Chapter Three: Ashes and Blood
The twin suns watch on high from above the shifting sands of Tatooine's vast Dune Sea, as a small herd of banthas wander the landscape. Upon their vast, shaggy backs are Boba Fett, Warrior from the Great Maw, and the I'Ka tribe of Tuskens.
A year has passed since their attack on the Pyke train and times have never been more prosperous for Boba and his tribe. The sands have been uncharacteristically generous in its offerings to the nomadic warriors, with an unusually bountiful blooming of black melons this season and a similarly bountiful season of game. Furthermore, Boba had been gathering tribute from the Pyke Syndicate, some of the most powerful criminals in all of the Outer Rim, in the form of both equipment and credits, which Fett in turn taught A'Kagri and the others of the tribe to exchange with off-worlders in their towns, for more equipment. Boba grinned to himself as he recalled all of the tribe's progress.
"Tell me a story about your history, Warrior from the Great Maw," A'Kagri requested, signing eagerly. "We have told a lot of stories about ourselves."
The Tusken youth, who Boba had come to view as a younger sister, was now about eleven standard years old and even forged her own full-fledged gaderffii stick. Boba looked at her with a soft smile, as they sat on the same Bantha. During the days of the Empire and even the Clone Wars, Fett would never have trusted anyone with any section of his history. He had met too many Aurra Sing's and too many Cad Bane's to even consider it. However, this was not Fett in those times. He had now met his fair share of A'Kagri's and A'Garrha's.
"My father was a man with skin as tan as the cliffs of the Jundland wastes," began Boba, smiling as he signed the story. "His name was the Warrior with a Thousand Sons."
"So you have a thousand brothers?" inquired A'Kagri.
Boba hesitated for a second. Were the clones his brothers? He was the only one Jango called son after all.
"Yes I do," Boba replied, pride in his voice and gestures. " My father was born on a distant world, far, far away. He lived in a small village. In a tribe, like you do. They tended their gardens and hunted for game. But, bad men in armor, the Warriors of No Soul, killed everyone in his Tribe, A'Kagri. Their leader wielded a blade made of pure darkness."
He noticed A'Kagri shudder. Boba imagined the devastation she would feel if she lost her entire tribe. The severing of one from everything that mattered in life. Just like what happened to the reborn Warrior when Jango lost his head.
"But my father was found by a wise warrior in the same armor," assured Boba. "He led the Warriors of Truth who fought against the Warriors of No Soul. They became my father's new tribe. Much like when your tribe found me by the Great Maw."
As the banthas marched across the Dune Sea, Boba would continue to tell A'Kagri the story of his father; stories that Jango had told him. From the Battle of Galidraan to the Hunt for Komari Vosa. From Montross to Zam Wesell, A'Kagri delighted in learning the history of the Fett clan. Fett would continue into his own story, detailing the death of his father, before leading into his early career, glossing over some of the more brutal aspects of his employment, such as working for a tyrannical Empire that would have hated the Tuskens. Eventually, he ended up telling how he fell into the Great Maw.
"I was cornered by the Thief with no Tribe," elaborated Boba. "He wanted to kill me above the Great Maw. But I refused to let him have his fun and leapt into the belly of the beast! That is where your brother and his friends found me."
Boba looked down solemnly before saying, "May he rest in peace."
A'Kagri also lowered her head in remembrance. At least she had what Boba never had: justice for that loss. As such, she quickly raised her head.
"If your father had skin tan as the Jundland Cliffs, why is your skin lighter than the sands?" asked A'Kagri, her question materializing out of seemingly nowhere.
Boba sighed, realizing the extent of the injuries inflicted by the accursed beast, rooted within the sands.
"Living in the Great Maw isn't good for your health," Boba answered.
"Wuuuurrrrrr!" bellowed their Bantha.
"Yes old girl," replied Boba. "I'll get the tribute."
Boba, A'Kagri, the others, and their herd continue the march back to the Camp so Boba could report to Chief U'Kaghho.
Approaching the chief's tent, Boba could finally appreciate the artistry that went into its craftsmanship for the first time. Woven from thick strands of dyed bantha wool, shed during the hottest months of Tatooine, the tent was a sandy color, with a red interior, resembling an ornate carpet. The fringes were a light sea green in color, almost reminding the Warrior of his lost armor's hue. Lastly, the tent's fabric was interwoven with several blue crescents, resembling the lost waves of Tatooine's oceans, though they also reminded Boba of Kamino's endless seas. He smiled before entering the tent.
Approaching the tall, regal chieftain, Boba gave a reverent bow.
"Chief U'Kaghho," greeted Fett, with a familiarity in his tone he had once reserved for his father alone. "It is my pleasure to see you again."
"Same here," replied U'Kaghho, gesturing. "How is your stomach?"
"Still have the dreams," explained Boba. "How much longer will the Little Maw Dragon be in my stomach for?"
"Three more cycles of the Suns," answered U'Kaghho, referring to four standard years. "That little beast will emerge from your maw, as you did from the Great Maw. Then it will be A'Kagri's turn to swallow the dragon."
Boba both chuckled and shuddered at the thought of his young friend going through this same ritual for five standard years. He was already feeling sick, as if he wasn't already post-Pit, after a single year of hosting the cocoon of the Dwarf Sarlacc Dragon. This reptile would fester in his stomach, like a parasitic worm for another four years before it would leave and then A'Kagri would have her turn.
"Speaking of which," continued Boba. "I am going to collect tribute from the Merchants of the Evil Sand with A'Kagri. It is that time of year already."
"About that, A'Kagri can't come to get the payments with you this time," U'Kaghho commanded.
Boba raised what would have been his eyebrows a year ago.
"May I ask why?" Boba inquired, respectfully in spite of the surprise.
"I know A'Kagri and you often go on adventures to the towns and markets," explained the Tusken chief. "That you often go to get the tribute from the Merchants of the Evil Sand. And I know you and my daughter are like brother and sister. But for her safety, she must stay with the Tribe and tend to our camp."
A'Kagri was such a fierce soul. She shouldn't have to remain tending the camp. She was a warrior. And her father knew it. Boba swallowed his frustration. U'Kaghho only intended for the safety of his daughter. Who was Fett, someone who couldn't even be called family, if one went by blood, to question him.
"I understand your frustration, Warrior from the Great Maw," assured the Chief, his gestures softening, "I just wish to protect my daughter. I would even do anything to keep you from having to meet the Merchants of the Evil Sand, my son. I want you to be safe."
Boba's usually hardened gaze began to water as he heard U'Kaghho refer to him as if Fett were kin for the first time in his year with the I'Ka Tuskens. He hadn't had one to call a father since he lost Jango. And- he was kin with the I'Ka Tuskens. Smiling at a being he could now safely call father, the Warrior from the Great Maw embraced the Chief, who paused in shock for a second. However, the Tusken leader chose to return the gesture, though somewhat awkwardly.
Boba left the tent, emerging to the sight of A'Kagri in her Mandalorian-esque mask and long dark curls, topped with a black turban. As she eagerly began to approach him, Fett stopped her.
"I'm going alone with my Bantha this time," he explained. "Your father's orders."
A'Kagri made several protesting gestures, yet composed herself. She nodded and headed off, though her head was lowered.
She'll get her time soon, Boba told himself, as he solemnly watched her disappointment. Soon, she will.
He marched over to his Bantha, who he had named Roz. Stroking the long shaggy hairs of her chin with great affection, the Warrior climbed onto the saddle on Roz's back and whipped the cords, gesturing her to go. As Roz marched into the vast, open sea of sand, Boba looked back one more time at his tribe, particularly at A'Kagri who was playing with her massiff, using the dried husk of a black melon as a sort of ball. He soon began focusing ahead to find the Pykes and gather their tribute.
An hour after Fett disappeared into the desert, A'Kagri was playing a game with her massiff, U'Kalerr. She tossed the dried, withered husk of a used black melon into the desert, prompting U'Kalerr to chase it. Soon enough, the massiff grew lazy and stopped, sitting down in the sands. A'Kagri pointed towards the direction of the husk with frustration, yet the reptilian dog refused to budge. With an exasperated sigh, A'Kagri rushed off after the dried melon. Turns out, the husk had not landed very far, having only struck a small dune at the edge of the Tribe's camp.
That lazy animal, A'Kagri thought. Thinks the Chief's family doesn't have to do any work. He is so wrong.
A'Kagri picked up the melon husk and was about to walk back to the camp, when she briefly sensed the slightest shift of sand in the dunes. She was being followed. Looking around, the young Tusken prepared her newly-fashioned gaderffii stick and took a survey of her surroundings. Nothing was there. Shaking her head, she headed back towards the Camp, unaware of the metal, spice-stained tube lying on the dune near where she had stood. A tall figure took careful aim at A'Kagri with his blaster, his long fingers wrapped around the handle and trigger of his weapon.
Soon, the figure thought, There will be nothing of these savages but ashes and blood.
Meanwhile, Fett had just crossed the massive, craggy Great Mesra Plateau and was coming up on Mos Eisley, a city of many sandstone buildings. This hive of scum and villainy of a spaceport was where the Pykes usually docked their repulsorlift sandship, serving as a sort of secondary base of operations, after their refinery in the depths of the Great Mesra's cliffs. As he and Roz approached the bustling town, Boba noticed an absence of the Pyke hovercraft, which would usually be conspicuous from the edge of town. All he saw were the helmets of stormtroopers mounted on spiked poles on the outskirts, and in front of these, a few figures making a struggle.
As Roz arrived in Mos Eisley, Boba got a better look of the situation. A pink-skinned Zeltron man was wrestling with who looked like his adolescent daughter, dragging her towards another cat-eared humanoid figure: a Zygerrian of an infamous slave-trading empire.
"Dad, please no!" screamed the Zeltron girl.
"Zeyma, I need the money," declared her father, though almost in a sort of trance. "Think of my spice."
"Think of mom! Think of me, please!" begged Zeyma. "What he'll do to me! Think of mom! Please dad!"
"Are you going to make the purchase?" the Zygerrian slaver asked.
"Yes Mr. Lash," replied Zeyma's father.
Boba watched in horror as the Zeltron handed his screaming daughter over to the Zygerrian, who forcefully grabbed her. The feline slaver sniffed the girl's curly hair and stroked her form, testing her health as a slave, all as she shivered in fear. He then looked to the girl's father. With a nod, he tossed a small package of spice over to the Zeltron man, who desperately attempted to catch it, only for the package to land in the sands. As the Zeltron fumbled for his rusty-colored narcotics, Boba dismounted Roz, sliding down her back, getting his gaderffii stick ready. He would batter the life out of this Zygerrian skughole.
"Ah, Warrior from the Great Maw!" greeted a slightly disoriented voice from behind Boba. "How nice of you to pay the Pykes a visit!"
Boba looked behind him, catching site of an ornately dressed Pyke, before turning back to the direction of the slave exchange. They were gone. The girl would probably be sold at an auction and end up who knows where. Boba seethed in frustration, turning back to the Pyke.
This gangster was more well-built than most Pykes, with a thicker neck and stronger muscles on his long, spindly arms and legs. Around his face were stripes shooting out in a ray-like fashion towards the back of his elongated skull. As for his face itself, the Pyke wore a half-broken mask with a triangular emblem on the forehead. His right clouded red eye, slit-like nostrils, and spice-stained mouth were exposed beneath the broken mask and his breathing tubes were stained by spice. He wore a bright red coat under armor emblazoned with an insignia resembling a peacock's tail feathers, but golden in color.
"Oh sorry, I forgot to introduce myself," apologized the Pyke with a chuckle. "Krim, Vram Krim. Son of the late Illustrious Imperator of the Pykes, Marg Krim. Viceroy of the Pyke Expansionary Corps."
"I know your name already," snarled Boba.
"Right, right, hahhahaheh," chuckled Krim, clearly high on his own supply again. "We've met. It's about our tribute to that one barbarian pack isn't it?"
"They are the I'Ka Tribe of the Dune Sea Tuskens," Fett growled, unimpressed as usual with the Pyke leader's disrespect for the native people of Tatooine.
Vram Krim chuckled at the Warrior's reaction, almost ignoring his implicit message.
"Now, you may wonder why I came to meet you in town and not on the Sandship, heheheheheh," Krim began to ramble, answering a question Fett didn't even consider, let alone ask. "The Pyke Expansionary Corps had urgent business we needed to inform you of as soon as possible, haheheheheheheheha."
Boba raised a non-existent eyebrow at the Pyke Leader's claim.
"The Pykes have had tribute requested from the Kintan Striders. hehehahaha," explained Krim. "A Nikto bike gang that patrols the Dune Sea, where your pack has made its lair. The Pykes shouldn't have to pay both parties tribute. Hehehehe!"
Are you having a spice trip?! was the approximate message that came from Boba's silent, unwavering gaze.
The Pykes were one of the Underworld's most powerful criminal syndicates, rivaling even Galactic superpowers. Boba once heard stories of how they helped a renegade Sith called Darth Maul take over the planet Mandalore, the homeworld of his father's culture. Now he was supposed to believe that they could be ordered around by a petty speeder bike gang!
The I'Ka have dwelled in the Dune Sea since the oceans of Tatooine dried. They were the heirs of this land, not any speeder bike gang.
"Tell you what," offered Krim. "Kill the Striders and- you'll get our tribute. Hehehehehe!"
Boba stared at the sands beneath, almost ready to roll his eyes. However, composing himself, the Warrior looked up and nodded in affirmation, though giving a mildly disapproving glare. Fett remounted on Roz before they rode off back into the desert towards the Dune Sea, leaving Vram Krim to his narcotic-induced fits of laughter.
Hours after the Boba crossed the Great Mesra Plateau again, he and Roz were in the middle of the Dune Sea, which was akin to sailing an ocean of sand, shifting constantly with the turbulent winds. As they climbed one of the massive dune waves, Fett knew what had to be done.
We need to have another speeder bike ride, Boba noted.
Suddenly, an ashy scent caught Boba's attention. Craning his neck higher, he caught sight of a dark, towering plume of smoke. Like the one at the homestead the Nikto bikers had raided. Except, the direction was somewhere else. It wasn't from the home of one of the settlers. No settlements existed this far out in the Dune Sea. Except…
"Faster Roz!" Boba commanded, carefully-controlled panic permeating his voice.
"Wuuuuurrr!" bellowed Roz, as she rode faster into the direction of the smoke plume.
Soon enough Roz got close enough to the plume for Boba to dismount. The Warrior from the Great Maw, continued back to the I'Ka Tusken Tribe's camp on foot. At least what was the I'Ka Tribe's camp. Where there used to be tents, there were now charred desert plant strands and bantha wool, unwoven by the scourge of untamed fire. The biggest piece of tent left had the symbol of the Kintan Striders painted on it. Boba immediately thought they must have been responsible. Yet, they couldn't even beat him when he was wielding a training stick. How could they stand against a junior Tusken Warrior, let alone A'Garrha?
Looking on, he saw that the majestically regal banthas, who once stood as mighty as Roz still did, were now fallen, their flesh cooking as they lay dead in the sands. Most of all, Boba saw the scorched remains of the Tuskens, many of them his friends, now laying scattered upon the dunes.
"Urrrrrrhh!" wheezed Chief U'Kaghho's voice.
Boba rushed to the Tusken Chief, dragging his black robes through the sandy dunes. The regal chief was badly burned, some charred skin even showing through the torn robes. As for his mask, part of the goggle was torn off, revealing a glowing amber-colored cat-like eye, with dark colors instead of whites. Fett averted his gaze, for he knew this was the ultimate humiliation for a Tusken; to expose their skin was equivalent to removing the helmet of the most radical Mandalorians.
"Look at me," signed U'Kaghho, to Boba's surprise.
Boba did as he was told, holding back tears forming in his eyes.
"A Stranger came," the Chief explained, precious water leaving his exposed eye in the form of tears. "He was armed with a blaster and was a greater warrior than even A'Garrha-"
As U'Kaghho's hands faltered, Boba realized it could not have been the Niktos who did- this.
"Who was he?" asked Boba.
"He had a stick to use the evil sand," explained U'Kaghho, before he adjusted his gesturing to shift the subject. "A'Kagri- A'Kagri is. A'Kagri is no-"
The Chief's hands went limp, collapsing into the sands, as his exposed eye began gazing into the emptiness of the sky.
"No!" Boba cried. "U'Kaghho speak to me! Speak to me! SPEAK TO ME!"
The Tusken Chief would not do so. Boba lifted U'Kaghho's face and touched their foreheads together, something he had not done with another being since his father.
The I'Ka Tuskens had been key to the best year of Boba's life since Jango. Who had become his friends. No. His family. Now, nothing was left of them.
"To U'Kaghho," declared Boba, anointing the corpse of the Tusken Chief with the oils of a desert herb. "The only one besides Jango I would ever call father. Your spirit will be free to roam."
He tenderly placed U'Kaghho's body on a small mountain of the dead, his flesh being carefully turned to ash in the wind by flickering embers. Boba then gently grasped his fingers around the dexterous hand of who could have only been A'Garrha. Severed from the rest of her from the elbow down, this was all Boba could find of A'Garrha. The Warrior from the Great Maw carefully poured ointment from a desert plant onto his mentor's arm.
"To A'Garrha," he declared. "My teacher in the ways of the Tusken Warriors. Her personality flowed like the former waves of Tatooine. Your spirit will be free to roam."
He set the arm onto the pyre, watching solemnly as the flickering embers freed what was left of her flesh. Lastly, Boba looked at the dried melon husk that A'Kagri had used as a ball the last time he saw her. There was not even a corpse for A'Kagri; from what U'Kaghho was saying, she was likely burned to ash before Boba could even find her corpse. As he prepared to anoint A'Kagri's ball and give a speech to celebrate the last of his lost friends, Boba paused. A'Kagri was so young and had so much potential to become a great warrior. A great Chief. To live a life worthy of recognition. Her life had all but just begun. Boba shouldn't have to anoint what remained of her, even if her body was lost, as a ceremony of mourning. He had gone down this path before, when his father was murdered by that Jedi. And he would do it again.
"A'Kagri," Boba solemnly declared, as he anointed the melon husk ball.
He tossed it into the funeral pyre.
"You will be avenged," he growled.