Chapter Seven
The explosions had ceased for the time-being, but the antagonizing had only begun. After a bit of coaxing, Obi-Wan and Anakin led the group outside, convincing them to assist those who needed the most help. The village had erupted into chaos. With the sun dipping below the tree line, and the power for the community apparently disrupted, the only sources of light were the multiple fires blazing out of control.
They did all they could, pulling bodies from the wreckage while dragging others to safety. There were countless injuries and numerous deaths, and still their efforts were hampered with the disgruntled murmurings of those wanting to attack the village of Cro-Hyt immediately.
"Let us do our job!" he spoke in Basic, his irritation making him forget they wouldn't understand him.
"Tol jed una jed vun dyy!" he shouted, although Obi-Wan doubted any of the clan leaders were listening. There was blood on their hands and revenge burning in their eyes. He recognized the look, and had seen a similar one many times during countless missions before.
A murmuring had begun and was steadily increasing in volume. It had started low, from an unknown source, and quickly spread. It spoke of death for the clans and an abject failure for himself and Anakin.
"Dun vol dun! Dun vol dun!" the crowd was chanting louder and louder, accompanied by even those who were unable to stand.
"What are they saying, Master?" Anakin had joined him in the street, as the Gaw-Lin survivors began circling them.
"Death for a death, Padawan," Obi-Wan answered glumly. He didn't like the look of this, but he was not about to use physical force to have his own way.
"What do we do now?"
Obi-Wan had an idea, although he had never attempted it. Not on such a large scale. It wasn't a favorite option of his to say the least, but at least it would keep his lightsaber out of his hand.
Closing his eyes, the Jedi Master summoned the Force, which was so readily available in an environment such as this. He drew it to himself,and then turned his focus upon the crowd.
"Uni tol jed una jed vun dyy," he announced, his words punctuated with as much Force application as he could muster. "Uni lun sol tet. Tet!" he pointed to the ground for emphasis.
There were at least two hundred Gaw facing him when he had tried the persuasion, and every one of them looked back at him dazedly, pale smoke drifting about their heads and torsos, the crackling of endless flames surrounding them.
"Uni lun sol tet," one of them repeated. Obi-Wan wasn't certain if the one who had spoken was a Clan leader or not, but it would have to do. He was just happy his idea had worked.
"We have to get to the Cro-Hyt village before they change their mind," Obi-Wan commanded as he and Anakin departed, maneuvering their way through heavy debris, which littered the city streets. "There's still a chance to abort this war if we can meet with the Cro Chieftan."
"I think that was a record, Master," Anakin pointed out as they entered the heavily wooded area that lay just behind the city, the snowy mountaintop peeking over the trees beyond. "You just mind whammied half a planet."
"Influenced, Padawan. I only influenced them to use their better judgment," Obi-Wan corrected as they hurried their steps. Already, he could hear the death chant beginning once again behind them.
They entered the core of the firestorm at a dead run, both brandishing hastily-created weapons, out of breath, frantically gazing through the thick smoke.
"What the sith! Who did this?"
Padmé could hardly believe her eyes. She had never witnessed so much destruction in one place before.
Grasping her hand, Dormé led the way through the dark streets glowing beneath the flickering flames devouring buildings comprised of mostly wood, their structures fueling a fire which would not die for hours to come. Beings quite similar to the ones who had pursued through into the woods were lying in the street, some scorched to their deaths, some crying out in agony.
Empathy struck Padmé hard, and she fought back tears as a young Linhytian, her face and arm blackened, wandered out of a burning building screaming for what she assumed was her mother.
"Dor," she gasped. "We have to help them."
"I know," her assistant agreed, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'll start searching for medical supplies."
"I'll try to find a place to treat them."
Neither woman understood the language, but they understood grief and suffering, and there was plenty of it.
What Padmé didn't understand was the anger she came face to face with when she turned onto a wide street which led up to a substantial building, whose roof was ablaze. There was a large group of males gathered there shouting a chant and thrusting their fists high into the air.
They were not helping, they were only instigating. It infuriated her.
"What are you doing!" she shouted at the group, who ignored her. That is, until she grabbed one by the sleeve of his leather jacket and pulled him around to face her. "Your clansmen are dying! You must help them!"
From the side of her eye, Padmé noticed the group had begun to split, and one of the large beings was approaching her. A vibroblade soon appeared before her face, the horned mouth issuing out what could only be a threat to her safety.
"Dey mon uga nor tul," the being sneered down at her, his breath reeking of spice.
It had been a few years since she'd practiced, but imagined the years of training would come back to her. Besides, the stick was in her hand, and she wanted this huge thug out of her face.
With a flourish of movement, Padmé brought her spear up and over, capturing the being by the wrist, and forcing his arm down to the ground, where she held it with all her might.
"Help them," she growled into his surprised face, just as another clan member stomped on the end of her stick, immediately disposing her of her only weapon.
Her hand-to-hand combat skills were not quite as deadly as her stickfighting was, but she would do what she had to in order to get through these thick skulls of theirs!
When Padmé lifted her hands in preparation of fending off an attack, the small group of Linhytians spewed out what had to be laughter. She had no choice but to show them how serious she was, and promptly stepped forward to do just that, when a smaller Linhytian stepped forward. This one revealed a smile and in broken Basic, greeted her.
"I am Tun-Gaw of Gaw-Lin, translator of Gaw Chieftan, who is dead."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Padmé spoke kindly but with great relief. Perhaps she could negotiate with these stubborn beings after all! "What happened here?"
"Cro-Hyt Chieftan killed many. All were in Council House, Jedi too. Jedi came to help."
"The Jedi!" Padmé stopped him, placing a hopeful hand upon his leather-bound arm. "Where are they?"
"Two Jedi go to Hyt to speak with murderous Cro leader."
Padmé sighed heavily with relief, grasping her stomach which was rolling with anxiety. At least the men were safe. Now, she and Dormé could concentrate their efforts.
"Tell your Clan I'm here to help the injured. We need to set up an area to treat the wounded. Do you have any medical supplies? Bandages? Bacta? "
"I will ask," the kind translator assured her before turning his attention back to the grumbling clansmen behind him.
The discussion was brief, but when the helpful Lynhytian turned back to Padmé, his large, brown eyes were hopeful. "My brethren inform me because you are small like bug but brave like tuk, they will help."
"Good," Padmé grinned at him. "I didn't want to have to go get another stick."