Brotherhood

- Zaalbar -


The walls of Rwookrrorro loomed in the distance. Thick rope lashed the wooden poles together, timber that had been taken from the smaller branches of the massive wroshyrs; a small pruning, here and there, to create our habitat within the heights of our forest.

Some of the Wookiee tribes who lived elsewhere on Kashyyyk built cylindrical wooden rooms wrapped around smaller trunks, and were not as far from the forest floor. But Rwookrrorro was situated in the densest, tallest part of the wroshyr forest. Nowhere else on our planet were our sacred trees so impressive and so ancient.

I felt my chest puff up with a large breath of forest air. The astringent smell of tree-sap, undercut by a fresh fragrance of lottie-blossoms, was ever present here. It smelled like home.

It was home.

A home I had never thought to see again. But the news Mission and that sullen Dustil Onasi had brought back with them changed everything. Father. Could Chuundar really have done such a thing? Exiled our sire to the depths of our world? I had feared returning to Kashyyyk, feared the injustice of my past but this… this was worse.

Six years ago, I had discovered my brother was selling tach organs to Czerka for a tidy profit, but my only evidence had disappeared, and the rest was circumstantial.

Chuundar had taken an interest in the coming-of-age rituals in the Shadowlands, the hrrtayyk rite of passage for all young males. The Old Ones would usually preside over them, but Chuundar's interest had been approved of by Father himself – and my brother became something of a mentor for all whom partook in the hrrtayyk.

It was only when Ruubarg had confided in me that I began to suspect Chuundar was using those trips down to the Shadowlands for other purposes. Drawwlog confirmed Ruubarg's suspicions, and led me to the cargo he knew of - canisters filled with meticulously butchered tach that had been collected from Czerka-provided traps.

My brother and I shared the same, hot-blooded temper – but Chuundar was clever where I was brash and simple. My accusations fired around the throne room like wild kinrath fleeing a terentatek, and each one Chuundar had shot down with a carefully aimed riposte.

There is no tach trade, no tach corpses in the storage rooms – come, see for yourself, dear brother.

Czerka staff claim they have not left their starport – and while we cannot trust their word, they offer us their holo-footage as proof.

Drawwlog denies all knowledge, younger brother, and fears you have had too much fermented wasaka-berry juice last night.

And as for Ruubarg – a shame on you, that you draw in someone who is at death's door and cannot speak for himself. The healers do not know if he will recover from the suspected tysharn flu that has drawn him into a stupor.

Where does this mistrust, these lies, come from, younger brother? I know you have always looked upon me with a jealous eye, but surely you understand the responsibility I must live up to is a heavy burden. A second son should be a pillar of support for the first, not a dagger lodged at his back.

Being accused of such a childish emotion, when I had hero-worshipped Chuundar for most of my life, was the final straw after the frustration of all my suspicions being expertly dismissed.

My temper shattered, and I lashed out in the worst possible way. In front of everyone.

Madclaw.

One does not strike one's own with one's claws.

The rage had sat like a red mist in my eyes, a righteous fury that only dissipated when I saw Chuundar's shocked expression as he stumbled back from me, blood seeping through the fur on his face and shoulder.

He had not expected me to lose control that way, I realized much later. I wondered if he only meant to ridicule me, to put me in my place, to silence my suspicions and humble my standing. The glimpse of horrified understanding I saw in his eyes before resignation eclipsed it, allowed me to believe that perhaps exile had not been his objective.

Perhaps he had only wanted his brother silenced, not cast-out.

What-ifs were a poisonous thing.

And while I could blame Chuundar for the most of it, the raising of my claws was my own burden to carry.

And now, as I stood staring at the walls of my childhood, I wondered if the shame of the past had coloured Chuundar's character, too. For while he had always been opportunistic, I could not reconcile that with someone duplicitous enough to send our traditionalist father into exile.

But maybe the seeds had always been there.

Years ago, Chuundar had wished to amalgamate Vroalkarra and Arooagorro, two smaller townships nearby that were struggling under poor leadership. Father would not hear of that, however; tribes did not interfere with other tribes. Marry into, trade with, celebrate together: yes. But conquer? No, that was too much like our madclaw past. Wookiees stood together against outsiders. We did not fight each other. Father stood firm on that.

Chuundar claimed - provided we kept strict controls over Czerka - we could milk them for trade goods by selling inconsequential amounts of our resources. A slippery road, my father decreed, and one he would have nothing to do with. If Czerka were irritated that their fancy starport on Kashyyyk had brought them naught, then they could leave.

I had been present for many of these heated debates and, in the early days, I had a sympathetic ear to my brother. Father had always been seen as somewhat conservative, a traditionalist who refused to consider anything other than our centuries-old customs. How much harm would it be, really, to allow Czerka a small slice of our resources? We would stay in control, ensure there was no lasting damage to our precious planet. But Father refused to bend, and his word was law.

When Ruubarg had first suggested to me that Chuundar was sneaking behind Father's back, I had found it difficult to believe.

But even after that – even after all that occurred – my first emotion upon hearing Mission's earth-shattering news was disbelief. What was more inconceivable, my brother exiling my father, or my brother engaging in slavery of his own people?

Slavery. The very thought sent a rumbling of discontent in my chest. The idea of a sentient owning another was abhorrent. Even as we hunted predators on Kashyyyk, we always honoured their lives, to the very smallest of insects. Might did not make one better than another, and the thought of ownership over anything – even the wroshyr trees themselves – was disgusting. How could my brother be involved in that?

But Mission had spoken with one of my people, caged in the marketplace like a bantha. She had seen six of them, all trapped the same way. And she spoke of a hundred more, imprisoned within a freighter, about to be sent off-world by the corrupt Czerka Corporation.

I could feel my hackles rising in growing hatred toward my brother. Slavery was worse than death, worse than exile. It was worse than being labelled a madclaw, one who could not master their own inner fire, their rrakktorr, and had succumbed to the madness of our ancestors who had been unable to live in peace within the ecosystem the gods had granted us.

With all of this explosive news, I had known I could not stay onboard the Ebon Hawk any longer. But the debt I owed Jen Sahara sat heavy on my soul, and she was gone for now, meeting her Masters in my own home village.

So I sat in the cargo bay, and begged Mission for solitude while the poisonous thoughts grew darker and darker in my head. They all left me for the common room, and spoke in hushed voices so as not to disturb. Perhaps they expected I would not hear their conversation through inches of durasteel, but a Wookiee's hearing was vastly superior to most sentients.

"-gone to the blasted Shadowlands, with only one of the Masters. She's-"

"What?" The low growl was definitely Canderous. "Without the Cathar?"

"Yes. She said she had reasons, but couldn't say. She was more concerned about any incoming air traffic-"

"You've got to be kriffing joking." Canderous sounded anything but amused. In fact, he sounded furious.

"Sheesh, you can't let Big Z find out," Mission interjected. Her voice was quiet through the durasteel walls, and I struggled to pick up on it. "If he hears both his dad and Jen are down there-"

I stood. The determination grew within me, as solid as the roots of the mighty wroshyrs, and I began unbuckling the belt and vibrosword from my back. This was it. I would find Father, or I would find Jen, but what I would not do any longer was stay on this ship.

I slipped out of the Ebon Hawk quickly, before Mission found out and decided to do something foolhardy like follow. But the Czerka starport had changed; there was a new control tower I did not recognize, and the guards were armed where they had not been years ago.

And they did not want a free-walking Wookiee in their starport.

"Hey! Halt!" a loud voice exclaimed in Basic behind me. My gaze was pinned on the stairwell near the imposing control tower that was new, and I did not realize the voice was yelling at me. The building was large, and looked decidedly out of place next to the ancient wroshyr it was bolted against.

"You, Wookiee! Stop, or I'll shoot!"

That had me tensing in surprise. I wore nothing nor held any weapons – exiles were stripped of possessions when they were sent to the Shadowlands. I turned, to see a handful of sentients raising blaster rifles at me. They all wore armour, but there was a smell of anxiety around them, a looseness to their posture. They were not well-trained.

"(What do you want?)" I barked, even as I knew they likely couldn't understand me. I have not done anything. Why are they threatening me?

"D'ya think he's escaped?" one of them muttered.

"Must've," another agreed. "We don't let any from their town here. We'd better stun this one and bring 'im in."

My eyes widened as their intent hit home. They believe I am a slave! I could not escape four blasters, and the Ebon Hawk was now many metres away. I had not expected this hostility on my own planet, from a starport I had used in the past!

"Put your guns down before you hurt yourself," a gruff voice called out, irritation plainly obvious in the intonation. I glanced over to see Canderous Ordo, striding fast from our freighter, a rough scowl aimed at the group of disorganized Czerka-clad sentients. "That ain't your property, he's mine, and I'll thank you to go kriff off before I knock your heads together."

The implication in his words held me speechless for a moment, before a kernel of undeniable fury sprang to life. I am no one's property! I will fight until my last breath to deny it! But Canderous Ordo was already motioning me to the exit of the starport, his back turned dismissively at the faltering Czerka infidels who gaped like the slack-jawed soulless beings they were.

"Come. We're going for a walk," he ordered, his voice a commanding echo that my sense – finally kicking in – realized was for their benefit and not mine.

Still stunned at the turn of events – that a Wookiee could not walk freely amongst this starport without being apprehended – I followed the Mandalorian in silence as we departed the corrupt Czerka stronghold without any further interruptions. It was not until we left the obscene permacrete foundations behind, and I stood once more upon the wooden walkways I knew so well, that Canderous finally spoke.

"I'd a feeling you wouldn't stay cooped up," he commented, "and judging by the state of things around here, I didn't think this lot would take kindly to a Wookiee walking around without chains."

It struck me, then, that Canderous Ordo – of all people – had come to my rescue. He wasn't the same self-involved mercenary I had met on Taris.

We had all changed since then.

"Look, I gotta get back. I gotta check in with Jen, find out if kriffing Onasi is right-" he sighed, sounding heavily irritated. "I ain't gonna talk you out of whatever you're planning. Don't figure you'd listen to me anyways."

I grunted in affirmation, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Right. Do you really think your father's alive?"

The question brought up me up short. Mission had reported that Freyyr had been exiled a half year ago. Normally, exiles to the Shadowlands did not live long. The burden of shame could only be assuaged by a challenge, a testing of one's inner strength against the wild predators of our planet.

Those young cubs testing themselves for their hrrtayyk went to the depths with weapons, provisions, and a mentor. But the exiles-

It was meant to be death. The more glorious, the more one's shame would be alleviated in the eyes of the gods.

But Freyyr held no shame. He would not have felt it, not have believed in Chuundar's exile. I did not think my father would be content to throw himself into death, to match himself against the wilds of the Shadowlands.

No, he would want to survive, and to find out exactly what Czerka was doing to our planet.

I gave Canderous an obvious nod. He folded his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "Your brother's involved in slavery. He's a lot more likely to sell you than chuck you down where your dad is."

I felt the growl in my throat, and the Mandalorian raised an appeasing hand. "Look, be smart about it, okay? Otherwise you may as well stay in the 'Hawk."

He wasn't saying anything I hadn't already considered, but I appreciated the sentiment.

Canderous left me then, claiming he was going to ingratiate himself with some of the off-world mercenaries to gather information before contacting Jen. Jen, who was down in the Shadowlands herself.

If Chuundar had grown so black in his desire for acquisition, then he would not want me to find our father, should he still live. But the one right of an exile – even a madclaw exile – was to brave the Shadowlands. Any of the Old Ones would hold firm on that. I had but to find one.

In the ancient days, our people did not have mastery of their rrakktorr. They fought; with each other, with the wildlife, with the planet itself. The Old Ones were the story-tellers, the elders, the ones who remembered. And they believed, more strongly than any other, that the only place for a madclaw was the Shadowlands.

I began walking again, veering slightly away from Rwookrrorro now. I had taken a long route, amongst some of the narrow, less-used paths that skirted around our township. And this one led to a small, reinforced building, lashed tightly against one of the larger wroshyrs.

Most Wookiees lived within the walls of our town. It was safer, and it was the proper way. But the Old Ones held a special place of authority in our society, and lived where they willed. From as far back as I could remember, Growwhul and Tasharr had made this hut their home.

I was counting on them to escort me to the Shadowlands. If I could locate them.

My inner anger desired an encounter with my brother; I wanted to rail at him, to demand a reason for his treachery, to expose his vile dealings with slavery.

But I was not the brash, simple Wookiee from six years ago. I had no evidence, and even if I did – I was a madclaw. My words would not be listened to.

But my father's might be.

When I closed in on the outbuilding I recalled from my youth, I saw a tall, leaden figure slip out of the house. His fur was grey with age, and matted with what looked like a lack of grooming. His posture stilled as I neared, his gaze fixed on me as I walked ever closer.

Jabakka was an Old One, too. He was ancient when I had been but a cub. I thought he would have departed the physical world by now.

I saw the moment his rheumy eyes recognized me. They narrowed, and his paws dropped to the blaster on his hip.

That stung, even as I was aware it would be a common reaction. I do not believe I have ever seen Jabakka armed. Perhaps, if he lived here now – outside of Rwookrrorro – it had become a necessary safety precaution. Still, it saddened me to see it.

"(Madclaw,)" Jabakka rumbled. The rifle was in his grasp now, but at least he did not raise it at me. I wondered why he was living here, instead of the two I had expected. "(You are no longer welcome here.)"

("I have come to finish my exile where it should have started,)" I said. I remembered Jabakka much the same as Growwhul and Tasharr – a conservative who believed in discipline, obedience and an adherence to tradition. Whilst none of them would likely approve of my older brother's expansionist goals, they all strongly supported a chieftain's authority. The leader was absolute.

The Old Ones had power, of a sort. If Chuundar had managed to successfully exile my father, then he must have had their backing – even if they did not like it. Or him.

"(Going off-world was adding disgrace to dishonour,)" Jabakka growled. "(That should not be an option for madclaws. A truly penitent Wookiee would not have chosen such.)"

I shrugged. "(Youth does not always choose right. But I have come back, unarmed, to make the correct choice now.)"

Jabakka grunted. His clouded eyes narrowed on me. "(Then I will walk you there myself, right now, and see to it that this is finally ended.)"

That was what I had been counting on. An Old One's sense of tradition, at the cost of either empathy or politics. A different Wookiee might have insisted on a meeting with Chuundar first, but an Old One would want for nothing more than to see a madclaw away from the rest of our people – and into the depths of the Shadowlands.

We began walking; Jabakka behind me with his blaster trained at my feet. Not quite a prisoner, but only because I did not try to run. I breathed in deeply, tasting the forest breeze as it ruffled through my fur. There was no wind down in the Shadowlands; but here, on the paths of my childhood, each air current conveyed a hundred different scents of forest life. I found myself hit by a nostalgia that I struggled to keep at bay.

I did not know if I would ever return to Rwookrrorro, but I did not plan on dying in the Shadowlands.

If my father believed in his own innocence and Chuundar's duplicity – and whilst I did not know the details of the coup, I was counting on that – then his desire for his own survival would burn in his gut, the way it did not with exiles who genuinely deserved their sentence.

I did not believe my father would be far from the Rwookrrorro elevator. He would be searching for the Czerka hunters, the Czerka traps – anything, to sabotage what they were doing.

He would be stealthy about it, though. I could not imagine the Czerka hunters leaving him alone, should they know he was there. I would have to be stealthy, too.

I had been to the Shadowlands before, more than once. I had lived off the lands, tracked the small game, and avoided the predators. For the most part, the Shadowlands could be a quiet place, one that could make you forget its inherent danger.

It did not sound like it was so quiet anymore.

The walls of Rwookrrorro came ever closer, and ahead of us a small group of Wookiees stopped to stare. I averted my eyes, but not before I recognized warriors from my youth. One turned, and ran back toward the town.

He has recognized me. He has gone to inform Chuundar. There was nothing but to walk forward, now; the elevator was not far within the walls of Rwookrrorro, and I could only hope I would reach my objective without any interruptions.

Jabakka was not, however, the fastest of walkers.

The guard posted at the wall had already straightened, his eyes narrow and wary as they fixed upon us. There was a bow-caster trained upon me from high on the wall.

"(Let us pass,)" Jabakka growled.

The guard was young, and I could see the recognition as it dawned on his face. "(That's, that's-)"

"(I know who it is, cub. Stand aside!)"

He blinked as he moved sideways, wide eyes staring at me. I could not put a name to him, but he was vaguely familiar. Six years. Six long years. It was hard, to think of all that I had missed. But it had not been all bad, either.

Most Wookiees did not leave Kashyyyk. I did not think I would have, voluntarily. And yet, I found I could not regret all that had happened. My experiences had opened my eyes. I had grown to see a different sort of honour in others, different struggles, different values. While I did not often understand those who were not Wookiee, it did not mean I could not respect them, or care for them.

Mission held a place in my heart, deeper than most I had known on Kashyyyk. My fondness for a Twi'lek girl cub was not something I would ever have expected. At least she was safe, back on the Ebon Hawk.

I strode forward, into the bustle of my home village, Jabakka flanking me with his rifle still in his grasp. The elevator was close and I was glad of it, as I closed my ears to the gasps of surprised inhabitants, and averted my eyes to any who might be staring.

I heard one call out inquiringly to Jabakka, but we both continued our walk toward the suspended basket that I had travelled a half dozen times in my life thus far.

To my surprise, Growwhul was one of two sentries there. He looked old. Grizzled, and older than he had ever appeared before. Growwhul and Tasharr were always together, irascible and forbidding in their scolding of Rwookrrorro's youth. Had something happened to Growwhul's mate?

It seemed likely. It would explain why Jabakka now lived in his home. Perhaps Growwhul had desired to move back into the walls of Rwookrrorro, if Tasharr had died. And yet, why was an Old One on sentry duty at the elevator?

Growwhul's eyes widened as they fixed on me, before narrowing in distaste.

"(The madclaw is here to complete the terms of his exile,)" Jabakka spoke to Growwhul, his voice low with disapproval. "(Finally.)"

Growwhul grunted, and unlatched the basket before stepping onboard. He held a bow-caster at the ready, and his glower was focussed on me. The other sentry looked worried, shooting glances between Growwhul, Jabakka, and myself, but made no move to stop me as I strode toward Growwhul.

"(Halt!)" a commanding voice called loudly behind us, and with a sinking feeling in my gut I recognized the timbre all too well. There was a padding of feet running along the wooden boards, and I turned to see my brother, his expression wild with surprise.

At his side, running next to him with a vibrosword drawn, was Drawwlog. He wore the decorative neck-piece of a chieftain's aide.

I was only metres from my destination, but the other sentry was already raising his bow-caster, even as he looked unsure as to whom he should be pointing it at. Jabakka and Growwhul both held weapons, heavy frowns on their faces. They would support my access to the Shadowlands, I had to hope - but not if I ran from the chieftain.

The anger at my brother burned in my gut, but I had to rise above it. This time, I had to do things the smart way.

Chuundar stopped several metres from me, roughly motioning Drawwlog onward. Drawwlog obeyed, moving until he flanked the sentry and blocked my access to the elevator.

"(Younger brother,)" Chuundar panted. He looked beyond, his gaze landing first on Jabakka and then Growwhul, before returning to me. He looked the same as I remembered, if slightly shorter. It was with some startlement that I realized I must have grown. "(I did not believe it, when I heard.)"

"(Chuundar,)" I acknowledged. I could not let my anger at him eclipse my objective. "(I am here to end my exile the way it should have ended six years ago.)"

Chuundar's eyes widened, but I was not sure how surprised he really was. "(Even a madclaw is allowed a last conversation, brother.)" He did not name me, I realized. Madclaws were both honourless and nameless. "(Come. It has been some time, and you have spent years off-world. I desire to hear about that.)"

Jabakka shifted uneasily, and I heard a faint grunt from Growwhul.

"(I will respect the terms of my exile, Chuundar. I will go now.)" And I would not call him brother. I took a step closer to the basket, and Drawwlog lifted his blade to bar my way. His expression was pained.

"(Younger brother, do not be ridiculous. You must know that I never wished things to go so far six years ago. Exile can be lifted. Even a madclaw can find honour again.)"

It was rare - although not unheard-of - for exile to be overturned.

Once, I had worshipped my brother. And I held on to the image of him, six years ago, bleeding and shocked from the impact of my claws - the initial bewilderment evident in his face. He had not wanted me exiled, not then.

But that was six years ago. Since then, he had sold dissenters into slavery and exiled our father. And as I stared at him, I could see suspicion darkening his eyes.

"(He belongs in the Shadowlands,)" Growwhul growled. "(Exile is not a tool belt that one takes on and off.)"

"(I am the chieftain, Old One,)" Chuundar snapped. "(There have been enough Wookiees exiled in recent years. Rwookrrorro grows weak. If my brother can convince me he is loyal, then it is my decision whether the exile should stand or not.)"

I wondered, then, if that was how Chuundar was hiding the slavery. Did most of them believe that those who opposed Chuundar had lived out the last of their days in the Shadowlands?

I looked over to Drawwlog, and his expression sagged. There was a desolate look in his eyes, and I thought he might understand the heaviness shame could bring. Drawwlog had learned about Czerka in the past, he had shown me the tach harvest himself. I wondered if he knew about the slavery, and still kept Chuundar's secrets after all this time.

"(But I am also a madclaw, Chuundar,)" I said finally. "(And even a madclaw exile has the right to enter the Shadowlands. I will cleanse my honour in the only way I can.)"

I saw a slight flinch on Drawwlog's face. Perhaps he blamed himself, somewhat, for my accusations against Chuundar all those years ago. I liked to think that he regretted his lies, regretted not backing me against my brother and my father.

And I found, as I stepped forward, that Drawwlog did not have the will to stop me. His blade wavered and dropped, and I walked past him.

"(Brother,)" Chuundar barked sharply as I strode onto the lift. "(You would throw your life away like this? Is there not anything else you wish to say to me?)"

I understood, then, that Chuundar was burning with the need to find out what I knew.

He wondered if I had heard about our father. He wondered if I had discovered the slavery. He wondered what I knew about the Czerka trade, now.

But I was not the same brash, simple Wookiee I used to be.

"(I regret that I struck out at you, Chuundar,)" I said simply, looking upon the face that was so like our fathers'. "(I dishonoured our family with that one action.)"

But not with my words. They were true, and I would not apologize for them.

And as Growwhul started the lift's descent, I kept my eyes on my brother. Frustration, more than anything, was apparent on his face. But he had no way to stop me, not with the Old Ones watching everything. If I had been angry, if I had thrown accusations about and we had begun to argue once more, then perhaps he could have claimed I was a threat and neutralized me. If I had gone with him instead, he could have dealt with me some other way.

The passionate, clever brother I had worshipped as a cub was gone. I mourned him, even as I recognized that today's chieftain was a threat to Rwookrrorro and perhaps even Kashyyyk herself, should Czerka gain a prominent foothold here.

The gods be willing, my father would still be alive, and there might still be a way to bring honour back to our people.

xXx

Growwhul was silent on the way down. His kept his bow-caster fixed outside the lift, but never far from my form, and his dark gaze continued to land on me from time to time.

"(Where is Tasharr?)" I asked, about halfway down. I was not given to curiosity, usually, but Tasharr's absence from Growwhul's side was painfully noticeable. As fractious and choleric as the two of them were, their love for each other had always been evident. When all three of their cubs married into Arooagorro society, Growwhul and Tasharr remained here and ascended to become Old Ones. They were rarely without each other.

There was an obvious tensing in Growwhul's grizzled frame, and his expression contorted with grief.

"(I do not speak to madclaws,)" he growled, staring into the darkening shadows.

She had died, then, or perhaps been sold under the guise of exile. I hoped, for Growwhul's sake, it was the former.

I cleared my throat. "(There are Wookiee slaves in the Czerka starport.)"

Growwhul's gaze jerked back to mine, his eyes wide with surprise. There was something in his expression, some glimpse of recognition… I wondered, then, if he had heard rumours of slavery before. Growwhul was not one who would stand for slavery on Kashyyyk, but he also would not act against the chieftain without proof. All I could do was sow the seeds.

"(Six in cages, in the marketplace. And I have heard of a freighter, in docking bay F4, that has a hundred imprisoned.)"

Growwhul gave out a sort of strangled noise. "(Are you telling me you saw this with your own eyes?)"

"(No,)" I shifted uncomfortably. "(Someone I trust with my life spoke with one of the caged Wookiees. She did not get his name, but he told her about the rest of them.)"

Growwhul grumbled in disgust. "(It was not a Wookiee, was it?)" At my silence, the rumble of discontent in his chest grew louder. "(You spread off-worlder lies. Even now, even as you go to face the consequences of your actions from years ago, you are still looking for any way to discredit your brother.)"

He would not listen, I knew. Growwhul had never been a shining advocate of Chuundar, but he would always follow the chieftain.

"(Mission Vao does not lie,)" I barked. "(One thing I have learned in my years abroad is that off-worlders can have honour, too. If you have heard anything of slavery, then remember well what I said today-)"

"(I have heard enough,)" he growled, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

"(If someone were to venture into the starport, they could either prove me wrong-)"

"(Silence!)" Growwhul roared. His thickset brows were lowered in righteous anger.

"(-or Czerka would not let them enter, which would then pose the question of what Czerka was hiding.)"

"(I will hear no more poison from you, madclaw!)" Growwhul's bow-caster swung to aim at my face, now, close and threatening.

I subsided then, for I had said my piece. Whether it would amount to anything I did not know, but at least I had tried, and with someone honourable enough to do something about it – should he ever believe any of it might be true.

The shadows darkened as we descended further, and the air became stagnant; musty and earthy in its scent. The odd speck of a glow bug against the nearest wroshyr was visible, and after a time Growwhul looked beyond me once more, aiming his weapon back into the shadows.

The foliage thinned, and I realized we were nearing the bottom. Even here, the temperature was ambient. I felt a tension in my gut, and was ready to move out. I had slipped past my brother and made it to the Shadowlands. Thus far, things were going as planned. I could only hope it would stay that way.

The elevator thudded gently onto the forest floor, but what had me stiffening was the small group of sentients who awaited us. Growwhul's bow-caster was aimed at them, and I saw they were mostly small, hairless off-worlders.

My eyes widened with surprise when I recognized the only one with any fur at all, even if it was fine and short. I strode past Growwhul, unlatched the basket, and walked out.

"Zaalbar!" Juhani greeted, stepping forward to clasp my hands. Behind her stood Dak Vessar, Kel Algwinn, and a robed human male I did not know. "We have been waiting for someone to answer the intercom. I did not expect… what are you doing here?"

"(Your exile begins, madclaw, where it should have six years ago,)" Growwhul growled, stepping out of the basket and motioning me away into the shadows. "(Go. Cleanse your shame, and do not return.)"

The older human stepped forward. "We are done here, and will take the lift back," he spoke directly to Growwhul, a deep frown lining his face.

"(I am an exile, Juhani. What are you doing here? Do you know where Jen is?)"

The Cathar frowned as she struggled to follow my words. At times I thought she could comprehend me better than Canderous Ordo and Carth Onasi, but her understanding of Shyriiwook was only rudimentary.

Still, I had grown to respect her, and how she had struggled to better herself since Tatooine. Perhaps the path of the Jedi who had tasted their madclaw Dark Side and turned away from it – Juhani and Jen Sahara both – had shown me that honour could come after dishonour.

"We have been laying Belaya to rest. Are you- are you going after-" She stopped talking at the robed human's scowl. She meant Jen, of course. I did not think Juhani would know anything about the politics of my homeworld, or my father.

Growwhul had pointedly walked back into the elevator, and both Kel Algwinn and the older human followed. Dak Vessar was frowning at Juhani.

"We need to leave, Knight Juhani," the robed man spoke. "Master Quatra is awaiting our return."

"Juhani?" Dak prompted, when she kept staring at me, a silent question on her face.

"(I have more than one reason to be here, Juhani,)" I said finally, but the frown on her face showed this was either an unsatisfactory answer, or she did not comprehend my words.

"Do the others know you are here?"

"(Canderous Ordo does. He will have told Mission and Carth Onasi by now.)"

There was an impatient growl from Growwhul, and Juhani shifted to stare at all her companions in turn. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Juhani," the one I did not know grumbled. "You're dithering. That's irritating at the best of times, and downright foolish in the Shadowlands."

"I am not dithering, Master Vrook," Juhani responded, her voice calm and collected despite his censure. "I am making a decision." Her eyes opened, then, and she stepped forward to embrace Dak.

"Take care, Dak," she murmured, her arms tight around his middle. "I shall not be travelling back with you."

"What?" he demanded. He pulled back, his brows lowering to glare at her. "What are you saying?"

I blinked. Did Juhani mean to accompany me? Growwhul would not like that, not for an exile. And I planned to hunt for my father. Juhani is thinking of Jen Sahara. And our mission. I could not deny the importance of the Star Map, and its impact on the war being waged in the galaxy.

My loyalty was as much to Jen Sahara as it was to Kashyyyk, these days. I did not know what or whom I should attempt to find first, but perhaps Juhani could aid me in that decision. And I found I would be glad of Juhani's company, and not only because she was a fearsome warrior in her own right.

"My place is with the crew of the Ebon Hawk, Dak," Juhani murmured, but she was looking at the robed one called Vrook. He scowled from his place on the lift.

Dak Vessar stared at me in mild incredulity, before turning back to Juhani. "You're going to stay here? In the Shadowlands, with no equipment?"

"A Jedi is hardly helpless," she replied, in a mild tone. She wore plain clothing, and although I saw the glint of a lightsaber on her belt, she was equipped with little else. But I knew how to survive here, and Juhani had lived in an inhospitable desert for the better part of a year. I did not doubt her resourcefulness.

"(He is an exile!)" Growwhul roared, as if he suddenly understood what was happening. "(A madclaw exile! He cannot have allies. This is his only chance to cleanse himself of his dishonour, and it cannot be interfered with by outsiders!)"

"I go to seek a companion of mine, who is in your Shadowlands." Juhani had turned around, and spoke clearly to Growwhul. She may not understand his words, but his displeasure at her intent was plainly obvious. "I will return when I have found her."

Growwhul was growling, his grizzled fur standing on edge. And then, I saw a flicker of movement from the one named Vrook, and Growwhul's snarled coat flattened slightly. The grumble in his throat subsided. I felt more at peace, more serene then I had in days.

It was false. And I was familiar, now, with the way Jedi could use the Force on others. It was deceitful, and unclean, and I hated it.

The one named Vrook spoke. "Juhani-"

The Cathar shook her head at the robed Jedi. "Go back to Master Quatra and Master Vandar. My place is here. I can return to the elevator when I am done."

"(Are you sure, Juhani?)" I rumbled softly. "(I was always destined for this place, since we first aimed our ship at Kashyyyk. There is no need for you to be here.)"

Juhani only smiled at me. Her slanted eyes gleamed in the shadows.

"This is foolish," Master Vrook muttered from his place on the basket. "First Zhar and now this… Zhar could have waited to speak to Vandar, at the least." A deep frown formed on his face. "I could forbid this, Knight Juhani."

"Master-"

"I won't," he grumbled. "I won't test your mettle again. And I must admit I've half a mind to go with you, if it weren't for the need to return these two to Quatra." He sighed, scratching the thinning hair on his head. He looked old and tired. "Just don't forget that your loyalty to the Order trumps your loyalty to your friends. If that's not the case, then you need to reconsider your priorities."

Juhani bowed her head. "I shall not forget, Master Vrook."

I was silent as Dak Vessar gave Juhani one last embrace, whispered something to her quietly, and then walked onto the basket to accompany the others. Growwhul gave a soft growl again, before initiating the basket's ascent. As the lift slowly began to rise, Growwhul remained staring at me, his dark gaze disapproving and forbidding. Dak Vessar had a torn, wistful smile as he looked back down to Juhani.

The basket went up. It did not take long until it was eclipsed by the shadows.

xXx