"Mother!"
He hears this greeting called again and again as Lilith takes him on a personal tour of the village. As a Senator, he's trudged through his share of underdeveloped Rim worlds. He knows how to feign interest in the travails of little people. A smile here, a question there, and none are the wiser that he is bored out of his mind. And so, Sheev takes his obligatory tour of witchville in stride.
"Mother!"
Lilith Talzin is a rockstar. The Mother Witch is heralded with a mix of deep respect and true affection. In return, she introduces each and every Sister and child by name. It's impressive. The witches of Dathomir are a close-knit society. If there is discontent, Sheev doesn't sense it.
"Mother! Look-here comes Mother!"
The witches' female dominated community is a model of cooperation and sharing. Sheev privately suspects that's because there are no men around to create the usual strife-inducing hierarchies. Testosterone fuels aggression and competition, and that sparks ambition, which means change and innovation. Men move society forward. And women? Well, women's innate need for security ends up creating static societies like Dathomir.
Lilith's tour confirms his initial impressions: the Coven is drearily domestic and exceedingly low tech. The proud Mother Witch shows him women working at handicrafts, sewing, and cooking. He meets witch schoolteachers, washerwomen, and nursery nannies. There are gardeners tending neat rows of vegetables and herbalists bottling remedies for common ailments. Archer women hunt game for meat, while Sister shepherdesses tend to their flocks. Other Sisters wander the woods in pairs in search of berries and plants to gather. The jobs are varied, but women of all ages work in the Coven. For whether they are school children scurrying up orchard trees to pick fruit, or near-blind old ladies rocking babies to sleep, everyone contributes.
"Where are the men? What do they do?" Sheev wants to know. He still hasn't met a Brother witch.
"They hunt," Lilith answers, "and they oversee the animal husbandry and crops. The men do our building and most of our fishing. But their primary calling is to protect the Coven. The Brothers are first and foremost warriors. They spend a lot of time training to fight."
That comment stokes his curiosity. What will these witch warriors be like? And who are they training to fight? It's all a mystery still. For hours into his tour of Dathomir, Sheev has yet to meet a male over age twelve.
At the Coven, boy children remain with the Sisters until they start to show signs of maturation. Then, the boys join the Brothers in their separate village. The Brothers teach them how to be men, Lilith explains. She doesn't bother to elaborate, and that fuels Sheev's speculation that the Brother witches must be second-class citizens. It's the opposite of the typical agrarian patriarchy. Here on Dathomir, the power resides with the female witches even if the responsibility for the difficult brawny work still falls upon the male of their species.
There is much emphasis on childbearing and childrearing in the Coven. He has no interest in hearing about any of it. But as Lilith drones on about all the ways her people accommodate motherhood, it's clear that the Coven is organized to allow the Sisters to breed repeatedly. Coming from the Republic Core, Sheev finds that attitude to be baffling. Women in his society regulate their fertility to birth one or a maximum of two kids, usually timed to occur during the least disruptive periods of their educational and professional development. Many women eschew the role of motherhood altogether, and no one faults them for that attitude.
It wasn't always that way. The women of the Republic worked for centuries to gain control over their life choices and to free themselves from the natural consequences of biology. Modern women of the Republic are treated no differently from men. That's how equality works, right? You elevate women to the status of men. That way, they can achieve like men, work like men, and live lives virtually indistinguishable from men—unless, of course, they opt to become mothers. But even then, with the ubiquitous nature of droid labor back home, a woman can always dump her brat on a robot helper who can't complain and never calls in sick. So really, there is no need for all these accommodations for new mothers that Lilith is so proud of. But looking at yet another Sister witch going about her work with a snoozing infant strapped to her chest, Sheev worries that Lilith and her followers would object to the Republic's gender neutral norms. These women seem bizarrely fixated on, well, being women.
Why all this emphasis on kids? Lilith tells him it's because the witches view life as the perfect manifestation of the Force. Life creates the Force and, in turn, the Force creates life. They are one in the same, she insists. The Mother Witch all but proclaims that the Force is female in her zeal. Sheev fights the urge to roll his eyes. Still, motherhood matters a great deal in this matrilineal society, so much so that their leader has the title 'Mother.' That just begs the question: do fathers matter? Sheev inwardly bristles at the peripheral status of the male witches. As a man, he's annoyed on their behalf.
But while the Brothers might merit little attention, Sheev himself is received with appropriate respect. Lilith introduces him as Lord Sid-eeee-us to everyone they meet. Here on Dathomir, he is known by his vocation in the Force, and not by his Senator job title. The witches don't care about Republic politics; to them, it's the Force that matters. It's nice. He's openly known as a Lord of the Sith, and that connotes serious gravitas. Lilith treats him like an honored guest, lavishing attention on him while she escorts him arm in arm.
Lilith herself is by far the most interesting thing about the tour. Sheev has never met anyone like her. Everything about the Mother Witch is distinctive . . . and distinctly female. Her smile is coy, her gaze is direct, and her laugh has a sexy, taunting subtext. The woman moves with a cat's grace; she doesn't walk so much as she undulates. She's lanky and tall, but she swings her hips and it sways her skirt in a way that makes Sheev forget what he was about to say. Lilith is a few inches taller than him. But she leans in close, her head near to his, so it doesn't feel like she is hulking over him. Ordinarily, he hates when women make him feel small. But when the Mother Witch rolls her 'r' and calls him Darrrrrrrth Sid-eeeeeee-us, Sheev feels ten feet tall.
Just now, Lilith whispers in her singsong drawl, "Let's go into the woods. There's something I wish to shoooooow you." She makes it sound like an assignation.
"Lead the way." He's game. Sheev is bored of knitting circles and shrieking children. He'd much rather talk to Lilith than to her subjects. What makes the Mother Witch so entrancing? Is it her Force? Could it be her creepy goth-girl alt-beauty? She's scary, but in a good way.
"The Forest beyond the village holds dangers," she warns him as they venture forth. "That's why our people never walk alone."
Feeling the need to assert himself on behalf of men everywhere, Sheev assures her, "I will protect you."
Lilith is tickled by this gallantry. "Oh, no, Sheeeev," she purrs, "It is I who will take caaaaaare of you."
What the Hell does that mean? Like so many things the Mother Witch says, it's a vague statement with an ominous undertone. She knows what she's doing. Inevitably, Lilith has a twinkle in her eye when she makes these pronouncements. Is she teasing him? Asserting dominance? He's unsure, but he knows better than to seek clarification.
As they walk into the woods, Sheev finally gets his first look at a Brother witch. He and Lilith happen upon a couple who have snuck away to be together. In the late afternoon stillness, above the birdcalls and the rustling branches overhead, there is the unmistakable sound of a moaning, groaning man enthusiastically engaged in sex. It's coming from up ahead.
Sheev stops and looks to Lilith with eyebrows raised to silently ask whether they should intrude. He's a Sith, not a Nightbrother, but surely there is some universal guy code across all cultures that respects privacy in circumstances like this. Like you don't interrupt a dude while he's getting laid . . .
But Lilith keeps striding ahead, tugging him with her.
The unseen man must register his discovery in the Force, and by his leader no less. "Mother!" a male voice gasps out between pants. It's the greeting Sheev has heard many times already today.
And now, there is a woman's voice, too. "Mother!"
The pair are busted, and they know it. Sheev cringes inwardly for them.
Lilith keeps walking, dragging him along. And that's when they come upon the illicit tryst. A Brother is leaning up against the far side of the trunk of a very large tree. Kneeling at his feet, her head tucked away under the man's knee length tunic, is a Sister who has apparently resumed her prior activity with gusto.
Sheev does a double take before he looks away. Did he perceive that rightly? Is that Brother getting his dick sucked?!
It gets weirder as the Sister pauses to greet him. "Oh, you have a visitor!" the woman calls as she peeks out from under the man's clothes.
Sheev feels his face flame.
Lilith merely chuckles. "Yes, I have a special guest today." She never breaks stride. The Mother Witch simply saunters past and imperiously chides, "Make it procreative at least once!" like an attaboy and not a reprimand. Maybe that sex positive attitude makes sense in light of what Sheev has seen so far of the Coven. But it's not what he is expecting. Everyone else seems cool with it, though; he's the one who's flustered.
All in all, it's a fleeting interaction that's over before Sheev can focus on the couple themselves. He's left with the impression of a bald man with tawny skin and thickly muscled arms who wears a diadem crown of some sort. The Brother had lots of tattoos, too.
"Those two are a pair even if they pretend otherwise," Lilith remarks as they keep walking. "The Coven does not forbid commitment, but neither do we expect it." She must see that he's lost in her meaning, so she helpfully explains, "Marriage. We do not marry. But every generation, there are a few lasting pairs that form. It's tolerated more than encouraged."
Huh. That's very different from the societal expectations back where Sheev is from. For almost all worlds of the Republic, state sanctioned monogamy is the respectable norm for genteel people. But whatever. He doesn't care about the witches' strict sex division, their luddite lifestyle, or their quaint bucolic village. Mostly, Sheev is curious about their power. Because for all that he has seen today—for all the Mother Witch's supposed openness—she has revealed very little about the impressive Force power she calls ichor.
Alert to clues, his ears perk up when Lilith refers to Dathomir as a refuge for her people. It turns out that this backwater outpost is not the witches' point of origin. Their tradition emerged elsewhere but migrated here eons ago.
Curious, he asks, "What is your original homeworld?" Don't say Jedha, he thinks, please don't say Jedha. Far too many Force cults trace their origins back to the birthplace of the Jedi Order. It gives the smug Light Side standing to argue that it is the one true faith of the Force and all other religions are breakaway reactions to their truth.
But Lilith names a completely different place. "Peridea."
He's never heard of it. But the word sounds familiar. "Peridea. That name sounds like Kittat."
She looks to him blankly. "I don't know that language."
"It's Old Sith. Kittat is the Dark Side's ancient tongue. Peridea—literally, 'per dea'—would have meant 'through the goddess,' or something like that."
Lilith looks interested. "The Coven was founded by a goddess. She was immune to the workings of mortals, of course, but she was tragically killed by her brother god. The Force took pity on her. It resurrected the goddess as a flesh and blood woman."
"Death and resurrection . . ." Sheev muses. "Those are universal themes in mythology." Everything he's seen so far of these witches seems to be straight out of a fairytale. From their placid eden world, to their determined halcyon harmony, to their spooky affectations, the witches hit upon many touchstones of cultural anthropology.
The Mother Witch bristles at the remark. "It's not myth. It is our truth." She schools him now. "Resurrection is the promise the Force kept to our founder: that it would protect her. In death, the goddess was reborn and the Coven was created. Many thousands of generations later, we still believe that the Force will come to our aid—as the descendants of the goddess—in our time of greatest need. Our dead brethren stand at the ready, waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting to be resurrected like the goddess."
"I see." Well, that sounds familiar. Sheev guesses, "Will they be born again to eternal life in the Force? Is that the hope?"
"No. They will be resurrected to defend the Coven and to destroy its enemies. To fight to restore nature's balance."
Oh. Well, that's a twist on the normal version of a salvation story. Sheev likes it. These creepy gals hope to be resurrected for revenge, not as a reward for goodness. It's kind of refreshing. Just when he thinks the witches are veering too nicey-nice Jedi, they swerve Dark and keep it interesting.
"How quaint," he smiles blandly.
Again, it's the wrong thing to say. Lilith informs him, "There is nothing quaint about the Chant of Resurrection." There is a warning flash of green in her eyes as she announces, "It is some of the oldest, most powerful magic. The Coven knows all the secrets of life and death," she brags, "for we are born of a goddess who died and was revived by the Force."
Huh. This is more than stories, then? It is real? "So . . . you can actually raise the dead?"
"Yes."
Sheev's eyes narrow. "Is it possible to learn this power?"
"No. One must be born to it. Only the Sisters and Brothers of Dathomir are capable of using ichor to resurrect."
"I see." Drat. Raising the dead would be a very useful trick.
Proud Mother Talzin proclaims, "The fallen Kingdom of Mortis on Peridea lives on in us. We are all that remains of the old ways . . . of the time before the Force became a house divided and at war with itself . . ."
"Mortis." The name gets his attention. "That sounds like Kittat as well. Mortis means death in Old Sith," Sheev offers, puzzled by the coincidence.
"Does it? Mortis means something very different to us. The realm of Mortis was a perfect place, beautiful in its raw state, with extremes that existed in tandem. All manner of nature persisted there in a great, interdependent ecosystem. The Force created it to balance."
There's that word 'balance' again. It's more talk of harmony and nature from the Mother Witch. Sheev thinks he has the Coven figured out. It's a lot of utopian collectivism, which strikes him as appropriately female in mindset.
"Mortis symbolizes life to us, not death. It was a place of life, until our goddess was slain, you see. After that, the balance was broken. Mortis fell."
Ah, he gets it. This is a tale of paradise lost. It's yet another storybook trope to add to the witches' long list. Sure enough, Lilith laments, "We wait in hope that the days of Mortis will come again."
"Wouldn't that be nice . . ." Sheev comments mildly. He flashes his practiced politician's smile to veil his disingenuousness. Because however long-ago the witches' heyday was, it has long passed. The galaxy sits poised on the precipice of the Second Sith Empire. The Dark Side is about the blaze forth in all its majesty. Balance is not on the agenda.
Lilith now levels him a silent, stern look of reproof. She tells him, "The fall of Mortis was cataclysmic. It brought ignorance and fear of the Force into being. The lack of balance corrupted the entire universe, including the very nature of all those dwelling within it. From this wretchedness—from this original sin—the misperceptions of the Jedi and the Sith arose. It is our fervent hope that one day the universe will be redeemed to Mortis, to again embrace the natural balance that brings perfect order to life."
Feeling cheeky, Sheev goads her a little. "Are you planning to kill us all to achieve this balance?" Because that would be the Sith solution to the issue.
Lilith flashes a condescending smile. "Ah, Sheeeev," she sighs and shakes her head, "balance cannot be compelled by violence. It leads by example. We do not enforce our ideas on others."
That sounds right. It's why the Coven languishes in isolation. And it's why the Jedi tolerate the witches and why the Sith don't bother them. Basically, these women threaten no one.
He and Lilith keep walking while trading microaggressions that feel like flirting. She pushes a little, and he pushes back. Then, she says something that feels like a misdirection, and he responds with a verbal feint. They are like two dueling swordsmen, each actively assessing their opponent. It's fun. She's fun. Sheev is enjoying himself.
"Mother!" For perhaps the hundredth time today, someone calls out to Lilith by name. This time, it's an old woman accompanied by an old man.
Lilith performs the introductions. "Lord Sidious, meet Sister Daka and Brother Saul."
Sheev nods politely to the pair. He sizes them up at a glance: both are very ugly and extremely old. And also, quite powerful in the Force.
The ancient, diminutive woman looks him over carefully before she comments to Lilith, "He came. I'm so glad."
"Welcome." Sister Daka's male companion offers Sheev a handshake, which he accepts.
Up close, Sheev can see that the man has a naturally occurring crown of short horns sprouting from his forehead. That wasn't a diadem Sheev saw earlier on the other Brother; it was his actual features. The horns make the geezer vaguely Zabrak-looking, although the rest of him looks pretty human. He wears an armored breastplate over his purple tunic and spiked arm gauntlets adorn his forearms. He has a wicked looking curved dagger strapped to his waist. Could this warrior garb be a mark of status, and not an indication of his current occupation? Because it's hard to imagine this doddering old guy having the strength to draw the archer's bow that he wears strapped to his back alongside a quiver of arrows.
Sheev is about to launch into the meaningless small talk he has perfected from two decades in politics when he is preempted by the high-pitch squeal of an incoming child racing towards them.
"Mo-theeeeeer!" A flash of red appears to collide smack into Lilith. It's the young boy with the unusual ruddy-colored skin who Sheev saw when he first walked through the village. The kid wraps himself around the Mother Witch's skirts and beams up at her. "Mother!" Like all the other children of the Coven, this boy unabashedly adores his headmistress. So much so that he joyfully embraces her.
Lilith laughs and pats the cheeky interloper on the head. "This is Maul," she presents the boy.
"Hello, Maul," Sheev smiles.
"You're the visitor from off-world." If the boy is intimidated, it doesn't show. "Mother said you would come."
"Maul, this is Lord Sidious. He is a Sith Lord."
The boy nods, squints up at him, and blurts out, "He's unbalanced."
Lilith nods gravely. "Indeed, he is."
"Does he know?" the boy asks in an artless stage whisper.
"He does," Lilith confirms with the ghost of a smile about her lips.
The boy now turns to him. "You should work on that." The kid proceeds to confide advice he himself has clearly been taught. "If you are unbalanced too much for too long, you will become unhappy and self-destructive. You will be diminished."
Sheev takes the concern in the spirit it's given. "I'll keep that in mind."
And now again, there's that suggestion of a smirk across Lilith's lips. She watching him closely, as are the other adults.
With the greetings out of the way, excited young Maul is full of news. "There's another rabbit in the trap I made—a great big one! Tituba says he'll make a good stew. And Morgana has promised that she'll make me a hat from his pelt."
"Those two spoil you," Lilith shakes her head, but she doesn't seem upset in the least.
"Oh, and Hecuba is—" The boy doesn't finish his thought. He abruptly falls silent and whirls. Then, he whispers under his breath, "Rancor . . ."
Rancor? What's a rancor? Sheev looks to Lilith.
But by now, the other adults have all turned to face the direction Maul peers. And that's when Sheev too is alerted by the Force to imminent danger.
Something is coming. It's wild and it's not friendly.
"I'll handle this." Time to show these witches a Sith Lord in action.
Sheev calls his hidden saber to his hand and ignites it. The familiar snap-hiss sounds as good as it looks. He stands poised with his gleaming red blade pointed down, the kyber crystal within its hilt throbbing expectantly in his hand. Yes . . . some violence might be just what he needs right now.
"Wow . . ." Little Maul reacts immediately to his sword. "Mother, do you see that!?"
"It's called a lightsaber," Lilith responds without bothering to glance his direction. Like the other adults, the Mother Witch is focused on the unseen, fast approaching danger. "It is the weapon of a Jeddai Knight." And there she goes again trolling him with the Jedi label.
"I'm no Jedi . . ." Sheev grumbles. The Sith haven't been ex-Jedi castoffs for thousands of years now. Not since the Jedi Order marooned a third of its membership on the far outskirts of the known galaxy for the unforgiveable sin of dabbling in the Dark Side.
No one listens. "I want one!" the boy trills, pointing at his weapon. "Can I have one? Please, can I have a laser sword, Mother?"
No one answers. Because ten meters away, out from behind a clump of trees, stalks the rancor predator. The giant ugly beast stands upright with long arms. It has immense drooling jaws filled with sharp teeth. It pauses now to snarl menacingly at Sheev and the witches.
"Stand back," Sheev warns the boy, who is still fixated on his sword. Looking to the three adults, Sheev asks, "Where is that thing most vulnerable?" He wants a quick, clean kill. Something tells him these people will be contemptuous of a gratuitous slaughter.
"A rancor has a thick hide. Your blade might not penetrate it," Daka answers softly. "And you will have to get far too close to use it. Those claws are razor sharp. They'll swipe your arm off."
Sheev disdains the woman's caution. "I can handle the risk."
"Stand down." It's the old man Saul stepping up to his shoulder to preempt him. "I will handle this."
Really? Sheev glances over at the frail, stooped fossil. Maybe Brother Saul was once a fearsome warrior, but not for decades. He appears no match for the lumbering beast that eyes them for prey, licking its lips with anticipation.
The old man perceives his skepticism. He informs Sheev, "There are alternatives to fighting." Then ancient Brother Saul lifts his right hand, concentrates, and freezes the threatening beast with the Force.
Is he showing off? Sheev is not impressed. That thing is basically a big, dumb animal.
Brother Saul keeps concentrating. The rancor begins to visibly relax. Soon, its eyes grow heavy and fall closed. It settles down on its thick hind legs. Next, it ducks its chin. Twenty seconds later, the beast slumps forward to the ground. It's asleep . . . and snoring.
Little Maul giggles and the women exchange satisfied smiles.
"It seems his Force is mightier than your sword," Lillith muses wryly as she catches his eye.
Little Maul completely misses her point. He's still too intrigued by the lightsaber. "That's a great sword . . ."
Old Saul intervenes to make the point differently to the youngster. He addresses the boy like an adult, and it commands his attention. "Brother Maul, there are times when violence is necessary. But violence has risk, and it inflames matters." With a pointed glance at Sheev, he repeats his earlier words emphatically. "There are alternatives to fighting."
"Yes, Brother," Maul dutifully pipes up. But Sheev notices his eyes remain firmly fixed on his lightsaber. The kid's clearly disappointed that there wasn't a fight. Sith that he is, Sheev won't fault him for it.
"Do not kill unless necessary," old Saul continues his lecture.
"Yes, Brother," Maul agrees automatically.
The danger has passed. Sheev deactivates his weapon.
Beside him, the boy sighs audibly in disappointment. Then, he chirps, "I saw your spaceship. Sulla and I found it on the edge of the woods."
"Maul—"
"I didn't touch it, Mother, honest!" the boy lies.
Lilith seems content to let the fib pass, but old Daka is not. This frowning crone shoots a single bolt of green lightning at the kid, sending him to the ground. It's corporal punishment worthy of a Sith Master. "Don't indulge him, Lilith," the old woman chides the Mother Witch.
"Sorry, Mother. Sorry, Daka," the good-natured boy easily accepts fault. "I know—don't lie," he pouts a little as he climbs to his feet.
"It's early for a rancor to come out to hunt," Lilith comments as she considers the sleeping beast.
"Not really," the older woman gently disagrees. "It will be twilight soon. The days are getting shorter. The solstice approaches."
"Uhmmm yes," the Mother Witch stands corrected. "It's later than I thought. We had best get going. Sister. Brother." Lilith nods farewell to the two village elders before she leads Sheev away into the forest.
"Bye-bye, Lord Sidious!" young Maul calls after them.
"Where are we going?" Sheev asks Lilith. She's never said what their destination is.
"The trees I want to show you are up ahead. They are very special to us."
Trees. They're walking all this way to look at trees? This is a forest—there are lots of trees. What's so special about a tree? Well, whatever. He'll play along as a good guest and dutifully ooh and aaah over whatever giant old oak the Coven venerates. The Jedi are big into trees. They plant them at their temples. It's a weird fetish, in his opinion. Do the witches do something similar?
No, they do not. The special trees turn out to be something completely different. After a hundred meters more, he and Lilith enter a mist-shrouded grove of towering plants that are unlike the native flora he's seen elsewhere in the forest. These trees have knotted trunks with peeling bark and sharp, leafless limbs. They have grown twisted together in an impressive thicket, resembling an oversized briar patch. Here, the ground underfoot is boggy. The air is dank and stale. It's a pungent earthy smell that matches the pervasive wet gloom.
Sheev's eyes widen appreciatively. "The Force is strong with this place . . ." And by that, he means the Shadow Force. This place fairly reeks of Darkness. It gets his attention.
The Mother Witch turns to him. "What do you sense?"
"Death."
"Correct."
With a simple wave of her hand, Lilith banishes the obscuring fog layer. The impressive gesture reveals the full majesty of the tangled trees that rise high above them. Sheev can now see that there are large baskets hung from the high limbs, almost like ornaments. The baskets sway slightly with the breeze. It causes the ropes that tether them to creak ominously overhead.
As he takes in the sight, it occurs to Sheev that the tall projections on the back of the Mother Witch's red cape, which he first mistook for an approximation of wings or maybe flames, are really a representation of these special trees. Lilith Talzin literally wears a version of this sacred spot on her person.
"We call them Grave Thorns," she informs him solemnly. "They are trees of the dead."
That sounds appropriately occult. Sheev eyes the many baskets strung overhead. "What's in those?"
"They are burial pods. We wrap our dead in rancor hide and hang them from the thorns."
"Those are dead Sisters?"
"Brothers too."
Trees of dead witches. Sheev tries to hide his revulsion. He himself hates death—he unabashedly fears death—and he doesn't like to be reminded of it. Moreover, the gesture strikes him as incongruous and bizarre. For after the lengthy tour of the village that focused on life as the purpose of the Coven, Lilith brings him to a burial place? "This place is a tomb," he frowns.
Lilith nods. "This is also an army."
"An army . . ."
The Mother Witch favors him a sly look and coyly admonishes, "No one's ever really gone." And now again, he sees the hint of a smile about her lips.
She has his attention. "What are you telling me?"
"In dire circumstances, ichor will reanimate the dead. Our departed Sisters and Brothers can be born again in the Force to protect the Coven."
She told him about this earlier. He only half believed her.
Gesturing above, she explains, "Eventually, the ropes break and the pods fall. They decay on the forest floor." She points up ahead to where a moldering pile of detritus lays on the ground. Apparently, it's what remains of a dead witch's rancor-hide casket. "Death feeds new life. That is the way of the Force." Lilith proclaims this sentiment with absolute conviction. For this woman, who sees the Force in everything from the phases of the moon to the seasons of her world, firmly believes in the cycle of life as integral to understanding the universe.
She remarks offhand, "The last time the Chant of Resurrection was sung, they say that our people not only came forth from the hanging pods, but from beneath the soil as well. Wherever there were remains of our people scattered on Dathomir, the dead were reawakened to stand in solidarity with the living."
Zombie witches. That sounds like a lot of hocus pocus. Sheev is skeptical. "You're saying you can convene an army of dead people?"
"It is a formidable defense. The undead cannot be killed."
Yep, she is talking about zombie witches. Dathomir keeps getting more bizarre. Sheev prods at the inconsistency he perceives in her story. "I'm surprised that this is your custom. I would have guessed that reviving the dead would seem unnatural to your people."
A slow, wide smile spreads across Mother's face but never reaches her eyes. "Oh, make no mistake, it is unnatural." Lilith draws out her syllables for maximum effect: un-nat-ur-aaaaahllll. "But extreme peril requires extreme measures. You would call it Dark alchemy, I suppose. But those labels do not concern us. All that matters is that the Coven endures."
Huh. The witches of Dathomir keep getting more interesting. Their purpose might be life, but they will awaken the dead when necessary. While they glorify all things natural in some vague notion of balance, they aren't above a little magic fuckery to subvert the laws of nature when it suits them. For all Lilith's talk that life is the purpose of the Coven, Sheev thinks the true purpose of the Coven is the Coven. For this purple and red clad band of Force-strong women will do whatever it takes to endure. As a Sith, Sheev respects that attitude. The Dark Side itself has no scruples about unnatural acts. From battle droids, to cloned slave soldiers born in laboratories, to his Master's dream of a mobile planet-killing superweapon, the Sith plot to harness all manner of technological terrors for the cause of Darkness. And woe be unto all who would oppose them . . .
The Mother Witch now informs him sternly, "We are not pacifists. Do not mistake us for weak because we disdain technology. We will defend ourselves vigorously if threatened, Sith." Yet again, Lilith says the Dark Side moniker like a slow hiss. SSSSSiiith.
Sheev grins with appreciation. He finds this over-enunciating bitch to be enthralling. She's over the top, but he loves it.
"And do not foolishly believe," Lilith preens as she pouts, "that we will wait to be attacked before we strike."
What exactly is she telling him? Was that a threat? Far from being alarmed by her spooky boasts, she intrigues him. Sheev wants to know more. But that's when little Maul appears out of nowhere to rejoin them. With the kid around to listen in, Sheev's follow-up question dies on his lips.
"Sister Daka and Brother Saul are going to the meadow tonight," the boy volunteers excitedly. "Mother, will you take the visitor to the meadow, too?"
Sheev has no idea what the boy is asking.
Lilith does. She nods. "Sheev is welcome to come to the meadow, if he desires."
"I wish I were old enough to go to the meadow."
"One day, you will be. But not yet."
"It takes so long to grow up . . ." the boy whines.
Sheev and Lilith exchange smiles. The kid's earnest enthusiasm for life is charming.
The Mother Witch leans to place a kiss on the boy's brow. "Don't grow up too fast, Maul," she scolds tenderly. "Enjoy being a child. It is a precious, fleeting time of life."
"Yes, Mother." Satisfied, the boy races off.
Sheev turns to Lilith. "Where is this meadow?"
"It is a large clearing located between the Brothers' village and our own. It's where Sisters and Brothers relax and spend time together when the days' work is done. There is always food, music, and dancing."
She makes it sound like a meeting place for a social hour. It must be what passes for a party on Dathomir.
"Would you like to see the meadow?" Lilith asks hopefully.
Sure, why not? Sheev takes the hint. "Yes, please." He'll be glad to depart from these trees of the dead. And who knows when another rancor will show up?
The Mother Witch looks almost relieved at his answer. "It's this way." She steers him towards the west, in the direction of Dathomir's drooping orbital sun. "It's not far," she assures him as she tucks her arm through his so they may resume strolling together.
As they keep walking, they catch sight of little Maul again. The boy has rejoined the doddering elderly pair Daka and Saul who are strolling together up ahead. Sheev is amused to watch from behind as the kid consciously tries to mimic the older man's gait and carriage. The boy very much wants to take his place in the Coven. It's cutely endearing.
Lilith follows his eyes. "Maul is Daka's pet. She spoils him rotten, as does everyone else."
"He is an easy child to like," Sheev offers sincerely. The kid won him over when he admired his lightsaber. Recalling his stated mission to kill the Mother Witch's son, Sheev now probes, "And who is your favorite?" He's hoping she will volunteer information about her own kid.
But Lilith shrugs. "I have no favorites. I adore them all." She muses, "Children are life renewing itself. They are our most important resource."
"Your world is very beautiful," Sheev comments as they keep moving, knowing Lilith will lap up the praise. "I'm very impressed with your leadership," he sucks up some more. He wants to put her at ease so her tongue will loosen further. "Your people seem so content. I'm sure it is a testament to your wise leadership."
"They are content for now," she agrees, "but the future is always in flux."
Sheev is smug. "Does the Dark Side cloud your foresight?" he teases. It certainly seems to be clouding the Jedi's perception. That's intentional, of course.
"There are many paths to the same future, Sheeeeev," she responds. "When the Force forecloses one opportunity, it opens another."
Er . . . what? It's yet another inscrutable platitude-type statement from the enigmatic Mother Witch. What does it mean? He's not sure. But her witchy wisdom certainly sounds profound.
She continues: "It is my responsibility to ensure that the Coven survives. Lately, that has meant quiet living in seclusion. But that could change . . . if events warrant."
Her ending qualifier has deep, unspoken meaning. The wily Mother Witch—so keen in her Force abilities—surely senses the coming rise of the Sith. Is she threatened by it? Does she want to participate in it? Or, does she have different plans entirely?
"Going to ally with the Jedi?" Sheev offers lightly just to see what she'll say.
She shoots him an 'oh, please' look. "Kill the Jedi. Wipe them out . . . all of them, if you wish." The Mother Witch is nonplussed. "It matters not to us. I will not interfere in your wars."
"You plan to be the last ones standing while the Jedi and the Sith kill one another?" he goads.
Lilith laughs. Then, she shoots him some side eye and mockingly drawls, "That posture has been a safe bet for millennia now."
Mother Talzin is gallingly right. The Sith agenda is distinguished mostly by failure recently. So, Sheev lets the point slide.
They have come upon slow old Daka and Saul now. The tired, frail pair have stopped to rest. Rambunctious young Maul is amusing them by turning cartwheels. He counts as he tumbles: "One! Two! Three! Four!" The young lad is remarkably agile. He has the boundless energy of youth and a saucy smile that is infectious. Truly, it's impossible not to like the kid.
"Going to the meadow, Mother?" Daka calls as they approach. Lilith nods and damned, if the old crone doesn't wink at her covertly.
Suddenly, Sheev thinks little Maul's conversation with Lilith about the meadow was a setup from Daka, and not some independent impulse of the precocious boy. Going to the meadow seems to be important for some unknown reason. It gets him concerned. Naturally, he's suspicious.
Could the meadow be the setting for an ambush?
Maybe a test of some sort?
Sheev is still searching to understand Lilith Talzin's agenda. Today, she has alternatively tried to impress him and to warn him. Clearly, she wants his respect. But to what end? There's clearly more going on at Dathomir than today's tour has disclosed.
Still, the meadow seems harmless enough as he and Mother finally come upon it. There are lots of men and women standing in groups in conversation in the dusky twilight. A large bonfire is in the process of being lit. There are tables heaped with food and drink for the taking. Off in the distance, there are reclining couches and flower-festooned daybeds scattered around. Yes, it's like he thought. It's a party.
Wait—no. It's not a normal party.
It's a sex party.
What the fuck?! Sheev does a doubletake as he realizes he has just unwittingly entered an orgy.