Dear Readers, once again many thanks to my reviewers: LLTC, 782, CRB35, Queen Nagaina, Christina TM, and Devil-O-Angel. So, in this chapter, I am directly ripping off devotions to Michael the Archangel (because he's my patron saint and patron saint of the military; so I have a strong devotion to him). And I am combining that with the ancient Egyptian ritual in which a statue of Horace was brought down the river and honored and feted and food placed before him. So, Catholicism meets Egyptian god worship! There is also some ethical discussion about the creation of a clone army and it individual members. I admit, I particularly enjoy that discussion, because I think it raises questions that we of the human race may be dealing with sooner than later. At any rate, sort of a quiet chapter for the weekend.
Chapter 22 Me'Ente Loge
"O glorious prince St. Michael, chief and commander of the heavenly hosts, guardian of souls, vanquisher of rebel spirits, servant in the house of the Divine King and our admirable conductor, you who shine with excellence and superhuman virtue deliver us from all evil, who turn to you with confidence and enable us by your gracious protection to serve God more and more faithfully every day."
Prayer to Saint Michael, Chaplet of Saint Michael the Archangel
"This place sure got crowded," Zinger noted as he, Bounce and Tip walked from the dining hall back to the Seiba Tops after the midday meal. "I don't know where they managed to fit all these people."
"The whole area just inside the main gate is wall-to-wall tents," Tip replied.
"Au-Ogusta said the festival starts tonight at sundown," Zinger stated. He smiled. "You know, I'm kind of looking forward to it, seeing what it's all about. They've been putting up a lot of decorations, and there is a kind of electricity in the air."
"Yeah, everyone's excited and in a good mood," Bounce agreed. "And, uh, not to mention, there's been a lot of good-looking women coming through those gates."
"I noticed," Zinger nodded.
"The captain says we're invited to the opening ceremony," Tip put forth. "You guys going?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Bounce answered with spirit. "It's kind of nice to be doing something other than fighting or waiting for the next battle."
They walked on a bit further, then Tip spoke up again. "I wonder how the commander and his team are doing. Do you think they've reached the city yet?"
"Well, he told Captain Rex to give it at least two to see if the fleet arrives to pick us up," Zinger replied. "It's only been five days. It was supposed to take them seven days to reach the city."
The silence that followed was filled with meaning. At last, Zinger asked, "You worried about them?"
Tip gave a conceding nod. "I know the commander is good and can probably handle anything they might run into, but it's fekking nerve-wracking being out of contact."
"I know what you mean," Zinger commiserated. "We don't know if they're safe or if anything's happened to them. With the Separatists planet-side, they could run into real trouble."
"What you see ahead . . . those are the Swaig Flats," Fels Au-Trava announced. He had halted his Shempa at the top of a precipitous dune, the last one before the wastes of the flat stretched out before them for many kilometers.
The flats were ugly blemishes upon an otherwise pristine desert landscape. They were darkened splotches that appeared almost to have a wetness to them, like a boil or a carbuncle on the flaky surface. They gave off an unpleasant odor that was already wafting up the dune and making the clones wish they had their helmets.
"There are sinking holes," Au-Trava continued with his explanation. "Some have been in the same place for many years. Others come and go. We must be very careful, for if you fall in, it is very hard to get you out. The Shempa are good at sensing them and can usually avoid them. The flies are another matter altogether. We must pray for the good fortune not to encounter them. The pilgrims we passed gave us good information about their crossing, so I hope we shall do well."
"What about the serpico creatures Au-Ogusta mentioned?" Cody asked.
"They tend to be shy unless disturbed," Au-Trava replied.
"And if they are disturbed?" Three Point queried.
Au-Trava regarded him obliquely. "Then we will have a problem." He paused. "It will take us two days to cross, and then we will be very close to Heembab."
That was good enough for Cody. "Then let's get a move on."
The road from the main entrance led through the center archway of the healing houses and bisected the botanical garden on its way to the Taber. And at this moment, just before sunset, it was lined on either side with thousands of pilgrims. There was a great sense of jubilation and anticipation in the crowd as the clones passed through under the guidance of Au-Ogusta, who had been assigned to escort them through the festivities.
He had taken them down to the main gate for no other reason than to see the size of the crowd and feel the excitement. Now, they were working their way back towards the Taber. Just as they were entering the open end of the healing houses courtyard, they heard a massive, thrilling cheer rolling up from the gate behind them. Stopping they turned, but it was too far to see what was happening.
"Me'ente Loge has entered," Au-Ogusta said.
"What—what? He's really here?" March asked, stunned.
"No, no. It is only a representation of him," the brother answered. "But, Creator willing, he will come at the Finirest."
"What's that?"
"The pinnacle of the festival. It happens two nights from now."
"But I thought you said the festival is four days long," Sempe mentioned.
"It is. The two days after Finirest, we celebrate the installment."
"The installment of what?" This, too, was from Sempe.
"Ah, there is much to see and explain! All will become clear over the next four days. Come, my brothers—" It was heartwarming to all the clones that Au-Ogusta had taken to calling them his own brothers, "—we will get to the Taber and wait there. You will have a good view of the procession."
Rex stood just outside the Taber with Au-Sinti, whom the Doma had tasked with escorting him. Being that Au-Linus had been adamant that his willful patient not be permitted to walk the length of the procession from the main gate, the Doma had taken it into her own hands to make sure that Rex was well taken care of. He seemed cordial with Au-Sinti, and the healer was agreeable with everyone; so it was an easy match.
Not that Rex was particularly interested in spectating what he imagined would be very much like a parade, but he was curious to see what sort of religious observance it was that could draw so many people out through a hostile landscape for four days of celebration.
"So, who exactly is Me'ente Loge?" he asked Au-Sinti. "The Doma started telling me about him, but we didn't have time to get very far."
"He is one of the Creator's greatest messengers," the brother replied. "The prince of the spiritual armies."
Well, that explanation did little to paint a clear picture in Rex's mind. "She said he defeated evil."
"He did."
"But evil still exists," Rex pointed out, just as he had done with the Doma two days earlier. "How can he have defeated it if it still exists?"
"I wonder that you, as a soldier, should ask that question," Au-Sinti replied.
"Why? I think it's a pretty good question," Rex said, a bit cock-sure.
"You say evil still exists. Do you consider the Separatists evil?" Au-Sinti asked.
"They're the enemy, and in this case . . . yes, they're evil. Their intentions are evil. Their actions are evil," Rex replied without a hint of doubt.
"And have you ever defeated them in a battle?"
Now, Rex understood, and he could scarcely believe his own short-sightedness. "Yes."
"But you continue to fight them."
"Yes." Rex nodded. "The battle versus the war. I see now." He paused. "So, what was his great victory over evil? What battle was that?"
"The legions of the Uhl-hulle—hell, if you will—rose up over eight hundred years ago and infested the minds of many people," Au-Sinti replied. "Me'ente Loge led the fight to send them back. He could have destroyed them, but that was not the Creator's desire."
Rex found it fascinating and fantastical, as unbelievable as he would have found the Force to be, had he not seen the latter in action. "Why not? Why wouldn't your god want evil to be destroyed?"
"He does want it destroyed . . . but not by the messengers," Au-Sinti explained. "He wants his children to destroy it."
"Well, that seems to be a losing proposition," Rex said skeptically. "I'm not sure who you consider his children, but it seems to be that most civilizations have a lot of evil in them. Leaving it to . . . uh, nonspiritual creatures to put an end to evil . . . there's not much hope of that, is there?"
"Isn't that what you are trying to do, Captain?"
Rex could not stop the smile from forming on his lips. "Well, I guess . . . yes."
"And if it's as hopeless as you say, why do you continue to fight?"
Here, Rex could be frank without needing to give much explanation for his answer. "As clones, we don't have any choice. We're property of the Republic. We exist to fight." He considered for a moment. "There are those who have . . . gone to the enemy or . . . deserted their post . . . " His thoughts went to Saleucami and the clone deserter he had met there, a man who went by the name of Cut Lawquane. "But I could never do that."
"If you had the choice, would you continue to fight?"
"Yes." Rex had no reservations about that.
"Why?"
"Because I'm part of the most pivotal moment in the history of the Republic. If we fail, then our children and their children will be forced to live under an evil I can't well imagine."
Yes, that was what he'd said back on Saleucami. That was the justification he'd given to Lawquane, and he still meant it with every fiber of his being and every breath he drew.
He repeated it now to Au-Sinti, and this time he was not challenged at his reference to our children. He would never forget Lawquane's attempt to corner him during the argument by using the prohibition against procreation that the clones were expected to live under. It still rankled him and brought a certain bitterness into his throat. His irritation was not the injunction itself, for he had accepted that from the moment in his accelerated development when he'd realized that he was a fully functional male with all the associated desires and yearnings; rather the thing that continued to gall him was Lawquane's attempt to use that argument as a reason against why Rex should find any meaning in serving the Republic.
Au-Sinti offered a response that was far removed from that given by Lawquane.
"Evil is only defeated with great effort and at great cost," the brother said. "While the establishment of the clone army is unjustifiable before the Creator, the lives that were brought forth as the result of that act are worthy and do not bear the guilt of those who created them."
"I don't think it was a mistake to create the clone army," Rex differed. "It was necessary in order to defeat the Separatist threat."
"You misunderstand me, Captain," Au-Sinti stated. "The creation of an army is not the mistake. The creation of an entire population of beings whose sole purpose it is fill the ranks of that army and die so that the citizenry may be spared the danger of combat . . . that is more than a mistake. That, itself, is evil."
"That's something you'd have to take up with the Jedi Council," Rex backed off. "It was a Jedi who commissioned us to be created."
"Even Jedi make mistakes," the brother replied, then he added with a warm smile. "None of which reflects on you or your fellow clones. As I said, your existence is now a part of being; and as such, your value is innate. Perhaps doubly so, since you and your men so willingly fulfill the lot that has been given you. I am glad you are soldiers, Captain; and I am glad you are on our side."
The sound of cheerful shouts and distant singing met their ears in a faint echo of the procession heading their way.
"They will be here soon," Au-Sinti announced.
Soon was about twenty minutes.
Rex watched as what first appeared as a small wavering line of moving pieces drew slowly nearer. At length, he could make out individuals in the crowd and a giant statue—almost identical to the one he'd seen in the Taber, but much larger and instead of stone, this one was carved from a single piece of wood—being pulled on a massive cart, not by Shempa or Losla, but by people.
"The relic statue of Me'ente Loge," Au-Sinti said. "It is said the first Doma fashioned it from the seed of a Dahlma tree. The seed fell when the messenger brushed the tree's fronds with his wings."
"That must have been a pretty big seed if that was carved from it," Rex quipped.
Au-Sinti smiled. "Many of our traditions grow from stories that are . . . allegorical in nature."
"So what's the allegory here?"
"The Dahlma seed, in reality, is tiny. And it grows into an unimpressive tree that is easily overlooked. They are the trees just inside the main gate. Skinny, sparse things. Yet, they can survive the barrenness of the desert better than any other tree. They hold water and produce the sweetest fruit high up top where it is difficult to reach. But they are the main natural source of sustenance for the desert dwellers, human and animal," Au-Sinti explained. "So, the point to be taken away from the story is that even though something is small or plain or simple, it has the capacity to bring life, healing, comfort . . . a respite in the desert." He paused. "Such things form the best defense against the spread of evil. And so Me'ente Loge is often depicted with a Dahlma frond in his hand and seeds scattered about his feet."
Rex had to admit that he was intrigued. It was a fine story, and one to which he felt strangely kindred.
The crowd was almost level with them now, and Rex could see plainly the carved image just as Au-Sinti had described it: frond in hand, seeds scattered—not only as part of the carving, but also real seed all over the cart bed. The face was once again veiled in the carving, just as it had been with the statue inside the Taber.
"Why is his face covered?" Rex inquired.
"Tradition has it that he will only reveal his face when the final battle has been won."
"And when is that supposed to take place?"
"For each man, it occurs at his death. If the man is victorious in his struggle against evil, he will see Me'Ente Loge's face and be led by him to the Creator. If he has failed in his struggle, the messenger continues to hide his face, and . . . eternal perdition."
Rex nodded. "You have interesting traditions."
"Indeed," Au-Sinti grinned. "Here come your men."
Rex turned to see his brothers near the front of the crowd but on the near side of the road. Au-Ogusta was leading them.
As they came to join their captain, Rex suddenly felt a swell of pride and affection for them, emotions that were always pulsing beneath the surface but which he usually kept at arm's length. The clones were clearly enjoying themselves, smiling, chatting, fitting in. They were exceptional representatives of the Republic, and Rex seeing such good manners and proper comportment, Rex felt justified for being as tough a task-master as he was—even though he often berated himself with the notion that he was turning into a cream-puff when it came to disciplining the occasional errant behavior.
His men were hardy, resilient, tenacious.
He'd always known this, but the story of the Dahlma seeds brought this knowledge into greater clarity.
These were the best soldiers any commander could ask for. Even the 212th soldiers—not his, but Cody's—could not be excluded from his sphere. Especially with the absence of their commander, they became even more a part of Rex's extended family.
He would do anything for them.
"Something else, isn't it, Captain?" Sixer asked.
"Very interesting," Rex replied.
"Are we going inside?" This from Echo, who emerged from the midst of his brothers holding a handful of Dahlma fronds.
Rex wasn't even surprised. "Where did you get those?"
"Someone in the crowd gave them to me," Echo replied. "They're all waving them around, so I just . . . waved them around, too. Are we going inside, Captain?"
Au-Sinti answered, "Yes. Follow me." He and Au-Ogusta led the way inside, ahead of the crowd, and directly to a spot near the high altar that had been reserved for them but that was not too conspicuous.
"I feel like a VIP," Echo whispered to Fives, who chuckled in return.
"I guess they wanted to make sure we got a good view."
Shortly thereafter, the cart bearing the statue entered the Taber. It continued up to the high altar and then was posted behind it, facing back towards the sanctuary benches. The singing throng followed, but as soon as each individual crossed the threshold into the sanctuary, they fell silent. They continued up to the high alter, set down their fronds or bags of seed or whatever other gift they had brought—berries, metals, jewels, straw dolls, the variety was immense—and then proceeded to find a place on the benches.
Echo, seeing this, immediately sought out his captain's attention.
"Captain?"
"No."
"But Sir—"
"For you to go up there would be a mockery of what they believe," Rex said firmly. "They're doing what they're doing because they believe what this religion teaches. It's not just an act."
"I realize that, Sir, but I would be doing it as a show of respect for their beliefs," Echo persisted. "From what I've read in their sacred texts, it's perfectly acceptable for—"
"What you've read—you've been reading their sacred texts?" Where Rex had not been surprised to see Echo, fronds-in-hand; he was taken aback by this.
"It's fascinating, Captain," Echo said enthusiastically. "This religion bears a striking similarity to the Hounouk-ksp on the third moon of—"
"I believe you," Rex cut him off. "I just—I don't know how you find the time to do all this reading and research."
"The ni-Doma provided a lot of information," Echo replied. "They provided me with the texts."
A low rumbling began to fill the hall, like a kettle drum roll, increasing in volume and intensity, and culminating with several loud hits, like the sound of thunder.
Then all was silent.
Outside the Taber, the sun dipped below the horizon. Inside, the candles were doused, and the entire place was in darkness.
Then a single woman's voice echoed through the sanctuary, chanting in an unfamiliar tongue.
The acoustics in the Taber were such that the voice had a clear, precise quality to it. The melody, a very few notes in a limited range, was mesmerizing, almost transcendent.
On the raised daiz behind the altar and before the statue of Me'ente Loge, lights began to flicker and come to life as candles were brought forth from somewhere beyond the clones' view. In the midst of the procession of candles, the singer walked with floating, measured steps, timed to the rhythm of her chant.
Fives leaned over and whispered in Echo's ear. "Hey, that's, uh, that's the sister who loved all your stories."
"Anaide is her name," Echo replied. "I didn't know she had a voice like that. I thought she was just a nurse."
"Look, behind her. That's the Doma."
Doma Maree followed Sister Anaide to the altar, and here she stopped; but Anaide went on to a sort of pulpit built into one of the great supporting columns.
Anaide continued to chant as the Doma, with a small entourage of brothers—including Au-Mikiel—incensed the altar and the statue.
For Rex, the rest of the ceremony was a blur.
The heady fragrance of the incense, the darkness, the close air of more than 10,000 people packed into one space, the dulcet lilting of the chant . . .
The Doma.
Whatever aspects of her person had struck him before as perhaps being holy, seeing her now in this setting was humbling, to say the least. She presided over the goings-on, but most of the actual ceremonial procedures were carried out by the brothers: Au-Mikiel, in particular. The Doma stood behind and above the altar, her raiment—still green, but a kind of billowing material that had the illusion of continual movement. Her hair was once again in the complicated pile atop her head, and Rex realized he decidedly preferred the messy flop of two days ago. If her were to judge her appearance now, he would have said she looked regal. She looked like she should be in charge. She looked like the head of a religious order.
Rex felt something stir deep inside him.
And it wasn't a call to religion.
Last note: So, my take on Cut Lawquane. Okay, I may be the ONLY clone fan who didn't like him. I know that, as a clone, he had no choice but to enter the war, so that sort of tempers his desertion. But he left fighting men behind, brothers, and it just didn't sit right with me. No offense to anyone who's a fan of his.