Edge of the Empire: Book 01: Outcast Origins

Chapter 18: Rebirth

...Something was different. The blackness felt less oppressive, like a sheet being draped over his face. Light pierced the veil of consciousness. Jarek's disembodied mind suddenly felt heavy... as if he were waking from a deep sleep.

He tried waving off the sensation, but gravity held his extremities in place... wait... he could feel his body? Was he I alive? He tried moving his hands and feet, but they refused to obey. At least they were there to be obstinate.

Crisp clean air suddenly filled his lungs. It was as if he hadn't breathed in ages and just remembered how. He could taste moisture in the air along with an...earthy scent. There was no tell-tale beep of medical equipment. It didn't feel like he was laying on a bed either. The air held no antiseptic taste he normally associated with Medical Centers.

"Where the hell am I?" he thought.

Jarek tried to focus, but the blackness refused to yield. White shapes crisscrossed his vision against a field of shadows. They moved with every sigh of the wind. Wood clacked on wood, sparking his mind. Trees?

His hand flexed and fingers brushed against something paper-thin but moist. Like a Leafe? Jarek grabbed the plant, clinging to the sensation. The texture seemed to anchor him, preventing the shadows from returning. Jarek needed to focus and take a mental inventory, that was the only way he could figure out what had happened. But to do that he needed to...

"Jarek, wake up!" someone shouted. A voice both strange and familiar.

Consciousness exploded through his mind and body. It was like a bucket of ice water and a taser hitting him all at once. Everything came into sharp focus. Swearing he covered his eyes. With each pulse of his retinas, his head throbbed uncomfortably. Jarek massaged his temple, doing his best to abate the migraine, but his ears wouldn't stop ringing.

"You're finally awake," the voice called out, relieved. It was the same one that had ripped him kicking and screaming to full consciousness. It was deep but exceptionally loud. His head gave another painful pulse, while his eyes still struggled to adjust. "How're you feeling?"

Feeling? All at once recent events came crashing down on him and a wished he couldn't feel a thing. Guilt, sadness, and shame warred with anger, shock, and outrage. He had hoped the darkness would claim him and end the suffering, but such was not the case.

Jarek cracked his eyelids only to slam them back shut at the bright sunlight. The voice made a comment, but he ignored it in favor of rubbing his head. A flutter of fabric and the tinkling sound before fading to silence. It felt like a light mist sprinkled his head. The pressure in his skull suddenly eased, and the ringing faded. Eyes no longer aching with every movement, Jarek slowly began to open them.

He was... outside. That explained the trees and smells, but how did he get there? Jarek recalled the blaster bolts burning into him. The last thing he remembered was the deep plunge off the side of a building. He should've been dead. Why wasn't he?

Jarek glanced down, but rather then the ruins of his armor he found his body swathed in bandages. The youth would've shot to his feet if he still didn't feel groggy and weak. The world started to spin, so he clutched his head.

"Take it is easy, kid," the voice said. It came as a low growl, but still remarkably familiar.

"Karst?" he groaned.

The older man smirked crookedly, saying, "bout time you woke up."

<>

Four days. Jarek had been unconscious for over four days. Some hunters had found him washed up on the bank of a river several miles downstream of the city. They'd brought him to Karst as the old man was the only sentient for miles with quality medical supplies.

"I exhausted every last ounce of bacta and kolto to patch you up," the merchant had explained. Despite his efforts fever and infection wrecked his scarred body and several time Karst had feared the young man would pass in his sleep. Jarek wondered if that wouldn't have been better.

"There's a reason so few commit to the Watch, kid," Karts said after Jarek had reluctantly explained what happened. "Sure, they protect our people, but radicalism like that, can only lead one way." Jarek felt his hands curl into fist. Karst had known what the youth would be getting himself into. Had even warned him after a fashion, yet he hadn't listened. Even his father had been right in his hesitation to train him for the Verd'Goten. He must've known about Ja'Halir, but Jarek had been so determined and stubborn he had failed to realize the scope of his actions.

"Now I'm an Outcast once more," he murmured.

Karst nudged his shoulder, offering a wane smile. "Don't beat yourself up. Some of my best friends are Outcasts."

Jarek attempted to smile, but all he could manage was a grimace. There wasn't an inch of him that was numb from the bacta or sore. Coupled with the realization he could never show his face in the embrace ever again filled his heart with dread. Word of his survival would eventually spread, and without a body, he doubted Death Watch would allow the rumors to go unanswered.

Death Watch was meant to unify its people and preserve their customs and traditions by any means necessary. Did those means justify murdering their own people? Memories of clouded eyes and a keening wail turned Jarek's stomach.

Sensing his anxiety Karst placed a hand on his shoulder. "Can't go home kid," he said. Standing he held out a hand. "Only way to go is forward."

Jarek too the offered hand and rose. His knees began to give until Karst steadied him. Nodding his thanks Jarek said, "By helping me you may never get to go home either,"

"Meh," the old mando shrugged and waved off the notion. "Kalevala was getting boring anyway." jerking his toward the waiting cargo speeder he added, "Got a galaxy's worth of adventure ahead of me, eh?" Jarek had to admit the man's optimism filled him with a sense of hope. It was better than the gulf of uncertainty that lurked in the back of ever thought.

Where would go? Where could he go? And what would he do once he got there? He'd only know one way of life and he could never go back to it.

Looking back Jarek could only think about his father. Word would eventually reach him about his sons' betrayal. What would he feel? Grief? Relief? Anger? Disappointment? Alone in his dwelling high above the Embrace would the man even survive on his own.

Heading towards Karsts waiting speeder he sighed, "I'm sorry father." If Karst heard, him he made no comment. After strapping Jarek in he returned to gather up the remains of young man's armor. Jarek didn't even want to look at the pile of beskar and scrap. To many bad memories were attached to them now.

"We'll hold onto to it just the same," Karst said stuffing them into a knap-sack, "A bit rough, but one never tosses quality beskar."