The Lonely Mountain

[Abarai Loki]

"Captain Cirrsseeto Quez. Cirrsseeto. Cirr."

Walter was staring again. Though it was his job to stare, he had a way of doing it that put Loki on edge. Deep in concentration, Loki stooped to maintain eye contact with the floating droid, arms welded to his sides, mouth slack. His mind was racing and altogether empty. Another beat of silence passed. It was no use.

"Delete," he sighed. Walter's optical sensors wilted. "Delete, I said. Delete! Delete!"

The red light atop his antenna stopped flashing. Walter burbled his disappointment and drifted over to the bed, where he landed with a gentle bounce. He was a refurbished sentry droid cobbled together from spare parts; Loki had taken him as payment for his services in the junk yard, and since the little droid had been his pet project all along, it seemed only fitting. About the size of a child's head, Walter had a couple of large macrobinocular lenses for eyes, each housed in a pear-shaped casing capable of extraordinary swizzling. His designation was W0L-TR, but Loki called him Walter because he wouldn't answer to anything else.

"I need to eat," he muttered, by way of a farewell. As he swept out of the room, Loki couldn't decide what annoyed him more, the fact that he had been reduced to making conversation with a droid, or that the droid hadn't bothered to reply. After two days of self-imposed isolation, the cracks were beginning to show.

The Whaladon was a gloomy maze of half-lit corridors and empty rooms. The silence had a presence of its own; thick, lingering in the dark. Until recently, Loki found comfort in the familiar surroundings; he embraced the solitude; he rejoiced at the lack of refresher queues. In the great slumbering freighter he had found an unfaltering companion. But things were changing between them, and the extra baggage transformed them into the most bitter of bedfellows. Now, corridors that once had been old friends were strangers and inviting halls had turned cold with age. When he left his quarters, he scarcely noticed anymore the small ventilation shaft where he first encountered mischievous conspirators, Pilot and Fang. When he entered the cargo hold, he thought not on his contests with Anbira, and Hal, and Wei, nor did he pay any mind to the makeshift lifting bench that had been built by his then unmarried unpromoted friend, Cirrsseeto. And whenever he passed the mess hall, he ignored the ghost of Taataani Meorrrei and her talk of finding the little man in the boat, whatever that meant. He stepped from the ship, shrugging off memories like chains.

Sanctuary One was changing. On all sides, the valley rose like cresting waves, and from those waves rose buildings of every shape and size. Where there had once been shuttles and tents and prefabricated shacks, stood instead ranks of dormitories, crawling with padawans in the way ant colonies were alive with ants. From his limited vantage point, he could also make out the spires of the comm center and the domed roof of the council chamber. To either side of him, the community stretched, depositing at scattered intervals curious new places for him to avoid, like a cantina for brawlers and a traditional Nehantish bowling alley, of all things. Hidden to the south and north-west were the Alliance and Cizerack bases, respectively, and though their duties were to assist in the construction and administration of the bustling site, signs of their integration into it were everywhere; in the uniforms, in the friendships, in the shared tables at meal times. And as he stepped into the expansive mess hall, Loki couldn't help but think that, while the Jedi may inhabit Alliance space, it was truly the Alliance that inhabited them.

He threaded a route between tables like a needle, bursting pockets of noise. The silence followed him like a bad smell, all the way to the counters, where only the service droids dared meet his gaze. In many respects, it was nothing new: padawans typically fell silent in his presence, and stole only furtive glances when they assumed he wasn't looking, but Loki couldn't help but wonder if it was intimidation that silenced his neighbours as he sat to eat, or something else. It started out, first, as whispers, but the chatter soon resumed in full. He had eyes only for his sandwich, which he despatched with his usual expedience, caring not for the looks he received, or the gossip had at his expense.

Disgraced, though he was, he wore his shame with dignity. It was supposed to hurt. In the eyes of his superiors, he had committed a serious offense, and betrayed the trust bestowed upon him. It did hurt; that he had been stripped of his responsibility as a lightsaber instructor; that he was not to be trusted in the education of another padawan; that his failure, in its entirety, was on the lips of every Jedi on Ossus. Word spread fast in such an isolated place, but they could talk, they could all talk, because it didn't hurt that much. There was still one person who trusted him, who saw things the way he saw them - who understood - and she was all that mattered.

[Abarai Loki]

"...and loath, though I am, to admit it, I have been following your mother's political career with interest. For better or worse, Senator Meorrrei, has established for herself quite a reputation. She appears in many reports, much to her delight, I have no doubt. It seems your family cannot help but make waves wherever you go. And, speaking of family, how is Lyanie?"

No sooner had the words escaped his lips that Loki knew they had to be snuffed out of existence. He loathed small talk: it was reserved for amorous drunks and greasy salesmen. There was no place for it in the social arsenal of a Jedi Knight; how he cringed to hear that pleasant conversational tone tumble from his lips like rainbow vomit. Walter appeared to read what were becoming all-too-familiar signs, he retreated to his corner with a grumble, and deactivated himself. This time, Loki didn't even need to tell him to delete anything.

In the absence of inspiration, and at a loss for words, Loki turned his attention to the one constant in his life: his lightsaber. Unclipped from his belt, he cradled it in the palms of his hands, raised, as if in offering. Under his scrutiny, the weapon shimmered and gleamed; black as coal; grey as slate; and, where the light trickled into the delicate etchings like water, white as sparkling diamonds. He closed his eyes and felt his way along its contours with his mind, probing every inch of metal with the intimacy of a lover. He knew this weapon as well as he knew himself, and he was growing out of it. In his hands he held the weapon that belonged to the boy from Maridun, a boy he scarcely remembered anymore. If the relationship between a Jedi and his lightsaber transcended the physical; if it was more than just a warrior's weapon or a craftsman's tool; if it was indeed his spiritual counterpart, would it recognise him today? There were times when he liked to think his lightsaber had a voice of its own, and, if so, what would it have to say?

"Ridiculous."

The lightsaber was discarded with a clatter, and rolled under the bed. Loki picked himself up off the floor, rigid with agitation, and crashed onto his bed. It was exactly that kind of thinking that had put him in this position in the first place, he reminded himself. Lightsabers that could talk, indeed. Loki summoned to his hand a remote and when the holo flickered to life, he started to channel surf. This was normal. This was what people did. Real, actual people.

The first thing to go was the news channel, his first, and normally, only port of call. He'd heard enough about politicians and celebrities and violence for one day. On the next channel there was a talk show doing a feature on Ithorian divorcees - You Can Have My Man, but You Will Never Take My Pupa! - thirty seconds of subtitled bitching and name-calling was all he could take. On the next channel, Iridonian dance music. The channel after that was showing one of those so-called comedy shows, that, like so many of its contemporaries, boasted a cast of impossibly vacuous Corellians with silly names and eye-watering smiles. After spending two minutes in silence, Loki changed channels.

This time he was greeted by some sort of fitness programme. His interest piqued - it had been a few days since he'd had a good workout. The music was obnoxious, of course, bested only by the garish host, who was loud and positive to the point of being positively nauseating. And while he pranced about, a small army of sweaty women exerted themselves, obeying his every command. That was strange, he thought, how they were all women. Women in excellent shape, emphasised by the skimpy figure-hugging clothes they wore, and by the way they managed to keep pace with the throbbing music: jumping, lunging, bending, bouncing. Their skin glistened as they contorted themselves, panting, wrapping the fabric around every contour of their firm, athletic bodies.

And then it happened. First, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and then what felt like a coil of thick hempen rope unravelling in his lower abdomen; pulling, pulling, until it snapped taught. Loki winced, and dared not to move - movement only made it worse. He closed his eyes and sought the inner peace that was at the core of all Jedi teachings. His own core felt like duracrete, and had developed its own gravitational pull, threatening to draw him in like an infant to a candy shop. To fail such an elementary test of willpower was to invite a trip to Miwù Shanmà, double-timed, with a full pack. He was stronger than that. He would not be beaten.

[Abarai Loki]

On his way to Miwù Shanmà, Loki sprained his ankle. He was halfway when it happened: the well-worn path fell away from his feet like a slurry down the mountainside, and the rest of his body followed. Fingers scrabbled at ground, tearing up handfuls of gravel and dust. It wasn't until his foot was jammed into the space between two large boulders that he was brought to a stop. He cursed his foolishness when he wrenched his boot free; it seemed even he wasn't immune to mistakes. If Akasha Khan could see him now.

It seemed cheap to walk the rest of the way, even with a full pack strapped to his back; there was nothing like burning muscles and a heavy sweat to purge one's own impurities. Instead, he was to face the shame of limping into the Gossam settlement, with nothing but the clatter of pots and pans to announce his arrival. Other cooking implements on his person included a stove, a kettle, and a spatula. He remembered his tin mug, his plate, and cutlery. Making up the bulk of his pack were a second pair of boots, a change of clothes, and a waterproof poncho; ration packs, potable water, a first aid kit; a datapad, a map, and a bed roll. By the time he had crested the final ascent, and after much jostling, he found his shoulders ached from the extra weight.

Below him, Miwù Shanmà spilled down the mountainside in weaving paths, tenuous bridges and neat terraced fields. The sun was swift in its descent, inking the sprawling panorama in deep blues; shadows encroached upon the village, kept at bay by a network of lanterns that hung like fireflies above the road, and made the mouths of caves aglow with inviting warmth. Over the din of his own clanking and clattering, he heard the faint chitter of the locals, and a throaty bellow coming from one of the fields. Up ahead, he saw a small figure step into a circle of lantern light, and vanish just as suddenly.

"Hello?"

[Tell Cho]

"Hello?" a voice chirped back at him. The figure stepped back into the lantern light, resolving itself to be a shadowed Gossam, a walking stick in its hand. From behind it came a much smaller Gossam. It tilted its head curiously, and chirped again: "Hello? Deed I sei eet raight?"

A couple more Gossam stepped into the lantern light, until a family of Gossam was standing there. The tallest, a stub headed male wearing fine looking tunics and a brilliantly festooned headpiece comprising a fabric band around the skull of red and gold with flowing designs sewn into it, and similar flaps coming down just before its pointed grey ears, stepped forward, and extended a hand to Loki, before speaking to him in chirps and low throaty whistles.

"Faatherr asks eef we may hellp carrry yourrr boorrdenn," the child chirped again. A couple of the younger Gossam, ostensibly the child's elder siblings, themselves like their father and younger sibling bedecked in colourful clothing stepped forward also. "We arrre cloh-uuse to ourr houm. Yoo may leeave yourr bellongeengs therrre and then come weeth uuss to the uong ja bà!"

[Abarai Loki]

"This burden is mine to bear," Loki said, tightening the shoulder straps. He gave the little Gossam a nod, "Thank you."

In his palm, the older Gossam's hand felt like dry leather, and by the soft orange light, his skin was the colour of speckled amethyst. Loki watched his mouth move in a way that was at odds with the sequence of croaking and trilling sounds it produced. Once again, the youngling was quick to come to his aid, and invited him to their home. Again, he nodded his thanks - a difficult achievement, given the dramatic angle of inclination required to so much as see the little one - he sensed a stiff neck awaited him in the morning.

They started down the path at a leisurely pace, and Loki took pains not to quite literally overstep his mark. Underfoot, the packed earth was firm, yielding with the occasional clod of grass. Where the road was most narrow, it was flanked by stone walls that reached his knee; they walked in single file around a precarious outcrop of stone, exposed to the wind, which howled and whistled through the mounatain, and sent the lanterns clanging like bells. When all fell silent, the conversation resumed. Short of having a name, Loki cleared his throat to get the youngling's attention.

"Tell me, what is this Ong Jabba?"

[Tell Cho]

"Uong ja bà," the youngling corrected, falling into step with the human. In its excitement, the child began to hop from one foot to the other while it continued to speak in its lilting, high pitched voice: "Eet is a fesstibaal! We uwellcomme the newesst arrivaalss to Miwù Shanmà weeth songs and daanceeng and much food. Therre arre games allsso! Eet weell be funn!"

At this point, the Gossam family had reached what looked to be their home, which was a cave as were most other homes. But this cave, none of them in fact, were open to the elements; this Gossam family's cave entrance was a door of wood, which opened inward. It was much larger than it needed to be for the family, but Loki fit comfortably through, and was faced with a large entry way, lit warmly by candles and lanterns. There was some roughly carved wooden furniture, and some brightly dyed woven blankets and clothing laying folded about in a circular room roughly seven feet from floor to ceiling and twelve feet in diameter. To the left and right there were two open rooms, one being the cooking area, with a raised firepit in the middle of it, and the other room was the dining area, with a low set table of stone and some woven blankets on the floor where they would sit. At the back of the circular entrance room was a hall that extended back further into the stone of the mountain.

"Come! Come! Motherr annd I weell show you to a room so yoo may unboorrdenn yourself."

Loki was shown back through the hall to a room with a bed and more of the dyed blankets, which were made from the fur of the huoyen, their beast of burden. It had a small fireplace which was dark and unlit, and a window frame with a handle to push it out and allow air in, and a carved wooden bed, set low to the ground like the table in the dining room.

"It is very nice, having guests," the child said, its accent getting better as it spoke. "An adventure right at home! So make yourself comfourtablle, and come out to accompany us to uong ja bà!"

The child was gently pulled from the room by its mother, who bowed once to Loki before taking the child back to the entrance room, where the rest of the family was speaking and whistling amongst themselves.

[Abarai Loki]

As he was led deep into the heart of the Gossam home, Loki was left with the distinct impression that he was going to be staying the night. It had not been on his agenda, but then, nor had spraining his ankle on a mountain, and the night was closing in fast. How presumptuous it must have seemed for a stranger to turn up at an alien settlement, packed for travel, and nursing a limp. In the face of the family's hospitality, he felt sheepish, and the youngling's zealous enthusiasm wasn't helping. While they talked, Loki stood near the entrance to his room and listened. If his presence was causing family tension, the chittering and trilling disguised it well.

"Uong ja bà," he repeated to himself, pointedly, "Uong ja bà. Uong. Ja. Bà."

When he removed his hefty pack, all of his muscles sang praises, and he let out a long ragged sigh of relief. Glad to be rid of his burden, he allowed it to fall to the floor with one last clatter. The room in which he found himself was a spartan affair, for the most part, but wherever there was decor, he found exquisite detail. On the floor, before the fireplace, there was a blanket woven from green and yellow reeds, and trimmed with gold tassels. And, above the bed hung a paper lantern, decorated with vibrant flowing calligraphy that painted the walls red. After a moment of curious inspection, he became aware of the quiet from the next room: the Gossam were waiting. But, before he rejoined them, he hesitated long enough to mouth the words "Uong ja bà," a few more times. So, when he appeared, he was able to look them in their eyes and say:

"I am ready. Let us go to the Uong ja bà."

[Tell Cho]

The child trilled in excitement, shouting a few words aloud before its father, clucking in what seemed to be amusment, opened the door and waited for everyone to file out before closing the door behind him and making sure it was secure.

"Uong ja bà! Uong ja bà!"the youngest began to sing, walking along with a definite bounce to its step. The elder children clucked in Gossam laughter, but soon began to hum the words themselves as the group walked down the narrow, winding walkways towards the town center. Already there could be heard a loud indistinct murmur of trilling, whistling and hooted calls from a series of brightly lit plazas and large avenues that spanned the canyons. As they drew closer, the paths widened, and they passed at first individual and small groups of Gossam, soon becoming larger groups gathered round stands that had been set up, and where the smells of sweets and roasted meats wafted thickly through air. Proving the trials of parenthood were indeed universal, the father and mother had to stop a few times to buy a few of the foods being offered for the children.

"Eat!" the Gossam child chirped to Loki, proffering a skewer of roasted meat and vegetables. Another one was held in its other hand. "It ees deleeciouss!"

Even as they ate, a murmur began to steal through the crowds around them, and quickly passed to the child, who scampered back to its family in excitement.

"Cho-zhu shì tàowǔ!" the little one exclaimed, and grabbing Loki and its father's hands, dragged them along to a huge plaza that denoted the centre of the city. There in middle of the empty plaza stood one lone Gossam with a cane. As more Gossam ringed the plaza underneath the lanterns that hung from a rope along its perimeter, a line of drummers along the side of the plaza went to work, slowly beating out a rhythm. The crowds grew, and the older Gossam began to move slowly, each step seemingly taken with the utmost care. One step, and then the transfer of weight to the forward foot, followed by an equally slow lifting of its back leg, and a pivot to face in the opposite direction than it had started in. Its hands followed suit, moving slowly back and forth as if its arms were ribbons in the slightest breeze.

Quiet stole over the crowd, and the only sounds were the rhythmic beating of the drums, and shuffling and stamping of the dancing Gossam's feet, and the clack of its cane upon the stone; and then the beat grew faster, and the Gossam quickened its tempo to match, until with a blaze of sound a bar of green light erupted from the head of the cane, and the humming and whir of a lightsaber provided another almost musical accompaniment to the drums. Then, with a shout, the Gossam took to the air, leaping and spinning and landing on one hand, then a single foot, only to launch itself back into the air until the lightsaber's green beam left streaks of light behind itself from how fast the Gossam was performing the kata. The hush in the crowd became palpable while the drums began to reverberate frenetically, and the Gossam's dance became a whirl of movement, the activated light cane spinning about now without even being touched by the Gossam, unless it was a slight brush, which would send it into the air several meters, only to be pulled back as if by a magnet to the Gossam.

And then it was over. The light cane was extinguished, and the Gossam stood in the same spot in which it had begun, almost as if it had never moved at all.

The crowd erupted into noise, cheering and trilling and whistling coming from all sides. The Gossam bowed to the people gathered around, and all of those gathered bowed low in return.

[Abarai Loki]

When the elderly Gossam started to perform, Loki had the distinct impression he had seen him before. Of course, he had made the trek to Miwù Shanmà many times in the past, but only to turn around at the first bridge, and run back. Still, there was a chance he could have caught a glimpse of the venerated elder as he passed through; he had a look about him one was not likely to forget. While he watched, Loki tore a chunk of meat from his skewer and chewed with relish; though the meat fell apart with ease, the sweet sauce stuck to his teeth like glue. By the time he had worked his way down to the skewer, his fingers were stained and his jaw was sore. As a culinary experience, it had been delicious and obscene - now he knew how it felt to be a Cizerack in the sticky aftermath of wild carnivorous abandon. It felt good.

So surprising was the sudden snap-hiss of a lightsaber, that it had him reaching for his own Jedi weapon. He stopped short of arming himself, however, and instead gawped at the elder's explosive display of agility. In an instant, the performer's identity became as shamefully apparent as a finger in the eye. And while Master Cho worked wonders, Loki found his gaze creeping elsewhere: the crowd cheered and gasped, a sea of green and blue that bobbed, wide-eyed with wonder, and blissfully ignorant of the relative giant in their midst. He retreated a tenuous step. If he could just slip away before it was over, no-one would notice. Underfoot, the square cobbles clacked as he turned and nearly tripped over a mountain goat. In unison, the goat and its rider bleated in alarm. There was a scuffle while the Gossam fought to regain control, bouncing like jello in the saddle. Once certain he was no longer in any danger of being unseated, he put some distance between himself and the troublesome Jedi, scowling all the way.

The drumming ceased and the crowd broke into thunderous applause. Loki turned in time to see Tell Cho take a bow before his subjects. He was out of time and his fate was sealed by three little fingers pulling at his wrist. Somewhere near his knee, the youngling was beaming, and leaping, and tugging at his arm with a flurry of breathless chirrups. His sister joined him on the other arm, and the elder brothers brought up the rear, executing a textbook pincer movement. He was trapped. Together, the Gossam children jostled him through the parting crowd towards the edge of the plaza; the sibling team gave a victorious trill when they broke through. Feeling a perfect fool, Loki idled on the front line, while the crowd fell silent around him. There was nothing for it.

"Master Cho." Loki climbed a trio of steps to the plaza. He approached Tell Cho and, pulling on his Jedi propriety like an old hair shirt, he bowed, "My name is Abarai Loki. We met once on the Whaladon, long ago. To see you with a lightsaber has been a rare privilege."

[Tell Cho]

The crowd began spilling onto the plaza along with Loki, and though some of them did make to speak with Cho, most did nothing more than bow in deference. Cho made a point of bowing just as low. When the youngling and its siblings came near, Cho greeted them and their parents before regarding Loki with an inscrutable eye.

"I remember our last conversation not being nearly so civil, Knight Loki," the King of the Gossam said. "I make no excuses for my behaviour then. I'm sure the Shang family has extended you the hospitality of their home."

"Yess!" the little one chirped. "Uwee havve."

"Then did you notice, little Fan, that your guest's ankle is injured?" Cho asked, bending down to speak to the child at eye level. Fan's head tilted to the side, and then he looked down to Loki's ankle. "It is fine, little Fan. Let us find someone to address it, so it will not become worse or pain him too greatly. Do find him a huoyen to ride, that he will not have to walk on it more."

Cho stood again and nodded to the Shang patriarch, who immediately stalked off, followed by his elder sons.

"What has brought you to us Gossam tonight, Knight Loki?"

[Abarai Loki]

"No. I don't need-"

The father and his sons were gone before he could object. Loki wilted in defeat. It was not enough that he found himself beholden to the propriety of a Jedi Knight, even in the sanctuary of the mountain village, but, that he had to wear the title while being prostrated like an enfeebled hag across the back of some unmentionable beast, brought a whole new depth to the word 'indignity'. Shame enjoyed his company, it seemed. And, speaking of indignity, Tell Cho had a question for him. Loki cast his gaze about like a net, as if he could fish his words from the ether.

"I had... tension to work out. A run to Miwù Shanmà will fast resolve that. It was not my intention to intrude upon your celebrations."

The congregation of Gossam chittered softly amongst themselves. Loki had to remind himself that it was because of Tell Cho, their leader and king, and not because of the oustider, Abarai Loki, that they were gathered around them. Of late, he'd seen more than his fair share of attention. But it was only Cho who had eyes for him, and what eyes they were: sharp enough to strip the flesh from his bones in a glance. If only that high-powered perception was turned on little Fan, who was presently skulking about the hem of his king's robes, enamoured with his magical walking stick. Loki took a sharp breath to temper the social niceties.

"I am grateful for your hospitality, but understand that I am not so weak that I require the assistance of your huoyen, Master Cho."

[Tell Cho]

"Nonsense," Cho said sharply. "It is not a question of weakness. It is a question of hospitality. Neither I nor the Shang family will think less of you for it, but should they not offer and it be noticed by other Gossam, they will be shamed. It is one of their functions; they serve guests to Miwù Shanmà with shelter and hospitality. And you are not the first to come to us so injured."

The festival continued around them, the drummers now preening under the eyes of those who had come to congratulate them on their accompaniment of Cho's dance, and the workmanship of their instruments.

"Of course, if a huoyen is too far beneath you, perhaps we can find a palanquin, or a rickshaw for you."

At this point, Shang and his two elder sons approached holding the reins to a huoyen large enough to bear Loki.

[Abarai Loki]

Loki chose not to dignify the remark with a response. Tell Cho had made his position clear: it was not a question of whether or not he was to be fussed by his Gossam hosts - that was an inevitability - but a matter of deciding the extent to which he was to be spoiled. Being ferried around by palanquin was unthinkable, so he turned to face his fate: a long-necked, shaggy-furred creature with a dainty pointed face and large aloof eyes. When he cleared the throng, it regarded him with evident distaste and blew a raspberry of disapproval.

"A fine creature," he lied, offering the father a bow, "You have my thanks."

Even with his sprained ankle, mounting the huoyen was of no difficulty - even the largest of the Gossam's beasts were little more than deformed donkeys. He was impressed to discover that, under his weight, the huoyen gave not an inch. They were deceptively strong creatures. He patted its back; it gave a loud fart. Fan sniggered from behind the king's robes. Loki recalled what Cho had said about how, in making him feel welcome, the Shang family would be observed and judged by their fellow Gossam. A thought occured to him.

"Master Cho, though our meeting tonight is but a product of chance, it would be remiss of me to not take advantage of it. Will you give me the honour of your company this evening?"

[Tell Cho]

For a brief moment, Cho's mouth might have twitched into a smile. But if it had, it was a ghost of an expression, too quick to be sure that it had been ever there in the first place.

"It has been too long since I have enjoyed the hospitality of the Shang family. Yan," he turned to face the matriarch, who blinked rapidly and sidled closer to her husband, "I will only impose should you allow it."

Yan clucked a few times and muttered a few words, to which Cho bowed.

"Then it is settled. I shall accompany you tonight. Unless of course little Fan does not desire me stealing the newcomer's attention?"

Fan Shang shook his head quickly.

"No," he chirped, though there did seem to be a bit of reluctance in his answer. "I do nnot mainnd at alll."

Yan and her husband herded their children like wayward huoyen around them and began to make their way through the crowded avenues and thoroughfares that made up the centre of the Gossam settlement, great wide bridges between mountains, and sloping pathways up and down their slopes a testament to the engineering and industriousness of the recently emancipated people. Cho allowed them to stay forward a few paces, though Fan, in his endless curiosity, hung back and listened to them attentively, though that attention was often gripped by the sounds and smells and sights of the festival. But among the many Gossam were also visiting Alliance personnel, and even a Cizerack or two. Loki was by far not the only non-Gossam to be seen on that night.

"Knight Loki," Cho said. "You normally do not enter our village. You venture up, and then turn around. What tension pushed you past the boundary?"

[Abarai Loki]

"In truth, I did not intend to visit your village, Tell Cho. Injury delayed my arrival, and, despite my familiarity with the pass, to descend the mountain at night in such a condition would have been a fool's errand."

Once again, Loki found himself speaking the language of the diplomat. Half-truths tumbled from his lips like so many jewels to keep his attentive audience distracted, but satisfied. Whenever he met the Gossam King's gaze, his thoughts swerved to avoid treacherous pitfalls and accelerated towards an answer that was at once honest, and safe. How tiring it was, that double-speak, those words within words. Loki was ill-equipped for such things, but his time amongst a certain Cizerack matriarch - a veritable master of speech alchemy in her own right - had not left him entrely uneducated. And, as he watched the chittering crowds greet their king, and the Shang family, with happy trills and deep bows, he felt a swell of satisfaction at his own cunning. Was this the opiate of the politian?

"I see now, that, in failing to visit, I have been depriving myself of a cultural education."

More frippery, and once again, not wholly untrue. After all, it was becoming a night of firsts: visiting a Gossam home, tasting Gossam cuisine, witnessing Tell Cho in action, and riding a flatulent huoyen. The Uong ja bà painted for him a vibrant and scarcely-seen portrait of Gossam life. There was a corpulant male who juggled clay pots for the amusement of children; a circle of ladies in fine silks danced to the sound of tin flutes, while a blind musician sat alone, plucking melancholy notes from an old zither; rowdy elders warbled and clacked over chess boards, shopkeepers peddled fabrics like spun gold and boiled candies like gems, and scattered all between, merry-makers made merry and drank. The air was heavy with the scent of burning incense and popped with the aroma of freshly-brewed hops. There was more life huddled on a mountain side than on the rest of Ossus combined.

"It must pain you to leave this place, only to endure the company of politicians, Senator. How goes our Alliance?"

[Tell Cho]

"Apparently, I do not have to leave this place to hear a politician's voice," Cho answered levelly, giving Loki another sharp look. "This is not a state visit, boy. You need not act like offending me will start a war. I will simply learn from it, as I learn from everything else. You do know that I am no Senator. I am merely a Representative."

They stopped at a door that was more modern than most of the others around; it was metal, and when Cho knocked on it loudly, it slid open along a track to show an equally old Gossam wearing a bright blue headband and tunic.

"Cho-zhu," the Gossam said, bowing.

"Yun Zhang. We require your assistance with this Jedi's ankle."

Yun Zhang tilted his head, looked at Loki closely for a moment, and then bobbed his head up and down. He turned and stalked into the house, waving them in with one lazy hand.

"Come, come," he said. Cho entered, and waited for Loki, who was helped by an eager Fan.

"Yun Zhang eez a good heallerr," Fan said. "I hurrt mai hannd badlly annd he made it nnot hurrt in two nnnights!"

Inside the home was neat, and in comparison to the other aesthetics of the Gossam town, very modern looking. Instead of leaving the walls a hewn if neatly carved stone, there was metal plating along the walls and ceiling, and the lights were powered rather than flame. Though it was obviously a home, and a Gossam home at that, there was a low table along a wall that upon closer inspection was a padded bed, and a hover chair next to it that served for examinations, and equipment to match.

"How goes the education of Hun Yao?" Cho asked. Yun snorted.

"Azz welll azz could be hoped forr," the Gossam doctor replied, moving the chair into position. He looked at Loki. "Sit."

Without waiting for Loki's response, he trundled to a wall, and opened a recessed storage space, brightly lit, with various medical equipment inside. He pulled out a roll of gauze and bottle of some dark green gel, and turned to begin his examination.

[Abarai Loki]

Where Loki had figured himself for a figure skater, gliding around troublesome topics with graceful ease, his diplomatic overtures had in fact been about as subtle as a freight train, and Tell Cho derailed them as such. Not only had his closing remark been deflected for the cheap shot it had been, but in his assertion that Cho was a senator, he had been entirely wrong. By the gloom and the lantern light, his embarrassment was mercifully disguised. For the duration of the reprimand, he held his tongue, and would continue to do so despite Cho's wishes to the contrary - years of experience had made him wise to what an unguarded tongue was rewarded. He didn't have the tolerance for all of that aggravation, anymore.

In Yun Zhang's home, his discomfort was just as palatable, as he sat to waste the time of a frail and venerable healer with such a pitiful complaint. Once his boot was removed, along with a rather damp sock, he lifted his foot onto the bed for inspection. When Yun Zhang leaned close, his face wrinkled like dry parchment, and he gave a low groan. There was concentration in every line of that long thin face. His fingers probed the swollen ankle and Loki stiffened in his seat. Gently, he took the ankle in one hand, and placed the other on the ball of his foot. Only a fraction of movement was achieved before Loki hissed like a boiling kettle. When had he become so soft?

The healer reached for the bottle of green gel.

"Is that some sort of bacta?"

[Tell Cho]

"No," Yun Zhang said, pulling the stopper from the bottle. "Bacta prroduuctionn llais withinn the Emmppirre's bounndarries, annd sso it iz difficullt and expennseeve to comme bai. Thees ees a painnkilller commpounnd of Gossam design."

Cho sat in one of the chairs with his eyes closed and both hands on the head of his cane, for all the world seeming to be asleep. Fan Shang, on the other hand, was watching curiously, his head bobbing to and fro from Loki to his ankle and then to Yun Zhang, and blinking his black eyes. Calmly while being under both the child and the Jedi's eyes, Yun Zhang unrolled the gauze and cut it with a small pair of clippers he had hidden within his tunic. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and began to slowly apply it to the gauze until there was a thin green line in the middle of the bandage, and the room smelled of a clean, cool spice. Once that was done, he turned to Loki and poured some of the gel into his hand. Fan blinked, and watched closely while Yun Zhang gently rubbed the salve onto Loki's ankle until it was lightly covered in a sheen of green. Taking the gauze, the healer then wrapped the ankle quickly and expertly; he had managed to judge the length necessary without much thought, as he was done, and the ankle was firmly and tightly rolled up and secured with two small white pieces of tape that was in a small roll within the same recessed shelf that had housed the gauze and the gel.

"The gell uwill onnlly sstop the suwelling llaightlly. It is ma-eenlly used to ease disscommforrt, annd cooll it. Do nnot puut all yoor weight onn it. Use a canne, or rride a huoyen."

[Abarai Loki]

The gel was cold, and Yun Zhang applied it to his ankle with deft gentle fingers. It had a rousing smell that broke his weariness the moment it reached his nostrils. Once fully applied, the glistening salve made his foot tingle, and he became acutely aware of every inch of skin it touched. Even if it turned out to be made from nothing but a bunch of scented herbs, it at least felt like it was doing something. Between the soothing gel and the tightly bound gauze, Loki felt fit enough to stand properly; a fresh twinge of pain reminded him not to do that. He balanced himself gingerly on his toes and gave the healer a respectful bow of the head.

"Yun Zhang, I am in your debt. If ever you have need of a Jedi, remember my name: Abarai Loki."

Fan bade the healer farewell with his trademark enthusiasm, and fell into step alongside Loki. He watched Loki with unguarded curiosity, there was no judgement in his eyes, even as he humoured his tedious limping pace. It was refreshing. Tell Cho did not look at him at all: his eyes were closed and Loki quite liked him like that. Nothing seemed to go unnoticed in his presence. Except perhaps, their departure. He cleared his throat.

"Tell Cho?" he leaned over and gave him a gentle prod in the arm, "Wake up. We're leaving."

[Tell Cho]

Tell Cho let out a small breath.

"I am not sleeping, Abarai Loki," he said, opening his eyes and fixing them on the young Jedi. "If I were, you would need to poke much harder to awaken me."

He stood, his cane clicking on the ground as he settled his weight. He nodded to Yun Zhang, and led them out of the healer's home where Fan's family was waiting. Fan chirped loudly and nearly bowled over one of his elder siblings as they held out a wrapped sweet for him.

"Therre eez steelll so much to see!" Fan said to Loki around a mouthful of the sweet bun.

"That will have to be after the greeting ceremony, little Fan," Cho answered. "It is about that time."

[Abarai Loki]

“Greeting ceremony,” Loki repeated with interest.

In pursuit, he hobbled on mismatching feet, clunking every other step. The cobbles were cold upon his bare toes. From behind, there was a loud huff. He turned to find his huoyen looming imperiously over him, its heavy-lidded eyes regarded him with cool distaste down the length of its long neck. Defeated, Loki mounted the beast, which farted itself forward at a leisurely pace.

Ahead, the crowd moved as one, remaining close to the Gossam King as the Shang family led the way down a steep winding path. All but one. Over the murmur of the crowd, a little voice sprang, again and again, “Laokee! Laokee!”

From the throng appeared a small hand, waving frantically. Loki spurred the huoyen into flatulent advance, gently parting the crowd until he saw Fan’s anxious face light up. He leaned and swept up the Gossam youngling to add to his mount’s burden. Fan was allowed to take the reins, which he used to guide them effortlessly back towards his family.

“I lost mmai suweet rrroll,” he said, and clicked instructions to the obedient huoyen.

“Perhaps your… brother will provide you with another one,” Loki replied with uncertainty; clothing aside, Gossam genders were difficult to distinguish. He could make out Tell Cho’s ornate headpiece as they started to zero in on it, and in his absence, Loki directed his question instead to his fellow passenger, “Fan Shang, can you tell me about the greeting ceremony?”

[Tell Cho]

"Uong ja bà eez a fesstiball, uwellcomminng the newesst arribals to these meesty mountains," Fan answered brightly. "All the newcommerrss gatherr inn a pllaza, uwhere the villlage gureets themm forrmallly! Uwee learrnn theirr nnames, annd whoo they arre, annd wherre theirr sstannds arre."

The Shang Family and Cho were caught up in the flow of Gossam making their way back to the large square where Cho had done his show for the townspeople; standing in it were fifteen Gossam, loosely gathered in no real organized manner. As the town filled the winding avenues and smaller squares nearby, Cho stepped forward only slightly from the mass of people.

Fan whispered, "The newesst peoplle arre givenn stannds orr mmake themm, if they have timme. Durrinng the fesstiball, they show uwhat theirr sskillls arre. Fatherr and mmotherr showed they could mmake llots of differrennt foods. Buillderrs mmake modells, annd merrchannts show all the differrennt thinngs they cann trade forr. Eet is funn! I saw a toy mmakerr's sstannd, uwith mmovinng toys like magic, you mmusst ssee it! Llittlle huoyen that wallk annd call out onn theirr ownn! Sstarrshipss that hoverred annd fllew!"

At the last, Fan threw his arms into the air and nearly slid off the huoyen.

In the plaza itself, the newcomers to the village stepped forward and called out their name to those assembled. Cho and the townspeople called the names back, followed by throaty trills of cheering.

[Abarai Loki]

For the most part, the chirruping chittering chatter was lost on Loki, who watched with interest as the newcomers set about making introductions and giving demonstrations of their various skills. Fan, when he wasn’t making soft cooing sounds of wonderment, indulged him with an occasional translation. It seemed that most of the Gossam had a similar story: their skills came not from a place of personal endeavour, but were gained via osmosis from their previous masters. There were some exceptions, however, such as the old beer-brewer, whose enthusiasm for his product was more intoxicating than the beer itself. He was large for a Gossam, and had a round, expressive, wrinkled face that always seemed to be smiling. His deep guttural harmonics resonated well with the crowd, who responded to his call in droves, congregating around each of his flowing barrels.

Beside the brewer, a masseuse demonstrated her skills on a happy volunteer. Her assistants used branches of fern leaves to gently beat his back, while she glided, applying oils and kneading his rolls of loose skin with polite care. There was a carpenter who carved elaborate patterns into the backs of chairs, and an electrician who made lamps that activated and deactivated with a simple hand clap. An animal breeder boasted prize huoyen, to which his own huoyen gave what sounded like a derisive snort. The youngest of the new arrivals was a handsomely garbed musician, who plucked a peculiar S-shaped string instrument that was fashioned to look like a serpent; he sang, according to Fan, tales of great derring-do. And it seemed Fan was not the only one taken with the young talent, for he was swarmed by a veritable bevy of trilling ladies.

But it was the toy-maker whose presentation left the Gossam youngling practically breathless with excitement, so much so that when he relayed to Loki the directions to his stall, he sounded like a tiny asthmatic. His enthusiasm was infectious, and even Loki had to admit there was something cool about being able to turn on a light with a clap of one’s hands - though he’d never admit it, of course. With some apprehension, he fumbled at the pitiful pouch of credits in his pocket.

“Do your people trade in credits, Fan? Or will goods and services suffice?”

[Tell Cho]

"We trade in credits with the Alliance and sometimes the Jedi," Cho answered for the little one. "Amongst ourselves, however, trade is done in goods and services. Quite often, it is food, but mostly it is a service that be accomplished. We do not have much to offer those outside this settlement at the moment. Perhaps we will find ourselves mining these mountains for resources to sell to the Alliance."

The musician bowed and stepped away from Cho, having been asked intently for other skills and trades in which he was knowledgeable. Art and beauty were appreciated amongst the Gossam of Miwù Shanmà, but such changeable things were not as important as survival and stability at the moment. Cho was satisfied with the answer of machinery repair, which had been said reluctantly. He was not eager to go back into the same trade he had learned in slavery.

Fan's eyes widened.

"But," the little one whistled a bit anxiously. "Yourr annklle! Is it not hurrt?"

[Abarai Loki]

"I am a fast healer," Loki said, with a hint of pride.

Typically, he could heal a simple injury like a sprained ankle within minutes, but his focus had been somewhat lacking of late. It had been an embarrassment to hobble into the Gossam settlement as he had, and consequently, he found himself in their debt. He would not embarrass himself further by failing to make good on his repayments. Even without his Jedi powers, he prided himself on having a battle-ready body: yes, he would be fit in the morning, and he would make good on his word.

With a tap of his heels, he sent the huoyen into a trot, and brought himself before the Gossam leader for inspection like the others.

"Tell Cho, your people have shown me great hospitality. Tomorrow, you will find me fit and able to contribute in whatever way you deem proper. I have a strong back and a considerable arm - make use of them."

[Tell Cho]

"If the concept of a gift freely given is so foreign to you," Cho answered, "perhaps I will. I am teaching self defence practices tomorrow. I will require an aide. But tonight you are healing. Go, and make merry with the Shang family. I will come for you in the morning."

He walked off, his cane clacking on the stone path, and a gleam in his black eyes.

"Sleep well, Jedi Loki!" he called, with perhaps a bit too much mirth in his voice.