"When I look at you,
the way my senses shift,
the way my soul sways...
It's how I know."
-Butterflies Rising
"Mama! Look!"
"What is it Rey?"
Mother bends over me as the petals of the flower unfurl beneath my hand. I look up, expecting to see her smile...
Dead eyes look back at me, blood running down her lips. The choking scent of smoke as the field around me burns.
"Why didn't you save mama Rey? Why?"
I jerk awake, a sob caught in my throat. I stumble out of an unfamiliar bed and rush to the basin where lukewarm water sits and splash it on my face.
My gorge rises and I swallow hard, splashing more water until my coarse shirt is soaked. My feet stand in a small puddle and for once I'm grateful I don't have a proper shift to sleep in.
I wipe my face on the rough towel sitting on the stool. "You are too old for this."
Nightmares again. I have had them since the day my parents were executed, our fields and house left to burn. I should have died as well except Master Kenobi found me and saved me.
A tap at my door.
"Everything all right dear? I thought I heard noises."
The cook and wife of the innkeeper. I met her at supper, a kind woman who made it known men who bothered the serving wenches, or female guests, were unwelcome beneath her roof.
I liked her immediately but now all I wanted was to be left alone.
"I am...fine. Just waking up..."
"I'll leave you to your privacy then. Breakfast is ready to be served."
The sound of footsteps retreating and I hear the faint call of birds. I scrub my face, willing the nightmares to fade.
The acrid taste of smoke lingers in the back of my throat and I storm away from the basin, shoving the shutters open to let the light in. Dawn on the horizon, streaking the sky a brilliant orange. The sounds of the city coming awake. Barks of stray dogs, the clip of a horse's trot and the sound of carts being pulled.
My life burned to ashes ten years ago and still the world goes on.
Enough. You have a job to do, so do it!
I have no time for the dead, for the ghost who won't leave me alone. I turned away from the window, clenching my fist and wished I was anywhere but here. The bustle of the city, the laughter of children and the smiles of indulgent parents is more than what I can deal with when the nightmares return.
I want the solace of the forest or an enemy whose throat I can cut to cull the rage burning in my heart.
Neither is to be had in this city of stone and iron. I shove the tangled mass of hair away from my face and close my eyes, reaching for the stillness in my soul.
Balance. Harmony. Life begets death and death brings forth new life.
Peace. Not rage. Peace...
"Why didn't you save mama Rey?"
I snap my eyes and stumble backwards, hand at my throat. This isn't working and I pull my sodden shirt over my head, feeling the scars across my back ache.
"Enough. Go away, stop haunting me. You're dead. Dead."
I grab my satchel and focus my attention on a mundane task, getting dressed, so I don't have to think.
Don't have to feel. To remember.
"Stockings, under dress, dress."
White, cotton stockings that will make my legs sweat in the heat. I wrap the ribbons around my thighs, making certain they won't slip. Under dress of pale amber, tight bands of brown velvet catch just above the elbow before the sleeves flare outward above my wrists.
The rest of the material hangs loose and I wonder if I have lost weight.
Again.
"Well then, it is good my brothers cannot see me and call me the scarecrow they think I resemble."
I grab the burgundy dress and wrap it around my body, shoving my arms through the sleeveless bodice and quickly cinch it tight so it hugs my chest and lies flat against my stomach. It is well the cords are in the front and not the back otherwise I never would have managed.
Both the under and over dress brush my ankles as I shove my now stocking feet into brown slippers. I wish heartily to wear my boots but it does not fit the style of a 'lady merchant' I am aiming for. I slip the bonetooth comb through my hair, hitting snarls. I yank hard and grit my teeth.
Better this way. Physical pain is easier to manage.
Easier to ignore, to pretend it doesn't exist.
A simple woven braid of three parts down my back and it is done. I have neither the need, nor the want, for cosmetics. I am a simple merchant, not nobility and a painted face without an escort is asking for trouble.
Now dressed I feel calmer, far more in control than when I first awoke. I take a deep breath and face the sun. The orange is fading into pale vermilion with fluffy clouds dotting the sky.
"May the Force be with you my brothers. Wherever you are."
Breakfast is a hurried affair of hot porridge thick with honey and sugar, a biscuit slathered in berry jam washed down by a cool jug of milk. There must be farms near here to sell to the inns for I saw neither cattle nor animals for the slaughter when I arrived.
I pack up my things, wave to the innkeeper and beat a hasty retreat to the stables where I saddle my horse and my wares and look for a decent spot to learn the secrets Leese is hiding.
It is well I made an early start to the day, for the streets are becoming thick with crowds. I found an unobtrusive spot just below the eve of a narrow building not too far from the inn I walked past yesterday. Right now I am in the shade and the wind is cool but I know it will be beastly hot come mid afternoon.
Other merchants are equally set up and I pull out a well-worn piece of plain, black velvet cloth over the wooden table I scavenged for my stand. A bit of nail and hammer from the local tinker to peg on the beams above and I can display my wares to catch the eye.
"Oh, how lovely!"
A passing maiden, a young child on her hip, sucking his thumb. I smile at her and spread my hands.
"Trinkets from Aldea, my lady! Fancy something pretty for your lovely hair or perhaps a token for the child's father?"
Her fingers touch the yellow and saffron ribbons with the sparrow etched in copper.
"Did you find something my love?"
I look up into the pockmarked face of a man who has the same blue eyes as the boy who is squealing with delight now. A homely face but a kind one. The woman, with her lank hair and tired eyes, alight as well.
"I was looking at these but I should not.."
"Nonsense," he scoops up the sparrow ribbon and holds it up to her hair, "when I win the archery tourney tomorrow, I will dress you in fine satin and lace. Wear this for luck."
The woman blushes and my ears prick at his casual words.
"A fine choice sir for your lovely wife." He hands me the two coppers for it and as the woman transfers the boy to his arms so she can plait it into her hair, I chance a question.
"I heard you spoke of a tourney? Forgive me, I have just arrived and am unfamiliar with all that the festival offers."
There, that should do it. A touch of hesitancy, a bit of eagerness.
The man offers me a casual smile, allowing his son to play with the laces on his tunic. "Three days of arms, fair merchant. Tomorrow is the archery, then jousting and on the fourth day, the knights will prove their strength by sword and shield."
I let my eyes widen as if impressed. "So much for a local tournament?"
He laughs and ruffles his son's hair and the wife comes back over, the ribbon and sparrow neatly tied into a plait down the side of her face.
"Lovely." I hear him murmur as he leans down and presses a kiss to her mouth and I look away, discomforted.
I have seen affection between man and maid before, so it is not the kissing that bothers me and yet I cannot put to name this hollow feeling in my breast.
Perhaps it is merely indigestion from my hasty breakfast.
"Jory," she chides him, blushing and smiling, "not in front of the children."
I blink to realize she has included me in her description.
"Forgive my husband, he has no discretion at all." Her eyes dance, a delicate shade of sable, and I can see why her husband adores her so. "As to your question, fair merchant, there will be others from around the kingdom of Alderaan as well as Tatooine and possibly even Hoth if the laundress who works for Lord Pruitt is to be believed."
Now I'm impressed and more than a bit suspicious. Delegates from Tatooine and Hoth coming for what amounts to a local city tourney? This is far more than what I bargained for and I am eager to learn more.
"Well! That is news indeed! Fair luck to you archer, I hope your lady's charm brings you both fame and fortune."
He puts two fingers to his heart. "If Lady Lamisu wishes it, then it shall be but I am already a blessed man for having such a wife and son at my side."
She laughs and despite her earlier protests about her husband having no decorum, she reaches up to plant a kiss on his mouth.
They walk hand in hand through the market and I am startled to feel the prick of envy. Their lives are not much better than mine, from the state of their much mended clothing and the slight hollow of the wife's cheeks, but they seem content.
Happy to enjoy life together.
If only...
A strange yearning stirring in my heart and I banish it as another custom stops to look at my wares and I play the eager merchant yet again.
Noon has come, the sun beating upon my head with a fierce vengeance. I wish I had one of those leather hats I see on passing merchants and nobles to cool my brow.
I have done fair trade this day and the coin I made will help augment our rations for the rebellion. Perhaps if I make enough I can finally get Finn a new crossbow, for his is worn and nigh unto breaking.
Enough, I need a cool drink and I want to see where the tourney is being held. Surely members of the council will be there and perhaps I might garner something of interest.
"Taking a break lass?"
I glance up at a man whom I believe must be from Kashyyyk. Long shaggy brown hair in a thousand small braids decorated in what looks like bones. Equally thick beard in larger braids, also decorated in small bone chips. His hair is liberally streaked with white strands, the lines around his dark eyes seemingly ancient.
Moss green and brown jerkin and brown leather breeches. Hide from some spotted creatures made into boots and lashed together with tough leather thongs. His hands and arms are like small tree trunks but they carve the most delicate wooden totems I have ever seen.
"I am. Forgive me woodcarver for not introducing myself earlier. I am Rey from Aldea."
"Chirpa from Endor. The youngling you see is Wicket."
A boy suddenly appears next to the elder, all bright eyes and cheerful smiles. He has the same dark hair and eyes as the elder save there are less braids and his face is still clean shaven.
His tunic is a richer shade of brown mixed with some black and he well nigh disappears into the shadows when he does not move.
"Hello Wicket, a pleasure to meet you."
The elder, Chirpa, slaps him lightly on the back of his head. "When a lady speaks, you do well to respond."
"But she isna clan, Elder! I was told not to speak to anyone but clan!"
"Who told you such things?"
"Kneesaa."
"By the Force," his murmur is softly spoken but heart jerks in response, "my granddaughter is filling your head with trouble."
He clears his throat and slaps a meaty hand on the younglings shoulder. "Pay no mind to Kneesaa, she is not a clan leader just yet. I am here and you will respect the lady. Give her your greeting."
A long suffering sigh that only younglings seem to be able to pull off at any age. "Hello, I am Wicket. It is nice to meet you."
The boy recites the words as if by rote and I am hard pressed not to laugh at the disgruntled look on his elders face.
"Off with you lad and remember what I said about not causing trouble!"
"Yes Elder! Bye lady!"
"Younglings. A plague they are."
I cannot hold back my laughter any longer and I share a smile with this gruff man when he joins in. "I believe you are fond of him."
"My apprentice. I hoped a bit of seasoning away from the village would give him some much needed maturity."
"He will learn. Please, excuse me I need-"
"If you like, you can leave your wares with me. It is the reason I called out to you. I will watch your booth if you do me the favor of watching mine when in need."
It was a fair trade and would save me from having to haul my heavy packs back to the stable and paying the five coppers to have them locked away against thieves.
But I am leery as to why this stranger would make me such an offer. Perhaps I did not guard my thoughts as well as I should have because he chuckles and continues to carve his totems.
"You are a young female and alone. Merchants look out for one another. But if the deal is not to your liking then you may refuse."
Offer honesty with honesty and you will make an ally instead of an enemy.
A bit of wisdom from Master Kenobi echoing through my thoughts and I smile, not needing the Force to discern this man's intent.
"I appreciate the offer, Sir Chirpa, and gladly accept."
I hold out my hand and his bushy eyebrows raise slightly before clasping my hand, the bargain made.
"No 'Sir' lass, just Chirpa. Go on and take rest, yon goods will be safe with me."
I glance at the hefty quarterstaff leaning unobtrusively against the wall and believe it. In his hands it would be a mighty weapon in these closed quarters.
"Thank you. I will return anon."
I hand over my packs and he stows them beneath his table, going back to his carvings.
The air is filled with dust and I feel the grit beneath my teeth as I spy a vendor selling cups of fragrant juice and another vendor selling pies filled with meat. I take one of each, parting with my hard earned coin and enjoying every morsel.
The juice is a bit tepid but washes the dust from my tongue and I wander through the crowds, closer to where the tourney will be held.
I see justicers in their long robes of purple and gold walking the grounds. Mounted guardsmen also patrol the area. A good amount of construction is going on, the clang of hammer and wooden beams being pulled into place as a dais is raised for the nobility to sit and enjoy the bloodsport. The regular citizens will have to stand in the burning sun.
In the distance I see the targets for the archers being set up and my mind immediately wanders back to the man I met only yesterday. I haven't been able to stop thinking about him for more than a handful of hours.
How strange. He should have been forgotten like last winter's snow and yet here I am, wondering how he would fare in the tourney.
He has sharp eyes and long limbs, he would do well I should think.
A flutter in my blood to remember the dark flame of his eyes, the lithe grace for one so tall.
I turn away from the workers, once more discomforted how easily I allow myself to be distracted by a man with alluring eyes.
"...believe King Hux will arrive?"
I stop short, pretending to fix my coin purse at the passing mention of the bastard king from the lips of a guardsman on duty.
"Not without his Crimson Knight and I heard he is away at the border of Bespin, chasing rumors of the Maiden."
So the Crimson Knight believes I am in Bespin? I wonder which of our rebel allies I have to thank for that bit of misdirection?
It is disappointing Armitage will not be in attendance, a chance assassination would be well worth the risk in my opinion but I am cheered by the thought of that black knight chasing my invisible shadow.
I make my way back towards Chirpa, nebulous thoughts floating through my mind when I hear a terrified cry that wrenches me back to the present.
"...just a boy..."
"...disgusting but what..."
"...dare not stop..."
I elbow my way through the crowd in time to see the urchin, Kit, take another blow by a whip wielded by an officious looking noble dressed in scarlet and black velvet.
"How dare you try to steal from me, you filthy brat!"
"Leave him alone!"
I and everyone else search for the high pitched voice. A dart of a shadow and the noble's whip clatters to the ground as the man howls, holding his hand. I stare, unbelieving, as Wicket stands over Kit with nothing more than a make-shift sling shot in his small hands.
The crowd whispers but does nothing else to intervene.
The noble's face is red as he picks up his whip, snapping against the cobblestones.
"Another brat in need of a lesson. I will throw you both into the stockades and you," he points a thin finger at Wicket, "I will cut off your hand for striking me!"
Wicket trembles and I reel from the wave of fear coming off of the boy but he does not back down.
Instead he lifts his sling shot as if to take aim, his young face in deadly earnest. He has courage for one so young. Much more than any adult present.
"No!"
My voice is drowned out by the crack of the whip and Wicket lets out a scream, the sling shot dropped as blood splatters the cobblestones.
A red haze washes my vision and I am already shoving my way through the crowd, using striking feints to force the crowd to part.
Swearing and shouting I shove past a milling woman with a basket full of goods and break free just as the noble raises his whip to strike the boys down.
"Leave them alone you bastard!"
"Rey!"
"Lady!"
I hike my skirts and sprint to their side, shielding them with my body before the whip can fall again.
The noble, with his pale hair and wisp of a beard that cannot conceal his weak chin, looks upon me with open disbelief.
"Are you their mother, wench? You appear far too young and comely. Sister perhaps?"
I dislike the insinuation in his tone and plant my fists on my hips.
"Do I need to be related in order to save them from your brutality? How noble can you be to strike down younglings."
The crowd murmurs and the noble sneers at everyone. "I am Sir Brecken and Lord Pruitt is my uncle. Under his authority do I merit this justice against my person."
Damn.
I watch the crowd back away, shifting their eyes away from the scene. With those few uttered words he takes away the little semblance of courage they might have mustered. I am aware that striking a noble, especially one who is related to a city lord, is a punishable offense.
I could be put in the stockade or whipped, fined such an amount as to beggar my family if I had one.
Perhaps even put to death if the offense is deemed high enough.
It is no wonder these simple people turn away, for they have their own lives to think of, their own families to protect. Why would they lift their hands for these boys?
Well damn them and their cowardice because I will not back down. I am not afraid of the petty lordling and his threats of Lord Pruitt.
He taps the crop against his gloved hand. "Well maid what say you? If you stand aside, I will forgive this offense against my person. Come, I want those urchins."
"What offense have they given to warrant a whipping?"
"Yon brat dared to lift my purse and then bit me when I grabbed him by his throat. That is cause enough."
I glance at Kit and see the ring of bruising around his neck already purple. He intended to strangle the boy. My empty hand itches for a blade and I curse this role of a merchant seller.
"What if I refuse?"
He taps the crop again. "Refuse me? Lord Pruitt's nephew?" He laughs and it is like a braying mule, obscene and I curl my lip up in disgust.
"I might be in a mood for clemency if..."
The crowd stirs despite their fear but I know I trap when I hear it.
This is definitely a trap and one I must trigger if I am to know what pitfalls lie ahead.
"If?"
"If you get on your knees and crawl to me. Beg ever so sweetly for their lives and I will withhold punishment."
Fingers touching my skirt and I see Wicket clutching the folds, blood darkening the cloth. His palm must be bleeding heavily.
"You cannot. Run lady. He will hurt you."
"You," a rough cough from Kit, his voice like shattered glass, "don owe me nothing. Do as he say. Run."
"I will not." I glare at Brecken, "Never! You want to see blood, then take it out on me. Let us see, oh most noble one, how you fair against a grown woman instead of younglings."
His face turns a shade of red, making his sallow skin much more disgusting as he raises his whip high.
"Wench I will strip your flesh from bone. When I am through, not even the carrion will want you!"
I could fight him, call upon the Force to fend off his attacks but that would put the entire rebellion in danger if I expose myself.
Forgive me brothers but I could not let this evil pass.
This will not be the first time I have endured a whipping and I will endure again. I raise my arms to protect myself but I have no armor, no thick jerkin to ward the blow.
This is going to hurt.
I wait for the first blow to strike, anticipating the pain. No matter how many times he whips me, I will not yield.
I will not give up these two boys to a monster.
"You will...argh! Stop, stop I command you...argh!"
"I think not."
I drop my arms as a voice I never dreamed to hear again cuts through air with silken menace. Kylo stands over him like a dark god, sunlit from behind, his face in shadow and my heart is pounding against my ribs in recognition.
I would know him by his voice alone. It has haunted my every waking thought.
Brecken's face is bright red, sweat staining the velvet trim of his tunic as he grasps his bent wrist with his other hand. He has been forced to his knees by strength alone.
"Damn you...let go...do you not...ugh... know who...argh...I am!"
"No and neither do I care." I watch as Kylo bends his wrist back further and hear the snap of bone. The nobleman lets out a terrible scream before slumping over. Kylo lets go of him and his arm hits the cobblestones at an unnatural angle.
"You there! Miserable bastard tell me your name! How dare you strike the nephew of Lord Puritt-!"
Another noble pushes his way through the crowd and I watch, stunned, when Kylo turns on the heel of his boot. A flash of steel and the tip of his blade rests against the others throat just above his lacy collar. Another step forward and the man would have impaled himself on the blade.
I didn't see him lift his blade. How can he be so fast?
"Tell Lord Pruitt my name is Kylo and take this refuse with you. You have seconds to decide before I relieve him of his head."
Kylo pulls back his blade and several men rush to lift the unconscious man and carry him away.
"You will pay for this insult."
The noble whose lace is stained red by his own blood sneers at Kylo. My rescuer is unimpressed and sheaths his sword.
"I look forward to it. Now get out of my sight."
He takes a single step towards the man and nobles' friend runs away like the coward he is, shoving citizens out of his path.
"What I expect from a cur."
A drawn out sigh as he turns back around and our gazes lock. For a brief second, I see his eyes widen in surprise before his lip curves up slightly.
I lower my arms completely, unable to do more than that as he walks calmly towards me. I brace myself and try to think of something to say. I have no idea how he found me and words tangle up on my tongue.
He moves past me and gets down on one knee before Wicket.
"Let me see your hand. How badly are you hurt?"
I glance down at him, once more feeling off balance. I am being utterly ignored by this infuriating man.
I have never been ignored unless I choose it and I am not certain I like the feeling.
"I...I am fine S-sir..."
"Nonsense. Be a good lad and let me look, otherwise this fine lady will scold me and she is far more fearsome than the popinjay from earlier."
I sputter as Wicket lets out weak laughter and opens his palm to Kylo. I wince to see the ragged cut and the blood staining his fingers.
If it scars how will he learn his woodcarving from Chirpa?
I bite my lip, wavering. There is a way to help but to do so would betray a secret I have kept buried for so long.
"A good salve and a bit of healing will help your hand. You there, boy, can you stand?"
Kit is already on his feet, his face white but chin lifted. "Yeh, I can stand. Wotcha want from me?"
"Careful lad, I will not harm you. Here," he tosses Kit a gold coin, "go find us a healer and the rest will be yours to keep."
Kit looks up at me, worry and greed at war in his eyes and I suppress a sigh of relief. He cannot be too badly hurt if he is worried over money.
I give a slight nod. "Go on."
Kit is gone within seconds and I glance around at the crowd already turning away from us now that the spectacle is over.
"You seem to have a penchant for trouble, my lady."
Kylo glances up at me from on one knee and the flash of humor in his dark eyes is nearly my undoing. I fold my arms so he cannot see them trembling.
"I did not ask you to step in to help."
"You damn me with your praise, fairest lady."
Heat washes across my cheeks when I hear Wicket giggle at Kylo's teasing.
"Ignore him Wicket, he is a scoundrel."
"My da said they are the best people to trust."
Kylo's lips twitch as he pats the boy on the head. "I believe I should like your father. Up on your feet."
He is unexpectedly gentle with this boy who is a stranger to him and there is a warm flutter low in my stomach at the sight.
Wicket grins despite the pain he must be in and once more I am looking up at the visage of Sir Kylo. His face is as fair as ever, dark lashes sweeping over midnight eyes, his mouth pressed into a cynic's smile as Wicket looks up at him with wide-eyed adoration.
"You move faster than the chief with your blade! How didja do it?"
Yes, I would like to know that myself young Wicket.
Kylo gives a negligible shrug of his broad shoulders. "Practice, youngling. Years of it."
"Oh," the boy sounds disappointed, "okay."
"Something wrong with my answer?"
Wicket shakes his head, grimacing and clutching his hand. "No. I thought, because you move fast, you might be one of those Knights from the legends. You know," his voice drops to a whisper, "a Jedi."
Kylo's mouth flattens and it must have been a trick of the light when I see the flash of rage in dark obsidian because it is gone. He wears his mocking smile and crosses his arms.
"Sorry to disappoint but I am just a man, not one of your storybook characters."
A dull pain flares in my breast to think a great man like Master Kenobi is only remembered as a fictional character to amuse younglings at bedtime.
"See, I told you them be here. I wasna lying."
"I never said you were."
Kylo and I turn in unison to see Kit dragging an old woman with white hair banded in twin tails, her skin similar to the female trader from Tatooine. She wears long, teal colored robes with a healer pendant on a silver chain around her neck.
"I am Kaja Viel. Temple healer. Where is the boy in need of healing?"
Eyes filmed over white stare at us with tranquil calm and I sway, nearly dropping to my knees. This feeling, the energy washing over me in vast waves.
It is the same when I was around Master Kenobi. He spoke to me of this long ago.
She is...Jedi.
But they are all dead. All of them. Master Kenobi was the last, he told me so.
"Rey!"
Strong arms catch me and I look up, disoriented, into drowning obsidian. It takes me seconds longer to understand what I am seeing in his unwavering gaze, the sharp tang of his words.
This man...he is worried...but why?
Something deep within my soul begins to stir, the hollow ache inside my breast lessening beneath those alluring eyes.
