Chapter Text
Deep, under the deadly waters of Bandomeer, in the darkest mines where there is no hope of escape, the slaves of the Off-World corporation have no energy for escape. Mining slaves never rebel. They are too exhausted, too dependent on their masters. In all the years of the Hutt Empire, no mining slave has ever escaped bondage.
Or so Depur believes.
Obi-wan listens in the dark, his neck aching from the collar and soul-sick from Force Suppression. The oldest slave, the others called him attanda, was telling a story. He hears the name of the Slave-Who-Makes-Free. Over the three months of his captivity, he hears story after story.
In 100,000 life times, when he walks among the rich and the powerful, he recalls the stories of Ekkereth as a cultural artifact and a bad memory.
But in this one?
In this one, these stories save his life.
One day, as Ekkreth was going along, they came across the People marching out of a freighter and down into a dark pit.
Each of the People wore a beautiful necklace, unlike any they had seen before. But the People could barely move their feet and several collapsed before taking a step. The overseers pushed the fallen People, still groaning, into a great fire they kept stoked at the side of the pit.
Shocked, Ekkreth took on the face of a smuggler, and swaggered up to the Overseers.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Ekkreth commented after passing a deathstick over to an Overseer.
“Special delivery from the Core. Our lord needs them working in the mines. They’re not worth reselling if they can’t handle the sight of the pit.”
“Sure, they’re lazy and no good. But those collars look expensive - why burn them?”
“Oh, well, we’ll get them back at the end. They’re tough.”
Ekkreth was skeptical, “What, durasteel collars? Surely you don’t need those. They’re going into the pit. There’s no escape.”
The Overseer frowned, but another deathstick made him talkative. “They’re special collars - they keep the slaves docile, and keep them from transforming into their true forms.”
Ekkreth acted impressed, “That sounds powerful! Your Lord must be great to have such magical collars just for slaves.”
And Ekkreth asked where they could find such a powerful Lord, because surely he’d have work for Ekkreth to do.
Still pretending to be a smuggler, Ekkreth entered the court of Depur and learned that Depur had bought the slaves specifically for this mine and that the collars had come with them. Even Depur did not have the key to these collars, and instead sent them back to the Depur who sold them the slaves.
So Ekkreth turned into a red bird and flew out across the seas where the great storm, Lukka, raged.
They flew into the storm and filled the winds with their feathers, annoying Lukka.
“Ekkreth, why are you here among my winds and waves, stopping my path?”
“Oh Lukka, I have come seeking your wisdom. Depur has chained the People with magic chains that cannot be removed. I must remove them, or all the People will perish far from the light.”
“Ekkreth, this is bad news, because those chains stop the voices of the people, bind the wisdom of the grandparents, and take all hope I can destroy Depur, but the only freedom from those magical collars that I can offer to the People is death.”
Ekkreth despaired. “Then how can I remove the chains from the People?”
Lukka paused, and the winds and waves all considered Ekkreth, “You are the shape changer. No magic can hold you. Surely you, Ekkreth can turn hopelessness to hope and durasteel to dust?”
Ekkreth bowed to Lukka and gathered up all their feathers, freeing the winds. “There is wisdom in your words. I thank you, Lukka.”
Lukka laughed and the sky turned dark, “Do not thank me, shape-changer, for reminding you that you are more than you appear. Remember the People, and teach them how to slip this new chain, and I will be content.”
So Ekkreth took flight back to the pit of Depur. They put on the raiment of an outlander with magical powers, and demanded Depur give them two slaves from the pit.
“Oh great one,” cowered Depur, “do not use your magics upon me. Here, take two of the newest slaves with the gift of transformation. They are yours for as long as you are with us.”
And Ekkreth took the depuran to the rooms they had been given and learned all he could about the collars upon their necks. They found the metal seamless. But on the inside of the collars were stones that wept and did not want to keep the People chained. So Ekkreth sang a secret song to the stones and the stones stopped weeping. The stones whispered the secret song of the collars to Ekkreth and he promised them Freedom.
He then taught the People song and sent then back to the pit.
That night, Ekkreth listened as the People sang the silent songs to the stones, and the stones ate the metal away until it turned to dust. And then the People were transformed and rose up out of the pit and swept over Depur with Lukka at their back.
And so this is how Ekkreth learned that any collar, magic or no magic, could be destroyed if the People could learn the secret song that binds every chain.
I tell you this story to save your life.
Master Jinn was trying to find transport. Obi-wan was in the refresher, cleaning his neck.
An attanda had pulled him away from the Jedi Master, and into the tiny cramped space that had just enough room for the scrawny starved child to take off the remains of tunic and for the scarred one-eyed Twi'leki to wet that shirt and dab at the bloody scars. The former slave helped him clean under his chin, wiping the dust from his hair. In the dim light of a mirror, Obi-wan could see bruises around his eyes and a pinched look to his dry, cracked lips. Then the twi’lek said the words in the strange language that was spoken only when the overseers weren’t around.
“Dukkra ba dukkra.”
Obi-wan stopped trying to dust off his tunic. He learned those words on the first day. One of the slaves threw themselves off the platform. The others had whispered the dark that followed. He asked questions and slowly, at night, in the dark, in near silent voices, he learned that freedom was death and death was freedom. He applied that lesson and broken the collar that fettered him.
“Yes” he thought, but did not say.
The attanda nodded twice and placed a hand on Obi-wan’s fair. “Speed to your wings, Ekkreth.”
Obi-wan had heard the stories of Ekkreth, the shape changer. The slave who made free. Who was a red bird, and a master; a slave and a god. Ekkreth put himself in harm's way to help others. Obi-wan’s heart ached to hear himself named as such.
“Thank you, elder sibling.”
Then Master Jinn was calling and all Obi-wan had was time for was to move his hair over his left shoulder and pull down, a traditional farewell to the Twi'leki from one without lekku. He dashed out of the fresher, red hair flying, towards his new Jedi Master.