A Mother's Touch

NONNEGOTIABLE

 "Doaba ol'val tru? What does that mean?" Osha braced her shoulders against the weight of the cargo pallet. She let it glide down to the uneven stone floor of the Exile II's island dock.

"Socorran don't have any words in their language for goodbye," the Stranger replied. Unstrapping the cargo, he removed the generator to keep it separate from the rest of the freight containers."Doaba ol'val tru means peace and hope."

"Did you mean what you said? Not using Lady Khattarine for information again?" It was nearly sundown and the tide was moving in fast, the waves sweeping over the causeway. "You still paid her."

"I negotiated her down." He bit his lower lip and shrugged. "Cost me more than I wanted, but it was worth it for the intel and a new, more trustworthy contact. Socorrans have long memories, and if we ever do need a place to hide out. We know where to go."

There was no way they would move the entire shipment across the causeway before the sea reclaimed it. Osha shouldered as many of the crates as she could, while her Master pushed the heavy generator across the stones. "Why do the Jedi avoid the Bronwen?"

"Rumor has it, the Bronwen are a sect of powerful Force-users, sorcerers who can control the elements, but no one has confirmed it." His voice deepened with the effort of maneuvering the weight of the generator across craggy ground. "Usually, they remain neutral and don't get involved, so there's no need to go kicking the rancor nest. The Order avoids them for this reason and because reportedly their numbers are vast." He shrugged his shoulders before giving the skiff a shove over the lip of the berm. "No one knows how many of them exist. Not a good idea to go start a war when you don't know how large an army your enemy might be bringing."

"I've seen one," Osha said. "A Bronwen. Once when I was on leave with the piloting crew of the Fallon. Some Rodians picked a fight with her in the cantina. Didn't end well for them."

"And now we have someone who can make the proper introductions, if we suddenly need to find sanctuary." He stared at her from beneath his dark bangs. His hair was wet from the ocean spray. "I'd say it was worth the price."

He unstrapped the generator, muscles straining, and situated it at the mouth of the cave before going inside. Osha returned to the Exile II to fetch the last of the supply crates. The Stranger met her half way, dressed in his black cape, wearing his bracer, and carrying the corotosis mask. There was a feral, hungry look in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Osha asked.

"There's something I need to take care of," he whispered. She barely heard him above the ocean's roar, but rather felt his voice in her mind.

"Lady Khattarine?!" Osha gasped. "You're going to kil—"

"No." The Stranger laughed, his sculpted shoulders shaking in the throes of laughter. "Our Socorran friend's intel is actionable, but only for a limited amount of time." He glanced at the causeway as the sea continued to rise. "By now, Lady Khattarine has sold that piece of info to at least three other parties. I need to get there first." He straightened his towering frame and tightened his grip on the helm. "Will you be able to manage your training for a few days without me?"

"Can't I come—"

"No," he cut her off. There was no amusement in his voice. "Where I'm going is too dangerous for you."

"All the more reason you shouldn't go alone," Osha pleaded.

He smiled, tucking a loc behind her ear. "I won't be alone."

"But I've been training so hard!" Osha protested. "What good is all that training if I'm not at your side. Fighting your enemies. Our enemies?"

"You will be fighting with me." He looked down into her face with such longing, Osha's heart ached for his embrace."The power of two, remember? Maybe this is what it takes to awaken what's inside you." The Stranger walked toward the Exile II, but hesitated. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Stay close to the cave until I return."

"But I can help—"

"Please, Osha." It was a humble request, not a demand. His chin remained low, a sign of his humility, not raised defiantly, such as when he was angry or about to show his hubris.

Osha fell silent and watched him go. She traced his figure in the waning light and kept vigil, even as the Exile II flew up from its island berth and into the twilight atmosphere.