Chapter 17: Oya Mando'ade
Kalevala: Oriya:
"Your entire life has brought you to this moment," Ja'Halir stated his voice crackling through the blue haze if the hologram. "Do not fail yourself." He pointed up at Jarek before placing the same hand on his chest. "Do not fail your clan." That same hand tapped the chest diamond of his beskar'gam. "He's wearing a gold signet on a necklace." His final words echoed in Jarek's ears as the projection faded. "Bring it to me." And the young man found himself alone far from all that was familiar.
Oriya, the central city, and Starport for Kalevala. He stood amongst buildings taller than mountains, dwarfed only by the forest of urban structures sweeping out in all directions. The sights, sounds, and smells were all strange and overwhelming. Oriya was a Mandalorian city on a Mandalorian world, and yet so few of his people wore buy'ce or beskar. They walked alongside off-worlders of every size and shape with hardly a care.
He could scarcely believe the trees and valleys of Kart'a'Buir existed on the same world as the metropolis. The people were just as alien; Mando'ade yet not. His mind spun with the implications.
"Breath," he heard his father say. In his own voice, he added, "It's just another hunt. It's just another forest." The Kyr'tsad had given him everything he needed to track and locate his prey. All he had to do was follow the trail.
Keeping to the shadows of the rooftops Jarek made his way to the observation point. The location found him overlooking an expansive courtyard with dozens of streets and alleys branching off. Hundreds of sentients filled the area going about their business. Calmly he brought up his binocs and began scanning.
"Target is wearing a red cloak with gold trim," the datafile had explained, "and is accompanied at most by a single bodyguard." Jarek allowed his eyes to defocus, unconsciously filtering out the nonessential details. Humanoid vs Alien; Inhuman rather than non-human; Red cloaks vs maroon robes/tunics; A couple rather than single.
"There you are," he sighed. Just off the center of the courtyard, he found them. A middle-aged man sitting on a bench, wrapped in an expensive red cloak. Lamplight glinted off the gold signet around his neck. Next to him sat a woman, in full beskar'gam sans her helmet. Other than appearing close to Jarek's age nothing about her stood out. "Just a hired mercenary to protect rich aruetii." He grumbled in disgust.
Dropping the binocs he unslung the sniper rifle. With practiced ease, he propped the weapon on a bi-pod and leveled it on his target. Unfortunately, in the time it took him to set up the couple and risen and were making their way towards the edge of the courtyard. Though he attempted to track them, he found his line of sight interrupted by the kiosks and monuments that littered the area.
Cursing, but undeterred, he slung his weapon and moved to intercept. Circling wide of the courtyard he relocated his target as they entered a near-vacant laneway. The high walls and narrow confines made use of his rifle superfluous, much to his annoyance. He would've preferred to keep things at long range, outside of sight and sound. But the situation had changed, so Jarek would adapt. The Watch was counting on him. He would not fail them. He wouldn't fail his father.
Concealing the weapon, he drew his pistol and a grenade. Then he waited. Sure, he could've gunned them both down, but Ja'Halir's orders concerned the man, not the woman. She was Mandalorian, and the idea of killing one of their own churned his stomach. Jilo's words crept into his mind and it was all Jarek could do to hold the guilt at bay.
"I will show you," he thought gripping his weapons tightly. For Jilo and Myler, Jarek would be the best Watchman he could be.
As the couple drew closer, Jarek began picking up on their conversation.
"…You got a better idea?" The woman asked, "Oh, wait—is this going to be another diatribe on self-determination and statehood?" Jarek wasn't sure of the subject, but it was clear they were political in nature. Their voices were friendly, but he could detect undertones of seriousness.
"We need to make sure we're warriors with a citadel to defend," the man responded. His voice reminded him of Ja'Halir's; worn by use yet heavy with the weight of wisdom. "So, we can pick our battles and not rely on the whims of aruetiise. It's the spirit of the times like I said."
Aruetiise? Mando for foreigners. What was an off-worlder doing speaking Mando'a?
The couple paused just short of the ambush point. Jarek gritted his teeth but remained patient. "And who's driving this spirit of the times?" the woman asked.
"Nobody, really," The man replied with a shrug, "But there's this group in Keldabe that thinks it's time we looked after ourselves—really looked after ourselves. Not just gather in the clans and unite when we're threatened but build Mandalore itself into something new."
Jarek had to admit that without knowing the context the man spoke good words. A unified Mandalore would be an amazing thing. The only problem is who they're united behind. The Separatists? The Republic? The Empire? No, so far only the Death Watch had proven to be one of the few entities to unite all Mandalorians regardless of clan.
The woman said something, but her voice was so low Jarek couldn't make it out. The man sighed before placing an affectionate hand upon her shoulder.
"No Mandalorian soldier should have to fight an aruetii's war for the price of a day's meal," he said in a low earnest voice, "No Mando'ade should have to fight at all, except to defend his home or his family, or because he wants to." They shared a wry chuckle before continuing forward. "We have to stop being the tool of governments that don't care if we live or die so long as we do their bidding."
Jarek had been so engrossed in their conversation that they'd nearly passed the ambush point. Flipping the switch, he rolled the grenade out into the open. It clattered and clinked as it bounced along the hard surface. The woman's shout of warning was lost beneath the deafening crack of the explosion. Jarek stepped out of his hiding spot and entered the chaos. Bystanders fled clutching ears amidst the plums of acrid smoke.
The bodyguard lay nearby blood seeping between fingers as they clutched her ears. Her eyes rolled about as they desperately attempted to focus on anything. She issued warnings and threats, but the words kept garbling in her throat. The target was sprawled out amidst some debris arms and legs floundering as he tried to orient himself. Other than a case of shock the man was remarkably unharmed. Jarek noticed the scorch marks on the woman's armor. She must've placed herself in between him and the blast.
Ignoring her Jarek approached the man lying prostrate and helpless. As he leveled the blaster his eyes came into sharp focus. Realization and fear dawned as he raised a warding hand. His mouth opened to speak but was silenced by a single bark of the pistol. His body went rigged as the bolt passed through his chest before going limp. Death came before the final breath passed his lips.
"No!" A voice cried. Jarek caught movement out of the corner of his eyes. He turned in time to see the bodyguard lunge. She attempted to tackle him but the Mandalorian was still disoriented from the explosion. An attack borne of desperation, it was slow and uncoordinated. Jarek sidestepped and levered his assailant to the ground. Pinning her down, he pressed the barrel to her head.
"Damn you!" she screamed. Jarek anticipated anger. He anticipated hate and a desire for revenge. Tears were the last thing he expected to see on the young woman's face. "Why?" she demanded, voice cracking under the strain of her emotions. "Why would you do this?" Eyes like Jilo's stared passed the weapon and buried into his, despite the visor. Jarek could only blink in response. Something in his chest twisted nearly driving the wind from him. His guts churned, to the point he had to fight the urge to be sick.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard sirens accompanied by authoritarian shouts. Local security and first responders would be arriving soon. He had no desire to be captured or killed. Besides…the mission had been a success. Standing he yanked the signet off the man's body as Ja'Halir requested. He forced himself not to linger on the clouded eyes staring up at him.
Rising he backed toward the shadows, but the woman didn't follow. Though he kept his weapon trained on her she made no aggressive moves. Instead, she crawled to the man's side. Sobbing the bodyguard clutched his lifeless hands. Her wails of grief pursued him deep into the night.
Outskirts of Oriya:
The first sheets of rain began to fall by the time Jarek reached the rendezvous point. Though he'd made every effort not to be followed, the deepening night and encroaching storm were enough to mask his escape.
The rolling thunder and flashes of lightning weren't unlike those he'd witnessed in the Embrace. Instead of foliage, only duracrete and transparasteel were illuminated and shook by the storm's onslaught. It wasn't unlike that night in the covert. The last night he'd been with Jilo…before…
Jarek clutched the signet so hard it felt like it would cut through his gloves. It was his trophy from the hunt. Unlike the claws, furs, teeth, and quills he'd taken before, there was no pride associated with this trophy. The glare of the precious metal made him sick to look at. On it was a stylized mythosaur skull. The symbol of his people. The symbol of a Mandalorian.
'I did not join Death Watch to kill my own people.' Amid the ripping torrents of rain, he heard Jilo's words and they filled him with shame. At that moment, atop a building near the edge of the city, all Jarek wanted to do was fling himself over the edge and into the darkness below. Only the images of his grieving father stayed his hand but did little to assuage the torment in his soul.
Somewhere over the growl of thunder and wind, he heard boots clattering on pavement. Turning he found himself confronted by a dozen Watchmen. Some were the cadre while others his fellow youths. He couldn't tell if Gaegan was amongst them. Heading them in the same untouched armor as the day they'd first met, strode Ja'Halir.
"You have made me proud ner ad'ika." Jarek barely managed to suppress the flinch at the words. Only Myler had ever called him that. It felt wrong coming from the old warrior. "You have proven you are true Kyr'tsad." Beneath his visor, Jarek's composure slipped and he felt moisture run down his cheek. Throat swelling, he attempted to hand over the signet, the proof of his success and symbol of his disgrace. Ja'Halir refuses it with a subtle shake of the head. "Keep it," he breathed waving towards the young man. "It will remind you of what must be sacrificed for the greater good of the Mando'ade." Jarek's stomach twisted even more at the words as more warmth stained his face.
Pocketing the signet Jarek drew his beskad and knelt before the senior warrior. Touching the point to the ground, he bowed his head. The droplets trickled down his neck drawing a shiver from his spine.
"Weakness compels strength." Ja'Halir intoned, somehow his voice carrying through the tumultuous downpour. "Betrayal begets blood." The words were familiar by now, and yet they seared the younger man's heart with turbulence the storm could not mimic. "This is the way."
In the shadows of the night, he saw Jilo smile softly and lean forward, placing a feather-light kiss on his temple. Then she moved her lips to his ear. 'Death is life and one should die as they have lived.'
"No…" he whispered his words hardly audible above the rainfall. Somewhere in the night he recalled Jilo's words and saw the fiery glint of her passion. "This is not the way." Helmets and hands flinched unsure what to make of the response.
Steel slashed upwards, lightning reflected in the honed edge for an instant. Ja'Halir's eyes widened as the skin parted from jaw to temple. He staggered back, his cry of pain and outrage drowned out by the roar of thunder. The blood had barely mixed with rain when the older man gave the order. "Kill the Dar'Manda!"
Beskar sang upon beskar, and heat replaced the cold chill of the rain. Jarek's mind went blank as his body moved on its own. The warriors advanced on him en masse. His blaster was kicked from his hand before a single shot could be made. He swung his beskad but felt nothing as screams split the air amongst arches of crimson. Amid the pained screams and curses, his yells lit the darkness. Raw expressions of anger, grief, and sadness flowed with each slash of his weapon or blow from his fist.
Above the cacophony of storm and battle, a volley of blasters lit the night. Jarek gasped as warmth and pain rippled across his body. He staggered under each impact. Beskar hummed with each blow, but beneath that was the searing heat as metal weave gave way to flesh. A bolt sang off the curve of his buy'ce just as his heels found the edge of the parapet.
There was no scream, nor cry of alarm as he plummeted through emptiness. Blessed silence followed him as he plunged into the dark depths below. The pain faded and the heat gave way to cold numbness. As the shadows curled up to cradle him Jarek barely had the strength for one final thought.
"Forgive me father!" his mind sighed as the tears finally flowed freely. "Forgive me Jilo."