~13~
Verina
"Have I hit it close to the mark?" Lilandra asked Cace, and basked in his pleased grin when he nodded.
"Our perspective is somewhat different, and a lot more interesting, though," he said. "If it is alright with Verina, I will make arrangements to have a telling tonight. That is … well, you did plan on staying, right?"
What *was* that roguish sparkle in his eyes? The way he talked, it almost seemed as though he had been expecting their arrival. But then again, he was a Jedi, and likely a strong one at that. There was no reason for them not to assume that he hadn't foreseen this long ago.
"If it's not too much trouble," Lilandra answered quickly, and glanced at Luke for confirmation. He smiled his agreement.
"We *have* come an awfully long way," he said. "However – who is this Verina of whom you speak?"
"She is the oldest person in the Whilldom – over a hundred years old. No one knows exactly for sure. Age is a ruse, Verina feels, and she discourages its use as a descriptive tool. Ageism, I've heard tell, is a problem *out there*," Cace replied.
He said *out there*, presumably meaning the galaxy, with a certain degree of fear, an uncertainty of the uncertain, really.
Lilandra laughed at this.
Cace shrugged. "Instead of using ageist stereotypes, we look upon birth-days as another year lived successfully, not a number on a time scale."
"But do you *know* your actual ages?" asked Jaina, also giggling.
"Of course," Cace replied, with a knowing smile. "Each of us keeps track, somehow. I keep a tally underneath my bed frame."
"And how old *are* you?" Lilandra prompted, grinning more because Cace had referred to his bed frame than because the idea of keeping secret tallies of your own age was amusing.
"Assuming I've counted right, twenty-three years of age," Cace said, and to her delight, actually winked at her, drawing a shocked stare from Mara.
"*Twenty-three!*" she mouthed, and Lilandra grinned smugly, as if to say, "I told you so."
"Verina has never kept any tally, however," Cace was saying. "If she knew about the tallies, she'd be angry, so I'd appreciate if you'd keep that little fact quiet. She's devout in her teachings, but I suppose a good leader must be devout. She is nonetheless very wise, and *very* mysterious, and *very* powerful. Personally, I think she believes that if she doesn't think about how old she is, it won't catch up with her."
"Fascinating," Luke said. "So she's your leader?"
"Keeper," Cace corrected him, but nodded anyway.
Cace had begun to lead them now through the spirals of dwellings towards the center courtyard, and all around them, people stared as though all eight of them had sprouted two extra heads.
Cace greeted several people along the way, including a group of three girls who couldn't have been more than about sixteen, all of whom turned bright red and giggled secretively amongst themselves, their heads pressed together. Closer to the fire, two men dressed in clothes almost identical to him raised their hands and inclined their heads in greeting, their eyes flicking suspiciously to the missionaries.
Lilandra noticed how similar they all looked – they all had hair of various shades of black and deep brown, luminous eyes of hazel, green, or grayish-blue, and that strange silver skin that gave them an almost god-like sheen. She had faint musings about Whill mating rituals, smiling.
They were a fascinatingly attractive people; the females were all tall and long-legged, and the males were strong and muscular, but of a delicate construction.
Lilandra had already noticed that Cace was indeed typical of this attractiveness. About Luke's height, he had a broad, muscular back, and well-defined arms and thighs that gave Lilandra cause to wonder about his job in the village, so to speak.
"My role in the Whilldri is as a farmer," Cace was explaining to the group – evidently, someone had asked him the same question. "At the time of a child's birth, particularly a male child, it is determined what his role is to be in the future. It's how we have survived, these designations. There are farmers, builders, fishers, hunters, and more specific assignments, such as metalworkers, cobblers, loggers … even fathers are designated from birth. Since all the jobs are of equal importance to our survival, no one here gets ideas above his station."
"What about the women?" asked Jaina the perpetual feminist.
"All of the above, plus seamstresses, pickers, cooks, and even a few female hunters – the ones that are built to run, anyway. Mothers are the most prestigious designation among females, however, an exception to our usual equality. They lead blessed lives."
At this, Lilandra noticed, Mara shifted her weight uncomfortably back and forth from one foot to another, keeping her head uncharacteristically lowered. Lilandra tried, but found it difficult to apply Cace's statement to Mara, the only mother among them.
"Can't people of other designations have children?" Mara queried suddenly, having found an area of conversation that seemed to have touched a nerve within her.
"It has happened, but it is generally frowned upon, just as are births outside of an approved marriage. It's all about population control."
Tara, Anakin, and Jaina all looked pointedly at Lilandra.
"*What*?" she mouthed indignantly, spreading her hands.
"So marriage …"
"Is the primary basis for all relationships," Cace shrugged. "You love someone, you get married. No sex until then, either."
Lilandra busied herself with staring around at the village, knowing full well that Tara and the other youngsters were simply dying to poke her in the ribs and make teasing, sympathetic eyes at her.
"He said *sex*!" Jaina hissed gleefully in Lilandra's ear, and she swore she felt her heart drop into her knees. She took a step away from their delight, and stumbled on the uneven ground, prompting raucous laughter from the girls.
"Can non-designated people get married too, though?" she asked, covering up her clumsy moment.
Cace stared at her, apparently seconds away from laughing. "Yes," he said, and there was a hint of tenderness in his voice. "Of course; we like love."
"Interesting way of doing things they've got around here," muttered Mara under her breath. "Safer."
Luke gave her a teasing smack on the bottom, and she squealed, looking miffed.
"Safer," she said resolutely, and folded her arms over her chest.
After a brief tour of the courtyard, Cace led them away from the circle of the dwellings to the underside of the stone outcropping they had just come down, where a thin curtain of vines trailing down from the cliff's edge above concealed a dwelling that was far larger than any of the others they had passed on the way in. It was of a different construction than the long communal dwelling, which Cace had explained as an indoor dining hall and hospital, in a manner of speaking.
This building was a bungalow, with a slanted overhanging roof that was supported by two majestic columnar tree trunks. These were carved with more of those cryptic runes and willowy dancing figures.
Parting the green ropes, Cace held them aside for the group to pass through, and then let them fall again, enclosing them in shadow and hiding them from the prying eyes of the other Whills.
"Wait here," Cace instructed them, and ventured ahead to the open front door of the dwelling, where two tall, lean Whill women were standing guard alongside the polished columns. They were lavishly clothed in diaphanous white dresses, with robes of rich burgundy draped upon their shapely frames, their waists festooned with a multitude of thin belts of spun gold thread. Lilandra and Jaina exchanged disbelieving glances.
"Wedaika," Lilandra heard Cace say to the round-faced woman on the left. She smiled at him and nodded, and it occurred to Lilandra that Wedaika must be the girl's name.
"Najou." Cace turned to the woman on the right, who did not smile. "Verina estai?"
The woman nodded, and disappeared beyond the shadows of the doorway, her head raised self-importantly, as though she were a page delivering a message to a queen. Cace returned to the group in her absence.
"Did those women get designated to be guards?" Jaina asked. She was beginning to catch on the idea of birthrights.
"Er … no … not exactly," Cace replied, and lowered his voice. "It is not the honorable position that it seems at outward appearance. Verina's watchers are none other than the village women who have had children out of designation or wedlock. They are hidden here, behind the curtain, so that the village is not reminded of the shame they have brought us."
He turned his eyes to Lilandra. "They have a particular sensitivity to generalizations," he said knowingly, his gaze admiring.
"What about their children?" Jaina asked, looking horrified.
"They are given to other families at birth and raised as though they were born of that family. They are never permitted to know their true parents. The women serve Verina until she feels that they have done enough penance. Then, they return to their previous designations, although it is not an easy transition. The woman who just went inside, Najou, just gave birth a month ago. She is still in mourning."
"And her lover? What happened to him?" Lilandra asked.
Cace just gave her a pained look, appearing more than a little uncomfortable as he personally recalled the offending man's fate.
"We hold women in just as high esteem as men here, contrary to your beliefs," was all he said. "Najou's partner has … been dealt his punishment."
Lilandra saw Anakin and Dave exchanging highly unnerved glances.
"Let's just say his fate was the worst a man could possibly imagine," Cace told the group with a meaningful look at Dave and Ani.
"He was killed?" Tara asked dubiously.
"Worse," Cace whispered, but did not elaborate. Lilandra, however, noted that Dave had suddenly placed a hand protectively over the front of his pants.
"No," he breathed, going white.
"Yes," Cace said sternly, then grinned again. "So, hands off the merchandise while you're here."
At that moment, Najou returned, and motioned Cace forward.
"* Hata ye moy, garagakesh*," she hissed sardonically, stony-faced, and pushed him towards the door.
Cace strode ruefully forward, flushing faint pink and lowering his head as he beckoned for the group to follow him into the darkened dwelling.
"What did she say?" asked Lilandra, falling into step beside him.
"She is jealous of my freedom," Cace replied evasively. "Her lover was a friend of mine." He then lapsed into momentary silence.
The inside of the dwelling was quiet and clean, lit by open stone lanterns mounted on the walls of a narrow hallway, in which the group found themselves standing. Cace held up his hand for them to wait, and presently, another serving girl came scurrying up.
She was younger than Najou and Wedaika, with a sweet, round face, pale, sparkly blue eyes, and a cheerful smile. She didn't look much older than the girls Cace had greeted outside in the village, perhaps about fifteen or sixteen, and was not as lavishly dressed as the watchers outside. Rather, she was clothed in a simple white cotton dress that was cut mid-calf and fitted around her minimal bust, with an olive green apron tied around her petite waist.
Cace bent down and kissed her quickly on the cheek, and placed a hand warmly on her bare shoulder.
"This one is not here for the usual reasons," he told the group, grinning. "This is my sister, Ilsa. She is a designated mother, but until she comes of age, she comes here, to learn housekeeping."
"Got quite a way with words, doesn't he," Mara commented dryly in Lilandra's ear. Lilandra smirked.
Ilsa stared at the seven people in front of her, looking taken-aback but accepting enough.
"Outlanders," Cace told her her, and she nodded knowingly, though her eyes seemed to widen with awe as she took in Mara's formidable appearance. "I'll explain later."
"Ay. Te lata ta." Ilsa said. "You can go in now."
She curtseyed hurriedly to her brother and his guests, more out of habit than out of genuine respect, and trotted off down the corridor again. Cace followed.
At the end of the hallway, they found themselves in a small room even more dimly lit than the corridor. The only source of light was a small rectangular window near the ceiling, and a few lumpy candles that were scattered on the floor and the lopsided wooden shelves pushed against the wall. Either Najou or Ilsa had set eight overstuffed, intricately embroidered pillows in a circle before a door on the opposite wall of the room, and Cace waved his hand at them, inviting his guests to sit down.
Lilandra chose a large, hand-sewn cushion in the middle, and sank down into it, crossing her legs. Jaina sat on her right, Cace on her left.
"This is Verina's receiving room," Cace informed them. "She greets everyone in here. I don't think anyone has actually seen the inside of her quarters, not even the watchers."
He pointed through the door facing them, which opened as if on cue. Lilandra tried to peer around the person blocking the doorframe and into the room beyond, but as far as she could tell, it was in pitch darkness. Resolved, Lilandra focused her attention on Verina, who had just entered the dim room, and was surprised by what she saw.
Verina's hair was long, and white and smooth as the snows of the mountain peaks and draped luxuriously from the pointed tridents of a heavy silver headdress that embraced her high forehead. The face beneath it, although characteristically burnished, was very old indeed.
Her chin was prominently pointed; it might have been an attractive feature if it had not been festooned with overlapping wrinkles and a sagging throat, and if she had not looked as though she had not smiled in her entire life. Her lips were even now drawn together in a stubborn frown, and her crystal blue eyes, though undoubtedly her most striking feature, were cold and unfriendly.
Like Najou and Wedaika, she was clothed in a shimmering white gown that hung loosely on a body that seemed comprised mainly of paper skin stretched over hard, pointed bones, and a burgundy sash was slung over her right shoulder, fastened at her narrow hips. It was plain to see that, at one point in time, Verina had probably been an extraordinarily beautiful woman, but she was now so gaunt, so emaciated, it was hard to imagine her otherwise.
She stood before them, her back rod-straight, her shoulders squared, and exhaled slowly as she passed her unforgiving gaze over all their faces. Her breath sounded as dry as a fistful of sand running through a plastic funnel.
"Luke Skywalker," she said, and arched a narrow, white eyebrow.
Luke was about to question her knowledge of his name, but stopped himself. He had already been moderately famous before the exile of the Whills to Terapinn, assuming their calculations were correct.
"I had been wondering when I might see you here, you hero of the Republic, you savior of the wretched and low-down," Verina continued, and there was a hint of sarcastic amusement in her sandpapery voice.
Already, Luke was frowning his most serious farm-boy frown.
"Free your mind of questions," Verina said loosely. "It is I who will be asking the questions."
Luke nodded complacently. Lilandra noticed with a certain sensation of distrust that the woman's voice was free of the accent that both Cace and Ilsa carried in their basic speech.
"So, my dear. How is it that you have come to us here? Heard whispers in the hallways, did you?"
Luke opened his mouth to answer, but Verina interrupted him.
"I suppose even war heroes can't resist gossip every once in a while. I must say, I'm surprised you had the foresight to bring a team with you. Didn't want to hog the glory this time?"
It was hard to tell, but was Verina actually … making fun of him?
"Oh, now, don't look so concerned," she said breezily. "I perfectly understand your pilgrimage. I'm sure you thought you'd stumble across a diminished group of poor, frail excuses for human beings, starving and cold or worse. You brought along a doctor – " she flashed her eyes at Tara, who recoiled, " – how thoughtful of you. I'm sure our little well organized civilization must come as quite a shock to you, but tell me – aren't you pleased? You won't even have to work for your glory this time, Skywalker. It's all laid out for you here. We've already done the dirty work. We're just counting on you to share our secrets with the galaxy."
Lilandra risked a glance at Luke. Until now, she had been staring straight ahead, absorbing Verina's thinly veiled criticisms, but she had to see how Luke was taking it. He was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, his head bowed submissively, listening also. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but Lilandra could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes.
Cace, also, she saw, was looking markedly agitated. His fingers were laced through thick bunches of his dark hair as he stared down at his dusty leather sandals, his palms poised over his ears. She felt a flash of pity for the young man, though she couldn't begin to guess at the source of Cace's fear of Verina.
"That's enough for today, I think," Verina said, shooting a look of pure poison at Lilandra, who stared ahead of her again. "Cace."
Cace rose, and bowed to his leader. His hands were shaking.
"Najou tells me you have requested for your guests to hear our story tonight. I think that is a most excellent idea. Perhaps it will aid them in clarifying their intentions for their stay here."
"Then they have permission to remain in the Whilldom?" Cace asked cautiously, as though hardly daring to believe his ears.
"For as long as they feel is necessary," Verina replied. It sounded as though she was convinced they wouldn't need long to make up their minds and go home. Her cockiness angered Lilandra slightly. "Please feel free to use the four empty dwellings on the outskirts of the circle," she addressed the group serenely.
"Perhaps we'll meet again soon."
"Or perhaps not," Anakin muttered under his breath as Verina breezed back through her door, and the group rose to depart.
Once outside the dwelling, the Yavin crew regrouped in a circle and began talking angrily amongst themselves.
" 'We're just counting on you to share our secrets with the galaxy'," Tara mocked fiercely. "Honestly, where does she get off, talking to you like that, Luke?"
"We didn't even get to tell her about the map, or the Force flickers!" Jaina cried.
"Well, no!" Anakin sighed. "We couldn't get a word in edgewise!"
Cace could see that they were plainly upset, so he stepped in, placing his hands on the shoulders of Jaina and Tara. He seemed to have made a quick recovery upon their return to the fresh air and light. "How would you all like a tour of the village? I know Verina can be a little harsh sometimes, but half of what she says is just senility setting in. She doesn't trust many people since … well … since we came here."
"Do you get many visitors, then?" Lilandra asked bitterly.
"Well … no," Cace admitted, grinning in spite of himself. "I think you just surprised her, that's all. Give her a few days to mull it over. She knows you're all here with good intentions. She just doesn't know what to make of it. She designed this civilization you see before you to be entirely self-sufficient – as if to show Palpatine that we were unaffected by his cruel disposal of us"
"I'll bet Palpatine never figured that these people would *like* it here," Mara mumbled, but she accepted Cace's offer of a tour on behalf of everyone, and turned to her husband.
"Coming, Luke?"
She had noted the pained expression on his face. Everyone had.
"No," he said quietly. "I think maybe I'll head back to the ship and get the rest of our things, if that's alright with everyone?"
The group nodded, and set off to follow Cace, but Mara was not satisfied. Meeting him in three long strides, she slipped her arms around Luke's waist and kissed him softly on the forehead. "Don't worry about it, Luke," she said quietly. "She's a crazy old woman, like me."
Luke smiled sadly, and brushed her hair back from her face. "May the Force help me if you ever get that bad," he joked weakly, and pulled out of her embrace. "Go on, go with the others. I'll be fine."
With that, he turned and walked away up the path, where he was swallowed by the trees and the ever-moving shadows.