Bid Against the Thunder || ONC 2020

Chapter 10 - Within You

 A fierce, red sun set over the vast expanse of the Doaba Badlands and cast irregular shadows across the black sands of Socorro. A hundred kilometers west of Vakeyya, the planetary capital, the dusk silence was interrupted by the engines of a YT-1300. Kicking up a cloud of sand and ash, the Kierra lifted off and slowly departed east toward the distant outline of the Rym Mountains.  

"Thanks for the ride, Ross!" Tabraile shouted into the comlink. He raised his arms and used his jacket to shield Anayera and himself from the thruster exhaust.

"Clear skies, kid," came the reply. The freighter banked sharply above the desert floor and sped away into the darkening horizon.

"He seemed nice enough. For a smuggler." Anayera covered her face beneath her hood until the dust settled. "Plays a ruthless hand of sabacc. You didn't stand a chance."

"Ross knew my father from way back. We were lucky to find him in Kor Bha'lir and catch a ride."

"What's a ke'dem?" she asked. "I heard the two of you talking in the cantina before we left Talus. "Whenever he said it, he would stare at me."

"Don't be offended." Embarrassed, Tabraile sighed and shook the sand from his collar. "It means condemned. It's an Old Corellian term for people like you."

"You mean people like us." She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

"It's just a word, Ana." He tugged playfully at her dreadlocks and rolled them between his fingers. "Come on, this is my place. I think we both could use a shower, some grub, and a few hours of sleep." Tabraile looked down at the mouse droid at his feet. "Yes, RK-O, there's a charging station for you."

Half buried beneath the sand as insulation from the heat, the oblong living module and its outbuildings were weathered by exposure, but built sturdy to withstand the harshest elements of the desert. When the gray, exterior door slid open, a blast of wind took Tabraile's breath away and forced him to step back.

He instinctively threw his left forearm up to fend off the rapid strikes of a quarterstaff. Wielded in the hands of a figure dressed in faded red robes, the staff was a blur in the shadows. Anayera reached for her lightsaber, but the weapon only stuttered and sparked in her grasp.

"Ouch! Knock it off, you crazy, old fool!" Tabraile shouted at the shaman. "I've been home an hour, and I've already had my fill of you!"

"This is your grandfather? The Bronwen?" Anayera whispered demurely, standing behind Tabraile.

The old man lowered the staff, but stood vigilantly, guarding the doorway. A shaggy mane of silver dreadlocks complemented a beard that had grown to the middle of his chest. Though he was well into his later years, the smooth contours of his black face showed few wrinkles. "Marric?" He then stared at Anayera like he was appraising a ship for purchase. "And a girl?"

"She's with me."

"She's with you?" There was a menacing, unspoken accusation in the inquiry.

"She's with me, Elba!" Tabraile growled, angling to push passed the old man. "Quit with the interrogation!"

"She is ke'dem." Elba slammed his quarterstaff across the door to bar entry into the home. He stared intently at the hilt in Anayera's hand. "May I?" He held out his hand, and without question, as if in a trance, she gave it to him. Examining the blast-scored hilt, Elba shook it beside his ear and listened to the rattle of shattered rocks within the housing. "The lightsaber is a formidable weapon, but not without its flaws. Like the hands that wield them, they are not invincible."

"I'm not sure what to do about replacing the crystal," she said, the confession compelled from her lips. "My uncle kept such secrets to himself."

"The Empire demands something no Sith can give," Elba said.