Edge of the Empire: Book 01: Outcast Origins

Chapter 13: The Covert

"Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor—An vencuyan mhi." The elder Mandalorian, Ja'Halir as he was known, chanted as he sat before the assembled youths who all knelt in three ranks. Since arriving their collective armor had been taken and were given identical light blue fatigues. There had been no complaints or resistance. Only disciplined compliance. Now they sat before the man that would lead them through the Verd'Goten and help them become part of something more. Not just part of the clan as Jarek had thought but also a part of the Kyr'tsad. Whatever the goal, Jarek would prove himself worthy...for his father. He focused harder on Ja'Halir's words.

"Wherever you are..." he said in a raspy tone that belayed the power that lay beneath, "...Wherever you may go...you must never forget who you are...how you came to be." Jarek felt his gaze rest on him and he fought the urge to look away. The man could make it seem like he was staring directly into his soul. "You are Mando'ade. You are Kyr'tsad. You are a part of me...as I am apart of you. This is the truth of your lives...and it will remain true after death." He gestured to the group. "Among you are fatherless and motherless children. Some who have hunted. Some who have killed." His gaze centered on Jarek briefly once more before scanning the group. "No matter. You will treat each other as vode, as brothers and sisters. You are all family now. This is the Way."

"This is the way," the group replied in ragged unison.

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"The body must obey the mind," intoned Ja'Hailir as he began removing his gauntlet, "Hunger and thirst...even the blood in your veins, are the body's weakness." He finished removing the gauntlet revealing a heavily scarred hand and forearm. He rotated the limb before his eyes while simultaneously showing it to the assembled youths. "Master this pain, and you master your mind."

The cold mountain air stung Jarek's bare torso. The adrenaline coursing through his veins coupled with the thrill of the earlier fight drove out any thought of chill. His chest heaved for breath as he stood in his fighting stance awaiting the order to rest. Before him lying face down on the duracrete floor was his opponent...a youth his size and roughly the same age, also bare to the waist. His ragged, pained breathes were his only indication that he still lived. Blood flowed from his busted lips, split cheek, and a broken nose. The parts of his face that weren't coated in blood, was covered in swelling bruises. Jarek's knuckles and fingers were also decorated in his opponent's blood. Aside from a split lip and few scrapes on his torso, Jarek was remarkably unharmed.

"What is the lesson?" Ja'Hailir asked. It was rhetorical and he knew it. As did the formation of youths and armored instructors. None dared speak. Ja'Hailir pointed down at the bloodied teen. "Look at your vode." They did, with expressions ranging from concerned, like Jilo, to disgust, like Gaegan. "Life is combat."

Ja'Hailir was looking directly at Jarek now. He could feel it, but he still didn't drop his guard. "You know this truth, Jarek. Abandoned by your parents, raised by an Outcast." Jarek felt his already coursing blood boil at the words but he didn't sense disdain in the instructor's words. He was merely stating facts with the barest hint of sympathy. "Without a clan...without a home, you should have died." Ja'Hailir stood next to Jarek, pride entering his voice. "But instead you fought." He placed a hand on his shoulder and Jarek took the cue to relax his guard, but his fist remained clenched, his mind still keyed up from the melee. "As you did here today, you fought, and you won." Jarek watched as the youth struggled to raise his head, groaning, and spitting up blood, but no one made a move to assist him. "In combat, you face the enemy without doubt, without pity or remorse." He stood before Jarek, a full head taller, looking down at him, silver-blue eyes practically glowing with intensity. "To survive, you must learn to fear nothing at all...even pain."

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The whip descended once more for the fifth time...or was it the sixth? Jarek had lost count. As the scathing pain of the lash coursed through his body Jarek realized he didn't care. Rather he gritted his teeth and used every ounce of his self-control to keep from screaming.

"Pain breeds weakness," Ja'Hailir stated as the whip struck again. He stood off to the side. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sounded like it was right in his ear. His tone wasn't accusatory nor harsh, but it still drove home the point that Jarek had failed.

"Remember," Ja'Hailir went on as the Mandalorian administering the punishment wound up for another strike, "suffering exists only because weakness exists." The whip descended again and Jarek winced, his grip white-knuckled on the post. He took several shaky breaths doing his best to fortify himself before the next blow.

"You must hate all weakness," the elder Mandalorian decreed so that the other young warriors in attendance could hear. Jarek could see them out of the corner of his eye. Gaegan was smirking in triumph, while Jilo was struggling to hold back tears.

Jarek was forced to look away when the whip struck once more, lest her sympathy weakens his resolve.

Ja'Hailir held up his hand to stop the punishment. Jarek sagged against the post, his breathes coming in shallow pained gasps, but he refused to fall to his knees. "Hate it in others," he commanded softly looking directly at the young man who held his gaze, "but most of all...hate it in yourself."

...and Jarek did hate himself for being weak...for failing. It had been a trial of stealth. To attack his target from a hidden position without betraying his location. His experience in hunting prey with his father should have given him an edge...but in his eagerness, he'd given himself away. He'd been overly anxious-weak- and it had cost him.

His back was a crisscross of lash marks; short angry cuts that welted and bruised at the edges. With every beat of his heart, they pulsed with new pain. He lay on his stomach back bare hoping the cool air of the lodge might ease the agony, but it did little to soothe the pain.

It was late at night and the rest of the other young hunters had also returned from supper. They'd been kind enough not to address him in his current state, which was one small mercy. They were all fast asleep by now, but Jarek found rest eluding him thanks to his injuries. The medico had applied kolto to heal the wounds but had abstained from using any pain reliever. Jarek didn't care. He would show no weakness. He would learn and do better next time.

Jarek would become mando'ade. Become Kyr'tsad. He would make his father proud.

Just then Jarek felt something sting on his back before a cooling sensation spread across his wounds. He was so relieved that the pain had subsided he almost blacked out, but quickly regained consciousness when he discerned a presence next to him. He looked expecting to see the medico again but blinked in surprise when he saw Jilo kneeling next to him instead. Jarek started to speak but she held a finger to her lips to keep him quiet. Jilo continued to apply the ointment from a small container in her hands onto his wounds. The combination of her warm touch and numbing salve caused him to sigh in pleasure drawing a smile from the young woman. When she was done, he nodded his thanks.

Jilo smiled softly and leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss upon his temple. Then she moved her lips near his ear. "Pain is not a weakness." Her whispered words tickled his skin making him shiver. "Neither is mercy or sympathy." With that, she turned and went back to her bunk. His gaze followed her.