bear here.

She tuned in more closely to the energy of the seed. It was just waking up. By soaking it in water, Ava Gerges had already drawn it out of slumber. It was awake enough that she could commune with it. Perhaps that was the way.

Wordlessly, she focused her energy, not to command the seed to grow here but to simply ask, to ask without deceit, sharing all that she knew of what indeed it would have to overcome in order to grow in this poisoned ground, but also silently conveying to it why it mattered to the Yemerians to have plants grow here to keep the wind from carrying dust from the Dead Zone any further.

Having shared all this, Varda waited. Almost immediately she felt the hum of life in the seed draw back. She looked at Ava Gerges, but he was already crouched down, gently placing the seed-balls in a little trench he had made in the sand. Varda could sense how badly he wanted this to work, and didn't know what to say. She bent down beside him and looked at the yellow-tan sandy soil.

Back on Takodana, she had vaporized water to hide from the Inquisitor. Here, she tried to summon that same power to move the molecules within the sandy soil, in hopes that she could clear away at least some of the toxins, but they wouldn't move. She tried again, but still nothing.

It was the nature of water to yield, to gladly change from liquid to vapour and back again with only an input of energy. She knew water well in that respect. But these unfamiliar molecules in the soil here on Yemer were awkward and gangly and stubborn. They didn't want to move and didn't want to change.

Varda might have waited longer to learn more first about the nature of those molecules and how to mitigate their effects before trying to plant seeds there in the Dead Zone, but this was Ava Gerges' experiment, not hers. She placed the seed-ball next to the ones Ava Gerges had planted and watched him cover them with sand, hoping that with his loving care they might yet stand some chance. She could not help doubting whether that chance would be enough, but Ava Gerges seemed pleased. "This is the best idea I've had so far," he said to Varda, then as if to the seeds, "I know it's a lot to ask, but..." he let his voice trail off, and looked at the sky. "See that haze? Perhaps we'll have rain tomorrow. That will help."

Varda slowly and stiffly stood up again. "Let us hope for the best," she said, and left it at that for the moment.

As Ava Gerges drove the speeder back out of the Dead Zone, Varda sat thinking over the problem of the Dead Zone. Her shielding meditation was working; anger and depression might prowl the edges of her mind, waiting to pounce later, but for now she was protected behind her mental barrier, free to enjoy a more analytical frame of mind.

It occurred to Varda that the chemicals in the soil had not prevented Ava Gerges' earlier seeds from germinating; they only died after trying to sprout. The life of so many things was like that: a seed, a spore, so many organisms could create propagules that were alive but inactive, dormant, with only the barest minimum of metabolic activity separating them from the realm of the dead. In that state, they could survive heat and cold, chemical assault and sometimes even fire. It was after waking up and starting to grow that they became vulnerable.

She wondered now what sort of life might still be there in the Dead Zone, dormant seeds of plants and spores of fungi and cyanobacteria. That sort of dormant life was hard to sense without deeper meditation than she had had time for in her brief visits to the Dead Zone so far. But it made her think that it would be worth finding out what micro-organisms existed in the living desert, and which of them might still exist in the Dead Zone as spores or other kinds of dormant propagules. It would take a lot of deep Force-work, but perhaps, just maybe there was a way to work with the existing micro-organisms to find a way to break down the toxins in the soil. It was a tall order, and not a technique she was familiar with, but she had met Jedi who could do things like that, communing even with bacteria and fungi, guiding them to adjust their biochemical activity in order to achieve some good purpose. If she could connect with those types of micro-organisms, they might be better able than the broom seeds to adjust themselves to accomplish the decontamination that was needed.

Varda checked herself. Learning how to Force-connect with organisms deep in their dormancy would be challenging at best, especially without a guide, and accomplishing the sorts of transformation needed in the dormant organisms would be a long-shot at best. But she reasoned that if she kept her expectations of herself realistic, it would be still better to try than not.

Somewhere just beyond her mental shields she could almost hear anger and depression trying to claw a way in, but for the time being, she remained in a space where she could think, plan and form intentions. She decided to make sure to get some samples of uncontaminated soil as well as the samples she'd taken from the Dead Zone with Dr. Gunma the day before. Perhaps, back on Nechako, having these samples would allow her to sit with a piece of Yemer and get the Force-feel of the micro-organisms there. Perhaps there was a lab where she could send a sample for analysis, in order to scientifically determine what species were present.

As they drove back along the rough road, the gaunt forms of dead broom trees and crumbled exoskeletons of cacti spines gradually gave way to living desert: first a few straggly grasses and stalwart broom seedlings, then the full tapestry of the desert with its sagebrush and multi-lobed cacti, birds sometimes flying out of the way of the oncoming speeder. After the Dead Zone, it was lush beyond imagining.

"What are your thoughts?" Ava Gerges asked.

"About the soil contamination problem? I think...I think it was wise of you to try incorporating soil with the right micro-organisms into the seed balls. I'll be interested to see how that works."

"But I take it you have other ideas?"

"I am wondering whether it would be wise to work first solely with fungi and bacteria first. Plants are not usually particularly adept at breaking down toxins. Sometimes they can be resistant, but..." she trailed off, not quite wanting to tell Ava Gerges point blank that his experiment probably wouldn't work. "But fungi are the the real masters of biochemistry. For almost any chemical, somewhere in the galaxy there is a fungus that can break it down. If we can find a species, or a combination of species capable of breaking down these toxins, or if we can find a way to work with the local micro-organisms to do so, then that might lay the foundation for plants to grow later."

"That's fascinating!" Ava Gerges stroked his sparse beard while keeping one hand on the steering console. "I hadn't thought of anything like that, but if it could work, that would be excellent! I'll admit I'm a little nervous about Gabran's idea of bringing that monster plant here," he added ruefully.

"I'm nervous about using kudzura myself too, though I can't rule out the possibility that it may have some role here, if they can design a genotype that does in fact confer resistance to the various toxins here. Sometimes a multi-pronged approach is needed. But I definitely want to explore the possibility of using some sort of fungal or bacterial bio-remediation."

"We will certainly be grateful for your attempt," Ava Gerges said.

They fell silent again, but the silence was not awkward. Varda went back to thinking: there was a soil analysis method she remembered from an earlier project...

"I hope I'm not being too forward to ask," Ava Gerges said tentatively, "but I wonder if I might ask your thoughts regarding the more...personal aspect of this project?"

Varda blinked for a moment before realized what he was talking about. She instinctively checked her mental shields. They held, for the moment at least. "Yes, I've been thinking about that," she said.

"I hope we are not putting too much pressure on you, asking for your help in a project like this. It's only been a week or so, you said, since you left Hokto. From what you've told me so far, I would imagine you have a great weight of your own to carry, without taking on our troubles also. If you find that you need to focus rather on your own healing, no one here will think the worse of you for it. You are always welcome here with us whether you help us with the Dead Zone or not."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," Varda said, and meant every word of it. "But I think it would drive me insane to be idle right now. Wasn't it Ava Shio who said that work is good medicine for the soul?" She tried to make the last bit sound light-hearted.

"It can be," Ava Gerges said tentatively. "But you're a Jedi, after all. I can hardly imagine that you think this is a mere science project. You know that the energies of a person remain expressed in their work, and the person who did this..." he stopped and shook his head. "I fear that dealing with the energies of that person may demand more or you than you expect."

Varda felt her mental shields crack just a little and willed them to hold a little longer. She gave a sigh of resignation before she answered. "I can't say I doubt that you're right. I'll be frank with you: I believe I know who did this and she has done no small harm in other quarters also. She..."

Varda paused. She found herself reluctant to take Ry Kyver's name on her lips or to reiterate the particulars, but she remembered what Dr. Gunma had said about Ava Gerges having some ability to sense people's thoughts and to read something of the stories woven around them in the Force, and so she opened the windows of her mind to him, freely showing him everything she didn't want to use words to explain.

Ava Gerges face, still intent on the way ahead, showed pain but no surprise. Varda wondered how much he had already read in her.

"I have not yet told the others yet, and would request that you do the same, but I have information from a reliable source that your intuition about who created the Dead Zone is correct."

Varda shifted uncomfortably in her seat and said nothing.

"And yet you want to do this project?" Ava Gerges asked.

"I've asked myself that many times, and I can only say that I am not willing to give up without trying, whatever energies I may encounter in it. I have already agreed to help in two other cases where she lies at the root of the harm, and so what good would it do to refuse to help you here?"

"If you are persuaded in your own mind," Ava Gerges said, "I will not attempt to convince you otherwise. But please, don't push yourself beyond what you can bear. It's good to work, but also good simply to be well, insofar as one can be. Our own wellbeing is a gift we offer both to ourselves and to everyone around us."

In a strange way it almost hurt Varda to hear him say that; it was so long since she'd had anyone older or wiser to offer this sort of encouragement to her, or this sort of warning.

"I will try," she said. "Do you have any advice you would offer me?"

Ava Gerges tapped his fingers on the steering console, thinking for a minute. "I was thinking about that after we spoke yesterday," he said. "There are a few things I had hoped to share with you."

As the speeder raced along under the ever-hotter sun, Ava Gerges pressed a button to open a window, and let the wind whistle through it for a minute before he spoke any further.

"This might sound far too simple, but I'll begin here for the very reason that it's simple: do try to move your body regularly as much as you can. I used to walk a hundred kilometres in a day sometimes in the year or so after I heard that the monastery had been destroyed. But even if you can't walk much, anything will do: some rhythmic arm movements, anything really. The bilateral stimulation will help your subconscious to process what you are feeling."

Varda nodded. Lightsabre practice was, in part, training to let emotions flow out of one's body and away.

Ava Gerges took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We both come out of traditions that strengthen us but also make our present time harder for us in a way. For you Jedi, the ideal is dispassion; for a Siluan, it is love even for our enemies. I have no intention to disparage these teachings; they are indeed the way in which we are called to live. But in the face of all we have been through, it can be harmful to expect ourselves to live up to these teachings all at once. I strongly recommend that whatever you feel, whether guilt or grief or anger, sadness or even hate, whether you are overwhelmed with feeling or feel nothing at all, tell yourself that what you are experiencing within yourself is quite natural. All of these emotions or lack thereof are very natural ways for the psyche to react. I'm not saying we should wallow in hate or anger more than we can help – quite the contrary – but insofar as you can, be gentle with yourself and accept your feelings as natural."

Varda considered this. "I see how it's natural," she said, "but even what is natural can be hard to bear."

"Yes," Ava Gerges said, a little sadly. "That is also true."

They fell quiet again, and neither spoke until the low mound of Ava Gerges' home was visible in the distance.

"In seeking to be well," Ava Gerges said at length, "I think it's important to remember that it is no simple thing to walk away from our past. Not that all of our past needs to be walked away from, but there are usually elements in a person's past – wrongs done, people hurt, so on – that were in some big or small way a participation in the Dark Side of the Force. These haunt a person, whether consciously or unconsciously, and make it very difficult to be well in any real sense, because they remain with us and bind us to the destroying energies of the Dark Side."

Ava Gerges paused as if reflecting on something he was not yet sure how he wanted to say. Varda made no comment, but waited, ready to listen; she knew all too well about being haunted in this way.

"It should not surprise us, I think, that the past stays with us," Ava Gerges continued. "We know that in the Force the past is still there to be read by one who is able to read it, but not only that. Our neural wiring and, I'd told, even the molecular tags on our very DNA all bear the imprint of our experience. And what is written in our minds and bodies echoes always in the Force around us, and what is written in the Force around us echoes in our minds and bodies. None of that changes right away, even if we make a change of life.

"I say this to acknowledge reality, not to be discouraging. On the contrary. What I want to say by all of this, is that if you would like, I would like to invite you to take part in one of our rituals. Are you familiar with the Rite of Bond-breaking?"

"I believe I've heard of it," Varda said, "but heard of it only. What is it?" In all her visits to the monastery, she had paid far more attention to the Siluans' philosophical teachings than to their ritual practice.

"In our experience, and in the experience of the Siluans who have gone before us, this ritual lies at the heart of how we seek to be free from the energies of the Dark Side. I hope it will not sound unduly simple to you, but what it is is this: in the presence of another person – ideally an Elder – we acknowledge everything in which we are aware that we took part in the Dark Side. For species such as yours and mine, we usually do this both by either speaking or signing and also by writing, and then there are some other details that aid in freeing us from the energies of those wrongs and harms, intentional and unintentional, in which we have taken part. Would you like me to carry out the Rite with you?"

For a moment Varda wasn't quite sure what to say, even though she had nothing to hide from Ava Gerges at this point. On one hand, whatever she felt she needed to acknowledge she had already acknowledged in their conversation the day before. Yet having come to the monastery for healing, it also stood to reason that she should waste no opportunity to receive it while she was here.

"I would be willing to give it a try," she said. "When were you thinking we would do this?"

"Do you have anything you want to say besides what you told me yesterday?"

"Not that I can imagine," Varda said.

"Then perhaps soon after we get back? We usually pair rituals like this with the time of the Chants, and if we do it just after the Noonday Chant it will leave just enough time for a little rest after getting back."

"I could do that," Varda ventured, feeling inexplicably nervous.

"Please don't feel nervous," Ava Gerges said. "It's very important when we do this to do it with simplicity and humility, or to put it in a more Jedi way, with dispassion. It's normal to feel shame, but we do our best to avoid any sort of frantic guilt or toxic shame. Just state simply and plainly those things you feel the need to bring to the Rite."

Varda wasn't entirely sure that spoke to why she had a vaguely unsettled feeling in her stomach, but she thanked him all the same.

# # # # #

Back at Ava Gerges' house, after serving a little water to drink, he handed her a stylus and a piece of paper. The stylus was unlike one Varda had ever used: a hollow woody stalk of some plant she didn't know with a thin piece of carbon graphite down the middle. The paper, which crinkled softly as she took it in her hand, was more familiar. Taupe-beige and coarsely cross-hatched with visible pieces of plant fibre, it was exactly like the paper she had seen Siluan monastics make from reeds that grew by the great river three days' walk from the old monastery.

"If you find you need more time, we can also do it at the Evening Chant," Ava Gerges said.

"No, the Noonday Chant should be fine," Varda said. She was hoping to spend the afternoon taking a rest and then helping in the garden, and didn't really want this unknown ritual hanging over her head all day.

"Alright, then. I'll ring the singing-stick when it's time, in about an hour. Where will you be?"

Varda looked around Ava Gerges' little home. It was cozy there and much cooler than outdoors, but she somehow felt the need to be in her own space. "I might go back to my room," she said.

"Yes, I think I will retire for awhile myself," he said, then added: "If you're too warm, do help yourself to the clothes in the closet."

Varda thanked him and went out, making her way along the narrow path through desert scrub that led to the little wicker door in the side of the earthen mound next to Ava Gerges' and down into the cool, quiet clay-smell of the room where she had spent the last night.

Inside, she went straight to the wooden desk at the end of the bed. She set the paper and stylus down on the desk in front of her and pulled up the chair, then looked for a moment out one of the little round windows before putting stylus to paper and starting to write.

It wasn't hard to make a list. Varda had had more than enough time for soul-searching in the past few weeks. There was only the chirp of insects outside and the scratchy whisper of the graphite stylus on paper as she wrote down the obvious: her anger at the clones and its fatal result, the cowardice and selfishness of staying behind on Hokto while Eo went off alone. It did not take much additional thought to add other points: her long grudges against members of the Jedi High Council, individually and collectively; her refusal to engage with the Force for much of her time on Hokto; her indifference to the fate of the galaxy and to her own duty when she ran off to hide in a place where she thought no one could find her.

Varda stopped and looked at her list, all those little grey scratches on beige paper, her handwriting awkward from long disuse. The list had everything and yet she felt somehow as if she had left out something important. After staring at the list, tapping the end of the stylus against the desk for a while, she got up and went to the window.

As good as the conversation with Ava Gerges had been, talking about Ry had left her feeling rattled. She tried to breath deeply to calm herself.

The window looked out over Ava Gerges' garden, all laid out in multiple round hollows where plants could grow protected from the wind. Beyond that was desert scrub and beyond that, the Dead Zone. She couldn't see it, but she could feel it now, a hollow ache in the Force. It pulled at her like a black hole, drawing her mind out of the present and down into deep wells of memory.

When she heard a woman's voice snicker in her mind and then give a cruel laugh, louder and louder, Varda knew her mental shields were broken. She stared out the window at the desert but saw only Ry Kyver's grey face, yellow eyes flashing in the lamplight, watched again as she twisted her hands in the air, heard Eo scream, heard that awful sound of...

As swift and as strong as a Force-push, Varda thrust Ry Kyver violently from her mind. Caught up in the momentum this inner energy came a flow of pure hate, imageless but intoxicating. In made Varda's heart pound in her chest. Her breath came ragged.

"Varda, are you coming?" Ava Gerges' voice came from outside. It was only then that Varda realized she had in fact heard him ring the singing-stick without actually registering the fact that it was in any way relevant to who she was or what she was doing now.

Forcing a deep breath, Varda picked up her piece of paper and on second thought remembered to bring the stylus also. "Yes, I'm coming," she said.

Coming up the steps out of the guest house, the heat of the day hit Varda full in the face. She shielded her eyes from the sun, now at its zenith, and looked around for Ava Gerges. He was standing over by the tall cactus where they had done the morning chant, looking up into the sky.

Varda did not hurry as she went to join him. Her hip hurt, for one, and she felt tense and unsettled. It was time for the Noonday Chant, but she was in no mood for either prayer or devotion.

From under his bushy eyebrows, Ava Gerges gave Varda a concerned look as she finally stump-stepped up to join him in the circle of bare ground.

"Are you alright?" his look seemed to ask.

Varda coughed into her fist. "I'm here," she said.

Ava Gerges looked her face over and then looked at the beige paper she clutched in one hand. He gave a short nod as if to say, alright then, and raised his hands to the sky.

The Noonday Chant was not unlike the Morning Chant: verse after verse spoke of seeking Light and turning from Darkness. But where the Morning Chant spoke of beginning a new day and leaving the failings of the past day behind, the Noonday Chant spoke of perseverance, referencing the oppressive heat of noonday and the fatigue of work yet incomplete. Varda tried to listen, but couldn't help shifting her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. It wasn't just her bad hip.

The Chant was at least fifteen minutes long, and at times Varda's mind wandered. She clutched her paper list in sweaty palms, wishing she had availed herself to the cooler clothes Ava Gerges had mentioned in the closet of the guest-house, and wishing she hadn't agreed to the ritual that was to come. But then she scowled at herself. She had precious little time to spend on Yemer before going back to Nechako and so she forced her mind to follow the words, trying to will herself to rest in the rise and fall of Ava Gerges' voice: now that we have come to the zenith of our sun, and but halfway through the work of day, let us not tire of doing good though all our Dark rise up to fight within us... Sweat trickled down her back, and Varda found it easier to focus on the rhythmic chirp of insects.

When the Chant was finished, Ava Gerges cleared his throat and shifted so that he stood facing her, a little more than arm's length away. He caught her eye. "Do you still want to do this?" he asked.

Varda looked down at the paper in her hands, half-crumpled now but her awkward cursive was still readable. She resisted an urge to crumple it completely. There was no point in coming to Yemer for healing and then refusing to receive it.

"Yes, I'll do it," she said, and swallowed hard.

"Then let us begin," Ava Gerges replied, and then his voice changed, shifting to somewhere between speaking and chanting: "Speak, bringing your Darkness to Light, hiding nothing, that all may be healed."

Varda looked down at her list and began to read, carefully looking down at the dusty ground and not at Ava Gerges. In her own ears, her voice sounded stilted and awkward. She read off her few items. None of what she had to say was any small thing in itself, yet the list felt too short. Finished, she waited to see what would happen next in the ritual.

Ava Gerges, too, waited. "Is that everything?" he asked.

Varda sighed through her nose, a hot feeling in her breath and in her chest. Her heart was the engine of a war machine setting out against Ry Kyver. All that hate, she knew, belonged as a line of on that piece of paper, inscribed with the sound of the graphite stylus against the paper whispering her willingness to let it go as she wrote it down for the ritual.

Varda knew then that she did not in fact want to let her hate go. A little spark inside her spoke otherwise: not quite wanting to let her hate go but wanting to want to, wanting the freedom that would come with this. Killing that spark would itself, on some level, be satisfying, but it killing that spark within herself would also partake of Dark. Varda knew that when she left this place, she would have more than enough to burden her without more Dark clinging to her. The point of the ritual, after all, was to be well, to be free.

Varda looked down at her list again. It already included the chain reaction from the last time she held on to anger and hate: angry with the Council for a hundred small disagreements, resentful at the decision to join the War, she was in no place to handle the onslaught of Dark that came with combat. Dislike of the clones, deep anger at a very real failing, and she took lives she should have protected. Ashamed and yet still resentful, she chose to hide, and unwilling to leave hiding, she sent Eo off alone.

Varda cleared her throat. "There is someone I hate deeply, and I lack any willingness to let it go. That unwillingness to let go is itself a participation in the Dark Side," she said, her voice coming freely now, and waited. Ava Gerges waited too. "And that is all," Varda added.

Ava Gerges said nothing, but opened a rough brown bag that Varda only then noticed he held slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a blackened iron pot, placed it out the ground and lifted the lid, revealing a nest of short sticks and thin twigs inside. He took a leather pouch from the pocket of his cassock, opened it and unwrapped a small piece of leather from around a dark grey piece of flint and a metal striker. Varda remembered tools like these well from her life on Hokto.

From the leather pouch came also three squares of brittle, blackened cloth, which Ava Gerges placed on top of the piece of leather, which he cupped in one hand, the piece of flint deftly held perpendicular. There was a sharp crack three times as Ava Gerges hit the flint with the metal striker, and of the many sparks that flew one caught the black cloth. A red ring spread out from that centre as Ava Gerges gently breathed life into it, adding a pinch of unravelled old twine that first smouldered thick grey smoke and then finally burst into flame. He added this to the pot, and soon Varda could feel the heat of the burning twigs against her face.

"When you are ready," Ava Gerges said, "you may give your list up to the flame."

Varda hesitated, wondering whether it mattered that she didn't actually write down the last thing she had said, but decided to trust Ava Gerges' judgement. She reached down to poke the beige piece of paper into the fire. It caught even before it left her hand. She let it fall into the flames, then watched it curl and blacken until nothing was left in the iron pot but grey ash and a few charred sticks.

There was a slight sound of metal grating against metal as Ava Gerges replaced the iron lid. Then he turned to face Varda, and placed the palm of his long hand on her forehead.

He spoke, half chanting, "May all that is broken be healed, and may your Darkness be turned to Light.

He withdrew his hand, but on her forehead Varda felt a point of brightness begin to glow and spread all through her like sunlight at the dawn of day, washing through her like rain. She stood a straighter, feeling realigned, adjusted in a way that she hadn't even realized was off-kilter. She felt small but she felt clean and she felt well in a way that she had not felt in years.

Varda met Ava Gerges' eyes for a moment and he smiled. She ducked her head and mumbled thanks.

Ava Gerges shrugged. "Well, that's why you came," he said and motioned for them to walk back towards his house. "I'll warn you that this isn't mechanical. The Dark Side is not easily rooted out of any of us. But every time we do this, we weaken its grip a little more."

# # # # #

After a short lunch and a long nap, Varda changed into lighter clothes that she borrowed from the guest-house closet, and then went out into the garden.

Time in the garden was, as much as anything, what she had hoped for at the monastery, and the afternoon did not disappoint. Ava Gerges' garden was a hundred or so saucer-shaped hollows in the ground west of the living quarters, each three metres across, cupped in the ground to gather moisture and to provide shelter from the wind. She had to walk carefully because of her bad hip, but she spent the afternoon going from one to the next pruning fragrant shrubs and planting seeds of desert-hardy peas and beans.

"The rainy season is coming, so we have to be ready," Ava Gerges explained to her before leaving her to her work. Varda knew that this part of Yemer had two rainy seasons, but on that day it was hard to believe that either would ever come. The sky, so often a dull yellow from dust carried on the high winds, was a beautiful clean teal. From the bottom of each hollow she saw nothing but a ring of wild-growing broom and sagebrush from the uncultivated spaces between the hollows, that and the empty sky.

The afternoon felt so suspended in time that Varda was surprised when she heard the woody sound of Ava Gerges beating the singing-stick and came up from one of the hollows to see Yemer's sun already near the horizon. She wiped her hands and went as quickly as she could to join Ava Gerges over by the big cactus for the Evening Chant.

She was even more surprised, when she got there, to find Ava Gerges talking with a brown-cloaked Yemerian, who themselves looked at Varda with a flash of recognition.

"Varda, Gabran mentioned you had met Cheethwet, Cheethwet, I believe you've met Varda,"Ava Gerges said, motioning to each as he re-introduced them.

Bows were exchanged. Ava Gerges looked at the setting sun, so near the line of hills on the horizon, and then said to Cheethwet, "Perhaps we should get started. They can still join us for the meal if they come late."

But Cheethwet reached up and tugged at the sleeve of Ava Gerges' cassock, pointing to the rocky lowland to the south. A vehicle was emerging from the rocky outcroppings and speeding towards them.

Varda shaded her eyes with one hand to get a better look. She was surprised to see the hover-van ambulance she had arrived in the day before.

"The other members of the monastery are joining us," Ava Gerges said. "Today is a special day. Cheethwet has made a decision to join the monastery, and so after the Chant we will share a special meal."

Varda looked at the little lizard-person with heightened appreciation. "I'm honoured to be here for the occasion," she said.

Cheethwet looked away demurely, eyes lidded in Yemerian modesty.

The careening hover-van soon pulled up to an abrupt halt not far from where she and Ava Gerges and Cheethwet stood. Out tumbled Dr. Gunma, now in a beige monastic robe instead of medical scrubs, along with a middle-aged Twilek woman, light purple, in a long grey cassock. Each of them wore an uncarved stone pendant on a rough cord, the symbol of the Siluans.

"Varda, of course you have met Ane Gabran. And this is Ane Nami, Nami, this is Varda." Ava Gerges gestured to Varda and to the Twilek in turn.

Varda and Ane Gabran – Dr. Gunma – nodded to each other. Having known him first as doctor, she would get used to his monastic title eventually.

"Varda so good to see you again!" the Twilek monastic gushed, grey-green eyes full of glad recognition.

"Nami, good to see you again also." Varda gave a slight bow. She didn't have to fake the warmth in her voice, glad to see another member of the monastery still alive and well, but she wracked her brain and still couldn't remember meeting this person.

Introductions made, Ava Gerges cleared his throat. They all stood, facing east with the evening sun now on their backs, and Ava Gerges began, "Day is ending, let us pray. Day is ending, let night catch no-one unawares..."

The Evening Chant was different from the morning, not only because the words spoke of rest and of accepting the ups and downs of the day that had been and of the sun's renewal in the coming day, but it was also different because there were multiple voices now: Ava Gerges, who didn't know his ancestral language, chanted in Basic, alternating lines with Cheethwet, who chanted in Yemerian and beat out a simple rhythmic refrain on the singing-stick at the end of each verse. Some verses were chanted by Ane Nami in Attur-Ryl, a dialect of some Twilek minority cultures, and Ane Gabran, in his deep baritone, sang in a language that, to Varda's surprise, could only be Mando'a. To Varda, this really felt like the old monastery, where prayers were carried out not only in Galactic Standard Basic but also in the many languages of the people who had joined the monastery and made it their home. Not knowing the words well enough, Varda kept silent, but her heart sang with them.

"Tonight we will have a special meal," Ava Gerges said when the Evening Chant was over and the sun was buried beneath the horizon.

They made their way back to Ava Gerges' house. Inside, a large low table had been set out, covered in a beige tablecloth and lit by a large oil-lamp hanging from the ceiling. On the table were several different dishes: a basket of Yemer cakes, a plate of what looked like seasoned grubs, a dish of large tear-shaped seeds, a pitcher of Vitalis and in the middle, a small wicker basket covered in a blue cloth.

They all knelt on the floor around the table, and Cheethwet carefully took the blue cloth off the basket in the centre of the table, revealing several round spongy-looking cakes, each pale yellow with a spot of what looked like red jam in the middle. It was obvious that they were something special, though Varda didn't know what.

As soon as Ava Gerges had spoken a blessing over the food, Cheethwet looked at Varda and then turned to Ane Gabran, the most fluent second-language speaker of Yemerian present, and asked him a short question.

"Cheethwet is asking whether you understand the Yemerian life cycle," he told Varda.

"A little only," Varda said to Cheethwet. "Your bodies change from male to female at some point, I believe. Or at least, that is usually the case."

Cheethwet nodded, and then motioned to the doctor-monk as if asking him to explain.

"I'm sure you're aware that not all Yemerians have the same culture," Dr. Gunma said, "but the Yemerians of the desert plains and foothills near here share a practice in which the period of the Shift, as they call it, is a time for solitude and personal reflection, a time for considering what shape their life will take in the next stage of their maturity as they transition to becoming egg-layers. If everyone has kept the traditions, when the Shift is complete and they lay their first egg, it is unfertilized and, while it may sound strange to foreigners, they use that egg to make a special type of cake with insect flour, called..." he made a multi-syllable series of clicks and whistles that Varda didn't quite follow and then gestured to the basket of yellow cakes. "For those who will go on to mate and to be child-bearers, the cakes are shared with those with whom they will form a child-rearing pod. But if they choose the way of monasticism, they share the cakes with those who will be their fellow monastics."

"I see," Varda said uncertainly, though she was not disturbed by this ritual. She knew of several mammalian cultures in which birthing mothers shared meals made of their placenta, and this egg ritual seemed no different: on a practical level, the nutrients were not wasted; on a more spiritual level, the birth-giver shared their creative energies with those who formed their community. To share in this was no small thing. Not being part of Cheethwet's community, Varda felt uncertain as to whether she qualified to share in the meal.

Cheethwet, seeing Varda's uncertainty, spoke to Ava Gerges.

"Cheethwet and I spoke earlier. You're welcome to share," Ava Gerges said. "You have been a visitor to the monastery for quite some time, relative your lifespan at least. You have shared our teachings with the young and you have shared in our rituals and you have agreed to share in our work, so are are what we call Siluan-ji, a friend of our ways, and so you belong with us."

"Thank you, I am honoured," Varda said, bowing slightly, humbled and deeply grateful.

Cheethwet passed the basket of cakes around, taking theirs last and holding it out in both hands, a gesture which Dr. Gunma imitated and the others follow suit. Cheethwet spoke a short phrase in Yemerian. "I bring of my life to share with you," Dr. Gunma translated. He replied to Cheethwet with a short phrase of Yemerian, then said to the others, "It's hard to translate, but it means something like 'we will all share our work.'" The others repeated this, Ava Gerges with confidence and the others more uncertainly, and then Cheethwet motioned for them all to take the first bite.

Varda bit carefully into the yellow cake, holding one hand under it to catch any crumbs. It was moist yet spongy. There was a distinctive taste of what Varda could only describe as egg, which was a little odd to her alongside nutty undertones reminiscent of Yemer cakes; she concluded they must be made with the same type of insect powder. Yet the cakes were also mildly sweet, a wild sort of sweetness that reminded Varda of honey, blended with something herbal that tasted of licorice, or perhaps fennel or anise, and it left a distinct fragrance in her mouth.

It was customary, at the monastery, for meals to be taken in silence, but as Varda finished the last bite of the small cake and glanced at the faces around the table, she could sense a solemnity deeper than any mere custom. For her own part, at first it had felt uncomfortably intimate to share in so personal a food as this, but that soon gave way to a deep sense of what the food was made for: connection, and commitment to a shared life. She was responsible to this place and these people now, and pledged herself to honour that in all her efforts to heal the Dead Zone.

The rest of the meal followed: roasted gourd seeds, Yemer cakes with cactus jam, toasted grubs season with herbs and a little clay cup of Vitalis each to drink. According to custom, they took turns reading aloud from a sacred text, The Sayings of Ava Shio in this case, while the others ate.

Varda had hoped to speak further with the two from the hospital, but when the meal was finished, Ane Gabran – Dr. Gunma – and Ane Nami – Dr. Unayat – soon got up to leave.

"We're so sorry we can't stay!" Ane Nami said, looking most of all at Varda as she spoke. "But we shouldn't have both of us away from the hospital too long. Do come to see us again soon, though!"

"We had to come for this, though," Dr. Gunma said, adjusting the cowl of his robe to cover his head against the cool of night before he stepped outside. "According to Siluan ritual, we still have to do the ceremony to tonsure Cheethwet as a monastic. That will have to wait since we need more than one Elder to do it, but as far as Cheethwet's culture is concerned, the choice has been made. So for all practical purposes, Cheethwet is one of us now," he explained to Varda.

After the sound of the hover-van was gone, Ava Gerges and Cheethwet and Varda sat down to an evening of quiet work, cracking open little gourds and dropping the green tear-shaped seeds into a large bowl. Ava Gerges mm-hmmed while Cheethwet gave a rather animated tale, hands gesturing broadly at times and busy with shelling gourds at others. Varda couldn't understand, but didn't mind being silent. She knew she was included here and it was nice to enjoy the sound of another's voice without having to think of anything to reply. She did notice, though, that Cheethwet kept looking at her, and eventually addressed what could only be a question directly to her.

"Cheethwet wants to know whether you can make fire," Ava Gerges said.

"Of course, I lived without artificial power for several years."

Cheethwet shook their head, tsk-tsk-ing to say that was not what they meant.

"I think Cheethwet means, can you make fire using the Force." Ava Gerges paused his work, an uncracked gourd poised in his hands.

"Oh," Varda said, "it's been a long time since I used that technique, but yes. How come?"

Cheethwet clapped their hands together excitedly. Ava Gerges looked both intrigued and relieved, and cracked open the gourd, seeds falling with quick staccato into the bowl. "Cheethwet was relating to me the story of Ava Goko, who is something of a local hero. Apparently when the time came for them to take their vows, there was only one Elder – this was a very long time ago, before the monastery was so large – but according to some ancient custom, they were able to proceed with the ceremony because there was a Jedi who was a friend of the monastery and who could make fire. Fire made by the Force alone can stand in for the second Elder. And so...is that something you'd be willing to do?"

"Of course!" Varda exclaimed. "When should I come?"

Ava Cheethwet looked down at Cheethwet, considering. Cheethwet suggested something in Yemerian.

"That would work," Ava Gerges said. "There is a festival in memory of the arrival of Ava Mannath, at the end of the rainy season. I'll check the almanac and get you an exact date. We can do it then."

"Excellent! I'll come, or at least, I'll ask the person who is currently helping me with transportation if there's a way that I could come."

Ava Gerges gave a vague wave of his hand. "The exact date is not important. If you can come for that day, good, if not, we can hold the ceremony on another."

With that, they settled into an easy rhythm of work, conversation and comfortable silence. When all the gourd seeds had been collected, Ava Gerges brought out shallow baskets of clay he had dug out from the space beneath his house and they all sat rolling the gourd seeds into seed-balls to plant out in time for the coming rainy season.

As Varda moulded the cool clay around the dark green seeds and rolled each into a small sphere, she looked around the circle of light cast by the lamp that hung from the ceiling above them, looking first at the others' calm faces, then at their busy hands: Ava Gerges with his long spidery fingers, Pau'an grey-brown, picking up a pinch of gourd seeds; Cheethwet rolling seed-balls in scaly hands, greenish grey with a touch of gold that caught the light as they moved, keeping their short fingers splayed out so that their stubby claws didn't mar the surface of the clay. Varda looked down at her own hands too, human-proportioned and a human shade of brown, wrinkled with age, and felt a sense of kinship and belonging that she hadn't felt in decades.

It cannot be said that Varda no longer felt sad; she wished poignantly that Eo could have shared in this. But sitting there in the circle of the lamplight, she felt a small glow in the centre of her chest. She wasn't sure exactly when it had started, but she could feel it spread through her chest and out into her whole body.

In that moment, Varda knew she was loved.