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Aunjrir Vas
Khamkamuk Rok
Pourhiri Province
Vitheon

"Do you know the parable of Gamaliel, the man who prayed to the devil? No? In the Age Before the First Darkness, nearly seventeen million moons past, he was a priest of Chayan, the sun which brings life. His people were poor, residents of a rural desert village at the foot of the Rulaara mountains in what is now the Miregantu Province. Drought and ensuing famine stalked his and neighboring villages. Their ruler was powerless to alleviate their burden, so consumed were his own paltry resources with matters of war. While he did his best to defend their borders from invaders without, within, his people starved. Such is the way of things.

The priest was a faithful man, but like all mortals, he had his limitations. Upon the eighth year of drought, when his prayers remained unanswered, he decided to take matters into his own hands and make for the mountains in secret. People had whispered for a hundred years that a devil lived at the summit of one of the peaks. I do not know for certain if making contact with this devil was his aim. Nor do I know for certain if he was successful. However, from the circumstances surrounding his journey, as well as what followed, I suspect both are true. I don't believe he realized his success at the time, though, or the nature of the being he courted.

In any case, the priest returned a week later. A storm followed in his footsteps, a storm which did not break till he'd placed his foot across the boundary line of the village. The first rain in months began to fall. Gentle, persistent rain that nourished without destroying as it ought to have done the dry bones of the desert. Over time, the ill effects of the drought began to recede. The area received more rain over the course of the next three years than it had in living memory, or so it's said.

But life goes on, and a lack of food and water was not the end of the regions troubles. The war got worse. Their ruler was slain, and his younger brother, his successor, was captured. An evil man, rumored to be the traitor who had orchestrated the attack that broke the royal family, took power.

The priest's faith had been restored by the end of the drought, so again he prayed. But again, years passed with his prayers seemingly unanswered. Thus, he made for the mountains. At the end of a week, he returned, this time to news brought by a courier that the heir apparent had been recovered. A daring captain had sacrificed his life to restore the young prince to his people. As with the rain, the message was not delivered till the moment the priest had set foot within the village.

Order was restored in the kingdom once more. The young prince took power, ousted the usurper, and won the war. All was well, and the priest's faith was again restored.

But life goes on.

Plague followed the prince's tour of his new kingdom in the wake of the end of the war. Even the little village at the foot of the mountains was not spared the ravages of disease. The priest prayed, but this time, his faith did not last nearly so long. The threat of imminent demise loomed too closely on the horizon for the enduring stoicism of prayer. Again, he made for the mountain.

This time, he did not return for a year and a day.

His people assumed he'd died, mourned him, and moved on with their lives. The plague broke within a few days of his departure, its victims beginning a slow, but steady recovery process. From the moment his foot had left the boundary of the village, it is said that no more died from the disease. I do not know if this is true, but this is what is said.

When he did return, at long last, he was not alone. He brought with him a wife, a woman unknown to any of the people of his village or the neighboring settlements, and an infant son. The people feared this newcomer, but their love for their priest won out over their desire to banish all that was unknown and strange from their borders.

The family assumed a place within the village, and, in time, were blessed with two other children, a daughter and a son. Prosperity followed their arrival. The crops flourished, new trade routes opened up, and the settlement grew in wealth and population as the village became a regional hub.

As I have said many times before though, life goes on.

The couple's youngest child was slain, at the tender age of ten, by a force unknown. Since birth, all three of the siblings had stood apart from the humble residents of the village, or, indeed, any known on Vitheon in that day. The light of Chayan was said to shine through them, felt even by those who stood in the shadow of Avoth. None more so than this youngest one, a boy named Priel. It was said the very sand of the desert wastes around the village would turn to grass under his feet if he willed it so.

His death was witnessed by both his elder brother and sister, though neither were forthcoming with details, saying only that he had been slain by the demon from the mountains. The demon who, some now began to suspect, had visited fortune upon them at the behest of their beloved priest.

The mother disappeared. The eldest swore vengeance. The daughter retreated into contemplation. And the father returned for the last time to the mountain.

He found the demon, spoke to it once more, cried out in his grief at his loss of his child and his mate. Demanded to know why.

"What did it say?" Baara's voice sounded strange in her own ears. A heavy silence had fallen as Sovann abruptly ceased his story, seemingly lost in some internal mire of thought. The distant drone of chanting echoed in her ears, a solemn, reverberating noise filtering through stone walls like water rushing into caves by the sea.

Rousing himself, he raised his eyes to meet hers once more and said, matter of fact, "All things die, even the immortal gods. And to not compare the breath of a flower of the field to that of a star in the heavens, though both meet their fate in their time."

Baara stared at the Mavakdol in stunned silence, attempting to decide if he meant what she thought he was implying.

"What did he do?" she asked at last, uncertain of what else to say.

"Hmm? Oh, the priest fell to praising the demon once more, the only god who'd appeared to answer his prayers."

"It killed his son," she protested, aghast. "Probably his wife too," getting a hold on herself, a little embarrassed at her less than culturally tolerant reply, she was about to try again when Sovann, to her surprise, replied easily, "I never said that."

"But...the other two children," Witwar seemed torn between his own dismay at what he too must have deduced to be the moral of the Mavakdol's story and his delight in puzzling through what was, to him, a new riddle in the story telling culture of the Vitheon.

"Tlidh ad dho oavo. Truth of the eye, Gannleo Witwar," Sovann replied solemnly.

"So you're going to sit back and do nothing," Holberi cut in impatiently. "Does that about sum things up? You see, Baara? You were worried for nothing. These people don't even care about their own planet. Why do you?" Disgust and disdain laced her voice. Baara's head snapped back, a sharp retort forming on her lips, but Witwar's barked, "That's quite enough of that!" beat her to the punch and startled all three of the younger humans with the fierceness of the delivery.

Holberi's eyes widened momentarily in surprise before narrowing once more. Her lips thinned out in a line indicating her displeasure. But she said no more, either to defend herself or to apologize. Dargla too, looked irritated. He, however, appeared to be fighting the urge to retort, body stiff and fists clenched as he opened his mouth and closed it several times.

"I apologize on behalf of my students, Mavakdol Sovann," Witwar had turned his attention away from the two in question. A slight tremor in his voice, disguised as a cough. "I take it then, that this is your answer?"

"My answer?"

And again Sovann fell silent. The Mavakdol, a title somewhat akin to Minister in the Empire, normally spoke few words, and when he did, he took a very long time to say them. He'd actually communicated more in the last five minutes than Baara had ever heard from him at any one time. She wasn't sure anything else could have convinced Dargla to sit as patiently as he had through the man's lengthy story telling.

It looked like he'd returned to form, however. When the uncomfortable silence had dragged on for another four and a half minutes, the quiet, "Yes, I believe so," almost went unnoticed by the assembled whose attention had begun to wander.

"I cannot stop the titan that is your Empire. Nor can you, it seems. The world was created to end, you know. All things must end to start again."

"But not literally," Baara couldn't help herself from interjecting. "Forgive me, Sovann, but don't the tenants of your faith state otherwise?"

"Would it surprise you to learn that I am not a particularly religious man, Baara Amittai?" the man's face was solemn.

Baara blinked at him.

She was at a loss for words.

The closest Baara got to the 'supernatural' was the acknowledgement of the power of the Sith. That was a tangible, unfortunate reality to her empire.

But she didn't believe in gods or demons. There was no such thing as a 'monster' that couldn't be explained and classified by a taxonomist. And the idea of a soul, while nice to think about, was, frankly, unlikely.

The people of this planet weren't like her, though. On Vitheon, the mundane and the supernatural were one inextricable. Everything from the design of the great temples to the bedtime stories parents told their children was somehow tied to a complex religion built on tens of thousands of years of spoken myth. There was no such thing as an atheist among them, not as far as she could see. It had baffled her, at first. Had made her two younger colleagues scoff.

Over time, she had come to accept it as a simply being a part of the people with whom she worked. To hear of any of them, especially a man in charge of the planet's past, of regulating artifacts (many of which played a prominent role in their pseudo mythical history) claim otherwise... was mind boggling. She'd never considered that someone like Sovann, a former monk and the epitome of stoic, steadfast morality, wouldn't live up to the expectations she'd built in her head.

In the end, she just closed her mouth again, suddenly aware she'd been gaping at him in stunned silence. Her cheeks felt hot. Abashed, she lowered her gaze. Sovann seemed to expect her silence, or, at least, he didn't comment further. He was very difficult to read at times.

"And," he continued, "I believe that story actually has two morals, though most would deny the second. The first is, of course, not to turn one's back on one's gods. The priest, Gamaliel, secures worldly relief at the expense of his soul by doing so. The second moral being, perhaps, not to put one's faith in gods, or devils, to begin with. It's interesting that you picked up on that one. I wonder what that says about your people? It's a blasphemous interpretation of course. I wouldn't recommend you repeat it."

He held up his hands in an almost human gesture of surrender as he added, "I find myself at an impasse. I cannot claim my people or my planet will survive the devastation your Empire has wrought. Nor can I fight against you."

"We're looking into ways to mitigate damage," Baara answered softly. "If your government can help pinpoint resource rich areas, we might be able to limit the scope of..."

Her words were cut off by a sudden thundering 'boom' that vibrated through the floor and threatened to toss all of them from their seats. A series of carved wooden shields, painted and decorated with the crest of Sovann's clan, rested on the wall behind and above his desk. They rattled now, a dull clanking like heavy windchimes as they bounced against sculptured stone and knocked into each other. One fell from its nail, striking the floor with a reverberating clatter as it settled into place. Though well preserved, the relics were ancient and worn. A large, spidery crack now rippled up the front of the worked piece of fallen Daro wood, cutting a swath through the house emblem and threatening to split the shield in two.

Buzz

Buzz

The holo projector lying on Sovann's desk flickered. With a crackle of static, a small blue figure materialized before them.

"Major Hinroth," the image wavered, flickering like a candle threatening to go out. Baara could hear shouting in the background, accompanied by the staccato of blasterfire. A flood of armored troopers rushed through the background behind the Major, officers barking orders at them from some place unseen.

"Move it! Move it!

Sergeant Stasti! You're being rerouted to the East Wall via..."

"Where are the blasted medics?! You there! Who's your CO?"

Leaning forward in her seat, Baara attemped to get a better glimpse of the miniaturized image of the leader of the Imperial's armed forces on Vitheon.

"...ting...ference. Can you...me?"

A mute shake of Sovann's head had the Major cursing vehemently. For several long moments, he fiddled with the portable holo clutched in his hand before straightening up and speaking once more.

"Is that better?"

"Yes, Major. We're receiving your transmission," Sovann intoned. The humans gathered in front of his desk had all pulled their chairs closer, huddling around the Vitheon in order not to miss a word of the Major's message. In spite of fixing the transmission problems, he still had to shout to be heard over the ordered chaos echoing in the background as hundreds of troops poured forth from the base to assemble on the transports.

"You received the party from the Imperial University at 0900 hours this morning?" he sounded like a man trying to shout over the noise of the wind. The heavy drone of airborne transports drowned out the end of his sentence. It was only by reading his lips that any of them were able to make out what he was saying.

Instead of answering him, Witwar rose from his seat, moving around to stand in full view of the soldier. "Major Hinroth," he greeted. "We've arrived on the planet. What's the situation?"

"Hello, Doctor Witwar! It's good to see you all well! I need you to remain calm! We've got the situation under control, but I'm going to need you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you!"

"But what's going on?" Baara pressed. By this point, she too had risen to her feet, moving around to stand by Sovann as he addressed the Major.

"Armed insurgents have opened fire in several different locations in the city!" the Major shouted over the noise. His hand rose to partially shield an ear against the noise of the transports taking off behind him. "They've already set off a number of explosive devices, and we believe there may be more. Mavakdol Sovann, take these civilians to the most secure location within your building immediately. I'll send an extraction team for them once we've broken through."

"Have you identified the insurgents, Major? Has anyone claimed credit for the attack?"

"No, we're still trying to make contact. Get these people to safety, and we'll continue this conver..."

His image fluttered and morphed. Blue light shifted, photons of light arching out to coalesce into the proud, battle scarred form of native Vitheon. Physically intimidating for stature alone, what sent a chill down Baara's spine was the glint of carefully controlled hate glowing within the pupiless eyes of the four armed warrior.

When he spoke, his voice was rough and gravelly, full of scorn and derision. "Mav koakro!"

"My people," Sovann murmured quietly. Unlike the Major, this man appeared to stand alone, save for two cowled warriors with blaster rifles who stood at attention behind him.

"Avail kavk huk duarok avai."

"Your king has failed you."