A Pilgrim and a Stranger (Llewelyn)

[Rev Solomon]

A pilgrim, a stranger,
A pilgrim and a stranger,
Travelin', travelin' through this foreign land.
I'll keep lookin', searchin',
Searchin' for my Savior,
Until I reach the promised land.
I'm goin' home, I'm on my journey home.

I'm goin' home, I'm on my journey home.

The Imperial City was a muffled roar, a quiet counterpoint to the haunting strains of the old spiritual. Some in the assembly didn't know the words. Some of them hummed the tune. Others sang it with tears in their eyes.

It was a small congregation, only thirty or so, most of them human, but there were aliens among them. They sat in a rough formation of folding chairs in front of a modest podium in a city park, one of the few green refuges left on Coruscant. Standing on the podium, leading the singers with his own velvety baritone, stood a tall, dark man in a long coat and white collar with an old, leatherbound book tucked under his arm. He sang with his eyes closed. To him, the song was a prayer.

And as the last refrain floated up to the heavens, he opened his eyes and breathed in the clear, morning air.

"Dearly beloved, brothers and sisters of the Faith, I come to you as a pilgrim, as a sojourner who does not have a place to lay his head, not in this world, nor in any of the worlds in the galaxy. I know what it is to long for the comforts of home, for the embrace of family, for the stability and the rest that comes with having a place to call my own. I know what it means to wander through a foreign land, every face a stranger, every place unfamiliar and forbidding. You feel alone. Alienated. Isolated.

"Brothers and sisters, you know I'm not just talking about myself. For we are all pilgrims in these worlds. We all know what it is to see faces full of suffering, of fear, of anger, to feel pain in our hearts and in our souls. We look at a galaxy full of hate, of bitterness, of revenge, of prejudice, mistrust, and jealousy, and we know it's not supposed to be this way. We long for something better. For something higher. For something that we, all of us, regardless of the color of our skin or the shape of our bodies, may call, as one people, 'home.'

"The day is coming when the Lord will gather to Himself all nations and all tribes, all species and sentients, and will wipe the tears from every eye. So I encourage you to stand fast. Stick together. Fix your eyes on the Savior of all beings, and look to the coming of the great and terrible day of the Lord. The grass withers and the flowers fade, the planets crumble and stars burn out, but the Word of the Lord is everlasting."

An amen rose from the assembly as the reverend took out his leatherbound book and opened it.

[Llewelyn Voss]

Caophas Fell was a dead man.

More correctly he would be, when next he showed his face to Llewelyn Voss. The University professor was a woman of decided character and among her chief dislikes was tardiness. was a valuable commodity. Though she hadn’t any classes this day, Llewelyn was not a woman of idle inclination.

Administrative meetings, examination preparations, student meetings--an infinite number of responsibilities were slated on her calendar. In the midst of the bustle, Cao--a promising history student and her protégé--had cajoled her into meeting with him for the morning. They had intended to review his doctoral dissertation, Cao assuring that not only would he be on time, but he would buy her the biggest caf possible.

Both promises had gone unfulfilled. Even Llewelyn’s fondness for her student would not permit her to wait after an hour of solitude. While Cao was no doubt overextended, Llewelyn had a suspicion that his absence had little to do with academic rigor and everything to do with Moira K’vay, a fellow student. Stride tempered by irritation, the willowy woman exited the cafe.

Already early-lunchers were filling the pedwalk.To avoid them, and to allay a headache trying to form, Llewelyn decided to seek respite in one of the local parks. She had a slim case filled with papers that needed looking-over. It would be pleasant to take work outside for a change.

As she strode crisply along the path, a gentle murmur met her ears. For an absurd moment Llewelyn thought it to be rushing water, before she remembered there were no fountains in this district. Turning the corner, Llewelyn caught a glimpse of a small crowd. They were looking at something (or someone), nodding and muttering in passionate agreement. At that moment, her comm beeped.

Distracted, Llewelyn answered. “Hello?”

“Professor, I am so sorry--”

“Ah. Mr. Fell.” An expression of lofty displeasure filled her narrow face, even as she maneuvered to get a better view of the gathering. “I do not wish to hear excuses. If your academic career is putting a strain on your sexual pursuits, perhaps you ought to delay your doctoral review. It’s quite clear at this moment which is more important to you.”

”Yes Professor, I mean, no Professor, that’s not--” Cao’s distress was evident even over the crackling connection. Llewelyn could not help but put him out of his misery.

“Now, I will be taking lunch in my office tomorrow. If you and Moira can untangle yourselves from each other for a few hours, perhaps you’d like to join me.”

“Yes I would Professor, thank-you and I’ll be on time for real, I swear it!”

“I’m sure you will, Cao. Goodbye.” Llewelyn ended the transmission as she moved to the back of the crowd. By now it was clear it was some sort of religious convention. Happily faithless, the woman would have normally abandoned her plan and shot off immediately. God did not sit well with her.

For whatever reason, however, Llewelyn felt compelled to remain in her place. Assuming a quietly skeptic pose--arms folded neatly across her chest--the woman observed those around her with a keenly studious gaze. They were all completely engrossed, some with eyes closed, nodding in silent agreement. Despite misgivings, she still could not tear herself away.

A young woman beside her held out a small handbill. Llewelyn accepted it with a thin smile.

[Rev Solomon]

"And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions, even on the male and female servants in those days I will pour out my Spirit. And I will show wonders in the heavens and on the earths, blood and fire and columns of smoke. The suns will be turned to darkness, and the moons to blood, before the great and awesome day of the Lord."

The preacher man looked up into the eyes of the congregants, for he knew the next passage by heart.

"And it shall come to pass that everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved. For in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there shall be those who escape, as the Lord has said, and among the survivors shall be those whom the Lord calls."

Reverently, he closed the book and held it tightly as he paced on the platform.

"I tell you brothers, I tell you sisters, that the Lord has kept to Himself a remnant to be keepers of the Faith, guardians of the truth, and bastions of justice and mercy. And that even in this age, when empires rise and planets fall, He is gathering them together. He is calling the ones He has chosen, the ones on whom He has poured His Spirit and His power. And He is speaking to them in visions and in dreams as He did of old."

His eyes moved over the congregation and found a woman standing at the back of the lawn, her arms crossed, her face closed and appraising.

"I urge you, heed the call of the Lord. Don't harden your heart to His voice."

[Llewelyn Voss]

Against all reason, the hairs on the back of her neck rose in sharp prickles. It was as if the words themselves carried some secret power. Llewelyn frowned, shaking her head to sever the threads that were forming. She did not wish to be drawn in, but the choice seemed entirely out of her power.

Over the heads of the others, Llewelyn could see the speaker as he paced. From profile, the man looked unplaceably familiar. Was he one of those preachers on holovision? They were gaining mild celebrity status nowadays, and extending beyond the traditional tabernacle services. Perhaps the park was the new 'in' location from which to sound the warning of imminent destruction.

Her thoughts were silenced, however, as the preacher turned. For a few seconds their eyes locked, and Llewelyn's heart plummeted into her stomach. She swayed like she'd been physically assaulted, and if it weren't for the girl beside her reaching out a hand, the woman most certainly would have stumbled.

"It's not possible," Llewelyn whispered, blood draining from her face. The girl beside her rubbed the small of her back, face beaming beneath her mass of red curls.

"Anything is possible." She squeezed Llewelyn's hand. "Have faith, sister."

But it was not true. For the man on the podium, the man with the deep voice and sailing words... was the very same figure that had invaded her dreams in recent nights.

[Rev Solomon]

When the sermon had ended, there was another song, a bright and hopeful hymn about the glories of the new creation, a blessed realm that every tribe and every race could call home.

And then the preacher read a benediction from the battered old book, and, with a chorus of amens, the congregation began to dissolve, some of them scooting back their chairs and hurrying off to other engagements, some of them stopping to talk amongst themselves, some sitting in quiet reflection, some pressing forward to meet the minister as he stepped down from the podium.

Among them was a green-skinned Twi'lek woman, young, heavily made-up, dressed in bright but pitifully thin clothes, holding up a bundled infant in an old blanket.

"Please, father. Please bless my child."

"The Lord brings blessing, sister. I'm only a messenger."

"Please, say a word for him. He's sick."

Gently, the preacher tipped back the rim of the blanket. The child's blue-green forehead was crowned with fuzzy, dark hair. The preacher felt his heart move at the thought of the hardships this hybrid child would endure, prejudice and derision from both sides of his genetic heritage.

He laid a hand on the boy's head and closed his eyes.

"Lord, shower your mercies on this, your child, and on his mother. Keep them under your watchful care and provide for them out of your bounty, you whose promises are true."

As he prayed, his consciousness spread out through the tendrils of the Force into the child's body, found the infection welling in his lungs, and gently coaxed the damaged cells to start rebuilding, to keep the blood stirring, to attack the bacteria and hold off their advance.

"Find him some antibiotics," the preacher said. "I know there's a clinic not far from here, on Shale Street. They can help you there."

The congregation was still dissipating, and a young man and a young woman remained behind to fold up and stack the chairs, but the woman the preacher had seen before, the one near the back with the look of practiced skepticism, was still hanging around. That surprised him - he'd expected her to vanish before the last song at the very latest.

He exchanged greetings with the remaining congregants and slowly made his way toward her.

[Llewelyn Voss]

Llewelyn had to fight an absurd urge to flee. Gripping her satchel tighter, the woman squared her shoulders and evened her breath before stepping forward to meet the approaching man. A few in the crowd were still lingering around him, and she stared intently as he patiently addressed each one of them.

There had to be a rational reason for recognizing him. Llewelyn scrolled through a mental list of recent University guest speakers, hoping to come with a name to match the face. Nothing rang a bell, but the woman was not ready to abandon the idea yet.

Llewelyn stilled and allowed the man to close the rest of the distance between them, watching intently. When he was close enough, she offered a hand. "I found your speech very interesting."

[Rev Solomon]

It was as perfunctory a compliment as you could ask for, the kind you'd get from a captive audience trying to be polite. That brought a wry smile to the preacher's face. But, as far as he could tell, there was nothing holding this woman here.

"Thank you, miss," he replied, accepting her hand in a warm, firm grasp. "I'm glad you took the time to stop by."

"Reverend Solomon?"

The preacher turned. The girl, the one who'd welcomed Llewelyn into the little congregation, gestured back over her shoulder at the now-empty lawn. "Elijah and I are finished packing everything up. Was there anything else you needed help with?"

"No, thank you, Leah," Solomon replied. "You two have done more than enough already. God bless you."

She smiled, then looked at Llewelyn and smiled even more, clearly overjoyed to see her speaking to the preacher. "If you need anything else, you know my comm number. See you, Reverend."

"Peace be with you."

Solomon turned back to the stranger. "Good kids. They're with Our Lady of the Stars church down in Southport district. Been a Godsend for an out-of-towner like me."

[Llewelyn Voss]

A Godsend. It was the sort of phrase that normally would have elicited a disdainful expression from the woman. Acts of kindness--no matter how rare--were hardly evidence of a higher power. This time, however, she smiled politely and gave a nod to the girl as she waved goodbye.

"I see." So he wasn't local. That was disappointing. Llewelyn placed her free hand in a trouser pocket, the other habitually fiddling with the clasp on her book bag. "So you're visiting--Reverend Solomon, was it?" She waited for his nod of affirmation before continuing, conspicuously not offering her own name. "Do you visit Coruscant often?"

[Rev Solomon]

The preacher tucked the old book into a breast pocket on his long, nerfhide coat. "No, this is my first time in... oh..."

The image of the Jedi Temple, back when it still stood intact, flashed momentarily before his mind's eye.

"...almost thirty years. I lived on Dantooine until just a few months ago. Circuit rider." He chuckled. "My circuit's a little wider nowadays."

[Llewelyn Voss]

Damn.

There was no chance they'd ever met. Llewelyn's stomach flip-flopped dangerously and it was all she could do not to stumble back to the bench.

"I'm sure you're finding it quite different. Coruscant is very changed." Words were coming out, but Llewlyn's mind was racing in a thousand different directions. Was this some kind of trick? Maybe she was finally losing it; age and illness were not kind to the mind. "Not the better I might add.

"Sorry," It was too obvious that she was staring. Llewelyn frowned. "You're quite sure you've not been here more recently? It's just," You've been in and out of my dreams for months. "I feel like we've met before. At the University, perhaps?"

[Rev Solomon]

She was visibly distressed by something, and Solomon found his eyebrows crimping in concern.

"I'm afraid not, miss," he said. "I just landed three days ago."

She seemed to be wobbling, and he reached out a hand to steady her if she should fall. "Are you all right?"

[Llewelyn Voss]

"Fine, fine," Llewelyn stammered. Even while she said it a sudden jolt of memory blindsided the woman. As his hand grasped her elbow to anchor her, a blurred image of that exact moment flashed through her mind. This had happened before.

Solomon might as well as had a hot poker, the way Llewelyn hissed and pulled away from him. Her case dropped to the ground, the finicky clasp came undone, spilling papers all over the grass. White as a ghost, the woman placed a trembling hand on each cheek and shook her head. "Oh... oh, you must think..." A brief lick of breeze sent the papers skittering across the park, but their owner didn't move to retrieve them. "You don't understand..."

Llewelyn stepped closer, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "I've seen you before. I've seen this before."

A hysterical laugh burst forth from her lips, and the woman quickly clasped a hand over her mouth.

[Rev Solomon]

The preacher pulled his hand back but didn't retreat. He stared at her, studying her, and something electric made his neck hair stand on end. There was more than air moving in the breeze.

Slowly, he bent down and lifted the briefcase, holding it shut to trap the paper still hanging half-way out, and extended it to the woman.

"I think," he said, his face softening, "the two of us ought to talk. If you've got the time. There's a cafe down the block. You look like you could use a cup of tea."

[Llewelyn Voss]

A cup of something, that's for sure.

With a short nod, Llewelyn accepted her case from the man. It became a shield against her chest, unusually bulky from the disarrayed contents--half of which were now lost to the small wilds of the field.

Without waiting to see if the preacher would follow her, the professor began walking back the way she'd come. Only a half-hour had passed but the crowds had thinned considerably, which was a small blessing. Llewelyn wasn't sure that either of them were up to negotiating a crowded pedwalk.

It was the same cafe in which she'd idled earlier, and the firl at the counter smiled at the two as they slowly made their way to a table in the rear. The space around it was mostly empty, save for a studious looking Twi'lek female reading a datapad and an old married couple out with a small child.

"Do you have a license to serve alcohol?" Llewelyn demanded of the slim waitress as soon as she approached. The girl paused, taken aback.

"Uh, yes."

"I'd like a brandy. And a cup of black tea. Please." The girl nodded and wrote her order down on a little pad. She smiled at Solomon timidly, pencil poised above the paper.

"Same for you, sir?"

[Rev Solomon]

"I'll have a stimcaf, please," the preacher said.

"Cream and sugar?"

"No, thank you."

If Solomon thought anything of Llewelyn ordering a drink this early in the day, he gave no indication. He only took the steaming cup of black caf in hand and followed her to an open-air table for two. He sipped quietly as Llewelyn took a calming measure of brandy.

The preacher waited until she met his eyes again, and he said, "You don't strike me as someone who frequently lets her imagination run away with her."

[Llewelyn Voss]

"I don't." Half the brandy consumed, Llewelyn set the glass aside. Apart from a pleasant warmth sliding it's way to her belly, the woman felt no less assaulted. She plucked a handful of SynthSugar packets from the centre of the table, and began to tear them open and pour the crystallized contents into her tea.

"It must sound insane." Llewelyn offered a wry, shaky smile to the preacher, which quickly twisted into a frown. "Please don't tell me that God is speaking to me, or something."

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon couldn't help laughing. "I don't know if he is or not - that's between you and God. But I think there's something going on here that isn't a figment of your imagination. And calling it insane isn't going to make it go away."

He could sense her anxiety - it was drawn tight and vibrating like a harp-string, filling the ambient Force with turbulent eddies. He was surprised how sharply he felt it. Either he was more in-tune to her feelings than he realized, or there was something else happening, something else entirely.

Quietly, he extended his own calm presence through the Force like a tide of steady waves against troubled waters.

"You said you've seen me before," he said. "What did you mean by that?"

[Llewelyn Voss]

It was difficult to express without coming out muddled. Llewelyn sipped at her tea with a pinched expression, weighing words and trying to find a delicate way in which to position them. A full minute passed before she spoke.

"There have been dreams." That sounded painfully nouvelle vague, but she continued haltingly. "For weeks now, the same ones; you were speaking on a platform, just as you did today. There was a feeling of something important, hidden and..."

The woman shook her head. "I don't know. There were others--a woman was with you--but until now I thought them to be nothing. The workings of a busy mind, maybe.

"But you exist." Llewelyn stared at Solomon, the same rush of recognition washing over and igniting her senses. "How is that possible if we've never met? There must be a reasonable explanation."

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon cradled his stimcaf, dwarfing the cup in his large, long hands, and took a deep breath.

"Well, miss," he said, "I think the most reasonable explanation is that you've had some kind of precognitive vision. One that's just been fulfilled."

He took a slow sip of his caf, never taking his eyes away from hers.

[Llewelyn Voss]

"A precognitive vision." Llewelyn repeated flatly. The woman pulled her hands away from the tabletop, nearly upsetting her tea. "If that is the case, then it poses the question why? Why you?"

She leaned forward slightly, scalp tingling. "Why did you say you were on Coruscant again?"

[Rev Solomon]

For the first time since their conversation began, Solomon averted his eyes. His gaze slid down into his coffee cup as if looking for fortitude.

Even when all the signs pointed in the same direction, it was never easy taking a leap of faith.

"I am on a pilgrimage," he said at last, his voice low and confidential. "I'm searching for people who have received a very special blessing. I've been calling to them in the only way I know how. The people I'm looking for, miss, are the people who've been given the gift of the living Force."

[Llewelyn Voss]

Out of habit, Llewelyn made a cursory glance around them to ensure there were no eavesdroppers. So much of Coruscant was censored, and his confession was not a light one.

"Are you one of them?" It occurred to her that perhaps his preacher identity was just an act. The professor was not so skeptical that she could ignore the way Force-Sensitives were treated by the (ignorant, beastly) Imperials. If the man before her was interested in them for the wrong reason, Llewelyn needed to devise a way to end the conversation here and now.

But she did not feel as though he were a threat. Feelings were not something that Llewelyn routinely used as a basis for making decisions, and she found herself perplexed that this case should be different.

The dreams--visions?--had some sort of meaning. Perhaps she was meant to help him.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon didn't blame her for being cautious. What he'd just said could earn them both the attention of the Inquisitoriate, or worse. It had crossed his mind that she might be one of their agents herself - but, no. What he sensed from her was genuine. For all her incredulity, there wasn't an ounce of guile in her being.

"For a long time I thought I was all alone," the preacher replied, his eyes bright with meaning. "But, as I said before, the Lord always preserves a faithful remnant through every drought and storm. The problem is that most of them are scattered and isolated. And many of them don't even know they've been chosen."

[Llewelyn Voss]

An obvious conclusion did not occur to Llewelyn because it was, to her mind, as far from possible as sunrise to sunset.

"There's a girl in one of my classes." The woman began in a low, thoughtful tone. "I'm positive she's one of your remnant."

There was nothing concrete to support the claim, but Llewelyn was the sort of being who tried to make a habit of only stating things she was unequivocally positive about.

So. This must be it, the reason for the visions. The preacher was looking for scattered sheep, and she was in a position to help him gather a flock.

"I can arrange a meeting. Safe accommodations, possibly secure transport off-world for the few you may find, if necessary."

[Rev Solomon]

It took a moment to absorb what she was saying. Even to a man of faith, there was such a thing as too good to be true. And while Solomon didn't suspect this woman was being duplicitous, he did get the impression she'd just had a fair bit of ground removed from beneath her and was searching for a new place to plant her feet.

If her offer was genuine, it was just the sort of thing he'd come to Coruscant to find. But that still left the question of how she was so sure about this girl she knew.

It left a whole lot of other questions, too. But those would have to wait.

"That's a generous offer. Very generous. But I have to admit I'm also a bit intrigued by you, Miss..." He paused and gave a disarming smile. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I ever caught your name."

[Llewelyn Voss]

She considered lying.

"Voss. Llewelyn." It seemed needless to, however. Llewelyn thumbed the bridge of her nose, blinking against the thumping sense of deja vu. It brought with it a displacing sensation of constantly repeating oneself.

"Before you arrived I'd have said I was hardly intriguing, but all of this is entirely bizarre. Are you traveling alone?"

[Rev Solomon]

"I am," Solomon replied, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. He was watching her eyes as if he were looking for something buried there just beneath the surface, on the far side of the window to her soul.

"Miss Voss," he said, "I may have my own ideas about how and why this may be happening. But I'm curious about what you think. Why are you so interested in helping a simple country preacher on a fool's errand?"

[Llewelyn Voss]

The weight of his stare was uncomfortable. She didn't like the way her mind snapped and jumped every time her eyes met his, like a broken holoprojector stopping and starting a clip. Llewelyn looked away.

"I don't know." It was as honest enough answer, though it wasn't true. She picked up her brandy and poured the last of it into the cooling cup of tea. Took a sip and swirled the bitter combination around, felt the grainy rub of tea leaf on her tongue.

She began again, slowly. "It feels like... I'm supposed to."

There was a world behind each word, but Llewelyn could only map out the continents.

[Rev Solomon]

Solomon folded his fingers around the cup of caff. Despite his placid exterior, he was still wrestling with his own uncertainties. Her answer was far from an explanation, far from a confession of loyalty or faith. And yet he knew he wouldn't have accepted anything that sounded rehearsed.

"Let's start with this girl you mentioned," he said. "Tell me about her."