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“You were right, to come to us, and not go to those Jedi in Coruscant.”
Ja’hon returned to the low table where Ve’lon, his father, was taking the account from four Neihma Witches. Ja’hon served each a cup of tea, ending with his father, before he sat again at the man’s right hand.
Each of the witches muttered a blessing, or a spell, how was Ja’hon to know, over their cup before taking a sip and nodding toward Ja’hon. So, possibly some kind of blessing or thanks to Ja’hon specifically, for providing for them.
Could those Core World Jedi understand this? Could they understand how it is to ensure the survival of you and your’s, and the true soul-deep thanks, hard-earned, when an outsider helped you, or when you helped an outsider?
He did not think so. No, Ja’hon considered the few Jedi he knew, those they called Wanderers in the Core, he knew they did not.
“We could not know, for certain, that it was not… not one who claims an association with them.”
The eldest witch carefully did not look at Ja’hon, but he knew she wanted to. It made the skin between his shoulders, and the largest scar across his face itch and prick, but he kept still. He was no longer a child afraid of the dark. He was a Zeison Sha warrior grown.
“And, well, we know how our distant cousins on Dathomir would respond, should one of them arrive on their planet. And they would insist on it, of course.”
This outburst came from a younger witch, just a half-decade older than Ja’hon he’d bet, her face pinched in distaste.
Ja’hon’s father rumbled in displeasure.
“They are foolish, to think now, years later, the Allmother would not have secured whatever break previously existed, or was made, for someone to sneak through and steal a child. I know Dathomiri witches are secretive even by our standards, but one would think there would be word of it, a stolen Dathomiri zabrak child?”
The witch across from Ja’hon, who was veiled unlike her sister, gave a bitter laugh.
“They only care about the embarrassment, not the child. It was a boy, so they deemed him useless.”
Ja’hon could feel his father’s disgust and rage in the Force, and the same fires, somewhat banked, inside the witches across from him.
The Neihma, like most covens, trained their daughters much more often than their sons, but they would never throw out a child, never imagine giving away one of their young, or letting someone take their child. They were like the Zeison Sha in that way, and it is why they were allies of a kind.
Force sects out on the Outer Rim and into Wild Space were, as a rule, insular and secretive. Ja’hon and his people, the Zeison Sha, were no different. But you must make some connections with the wider galaxy, for protection. The Neihma Witches and their incorporeal magics were part of that protection for Yanibar, as were the Zeison Sha and the threat of their violence a kind of protection for the semi-nomadic coven.
“The one who told your coven, are they available?”
The fourth witch, who had not yet spoken, shook her head.
“No. The woman was a powerful witch, one of the Allmother’s daughters, and the birth mother of the little boy. She recounted what she’d been told by the few survivors of the attack, that they felt a great Darkness, not the fluidity of alchemy or the structure of magic, but something that was deep, endless, yet it stuck like tar. She shared this with my trio during a Communion with the Sorcerers of Tund, though she also said the Allmother wanted no one to know what had occured.”
“This information was shared with the rest of our coven who were present. In secret we, along with a few of the Sorcerers, tried a spell to locate the boy using his mother’s blood as a conduit. We were blocked. All of us, together, were blocked.”
The room was silent then, as what it would take to accomplish such a feat was considered.
Then the elder cleared her throat.
“We do not ask you to send someone to find the child. We… we lose hope, that one could. But we believe that one Force-sensitive, one not believed to have knowledge of great magics like the known covens or the Tund Sorcerers , and one from an insular sect too, would not draw attention as they moved about the galaxy sharing this knowledge with others, and perhaps acting as… as a scout, possibly, for other wells of the Great Darkness.”
Ja’hon’s father nodded slowly.
“I will reach out to others, see what they say about your proposal. We will house you here on Yanibar until a decision is made. We understand the… concerns about comms.”
Each of the women stood and performed a short half bow to Ja’hon’s father. He waited until they had left the room, likely out on the public walkways of the Tho Yorla Spaceport, where Ja’hon and his father, and the rest of their family, lived. Then Ja’hon’s father drew him close, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pressed Ja’hon’s face into his neck.
“They will send you, my son, I know it.”
Ja’hon tightened his arms around his father. He agreed, it made sense. Ja’hon’s unique background as a younger member of their sect with connections to the outside galaxy made him an ideal choice. And he was old enough to have paired himself up to one or two spouses and begin having children, or taking in children, but he had not.
He’d always known that he would be called back out into the stars. He hated it, what it would do to his parents, his father especially, who had killed Ja’hon’s abusive Jedi master in order to claim Ja’hon when he was barely old enough to claim any child as a parent, and then challenged the Wandering Jedi to arrest him for it, or to try to take Ja’hon away.
And now, he would still lose Ja’hon to the galaxy, to whatever the Force was laying out ahead of him.
“Father, I promise you, no matter where I go, I will always find my way home.”
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_
She’d called herself Dark Woman, the Jedi who first took Ja’hon. She’d given him no name, just called him ‘boy’ or ‘padawan’.
Five Zeison Sha had been sent to a nearby system to fight off slavers, Ve’lon was one of them, and the youngest of the group. Dark Woman said the Force had called her and her padawan there as well.
The Zeison Sha and the Jedi master had worked together, quickly realizing in the height of battle they had the same objective. Ve’lon told Ja’hon much later that he found it concerning she would bring one so small into a violent exchange with slavers, but he told himself there was likely no other place for her to safely leave her little padawan.
After all, is there a place in the galaxy safer for a child than at their parent’s side?
It was in the battle’s aftermath that Ve’lon and the other Zeison Sha warriors realized something was not right.
Ja’hon had been injured, something small but painful, from some kind of debris flying at him during the battle.
So he’d healed himself, painfully, as Dark Woman ordered.
It was not Ja’hon’s pain that warned Ve’lon something was wrong. Pain could not be avoided in this world, and if Ve’lon knew he could teach someone, even a child, to heal themselves, even if it was painful, he would do so as well.
A parent could only do so much to protect their child from pain, but they could be there with them, in the midst of it.
And so it was not Ja’hon’s quiet cries, but Dark Woman’s detached observance, her judgement. She did not hold Ja’hon’s little body, or his hand while he underwent his painful healing, or sing to Ja’hon, speak so he knew he was not alone, if it was too much to be touched. She just stood over Ja’hon and watched him try to stop himself from screaming.
Ye’lon watched her for the next few hours, as they as a group made camp. He knew the others watched as well, but none interfered. By morning, Ve’lon knew. This woman was abusing her child.
He’d asked the Zeison Sha warrior leading their fight if she would step forward, challenge Dark Woman. She had not responded to Ve’lon’s questioning.
So Ve’lon, barely old enough to leave his own parents’ home, took responsibility. He did not bother making it a fair fight, the woman did not deserve it. He killed her with his discblade, and claimed her apprentice as his child.
Ja’hon remembered being scared, when Ve’lon first claimed him, but the young man was kind, and gentle, and he always explained why things were happening, and he listened to Ja’hon, no matter what.
And he gave Ja’hon a name.
He knows, now, as an adult, just how brave Ve’lon truly was to claim Ja’hon. When he confronted Dark Woman, even though he was the youngest in the group of Zeison Sha fighters, he was called them out for not doing so themselves.
Ve’lon did not waver, either, months later when the three Wandering Jedi, as they call themselves, came to Yanibar, lightsabers drawn, ready to demand blood-debt for their dead sister.
He met them, palms empty, Ja’hon behind him, and said he did not regret killing a woman who harmed children. Fay had seen the truth of it, settled the others, and promised to keep those Jedi in Coruscant from sending their people after Ve’lon, as long as he promised to let Ja’hon continue to learn the Jedi way from the Wanderers along with becoming Zeison Sha.
Ve’lon, again brave, tied not to tradition for its own sake, but to the core of their tenets, of why they lived as they did, and not just how they lived, agreed.
_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_
Ja’hon could smell the braised meat and bulgar stew Hei’a must be cooking for late-meal, along with the sounds of Hei’a’s light singing and the clatter of pots and stirring spoons when he entered their home.
He found it surprising, still, how well Hei’a managed to convert the large, communal cooking typical of her home community in the Yanibar steppes to their apartment on the third floor of the Tho Yorla Spaceport. He’s heard her sigh many times over Ja’hon and Ve’lon’s compliments, how their meals are not ‘up to’ those she helped prepare in her village.
Ja’hon was not sure he agreed, or even particularly cared, considering how he and Ve’lon ate before Hei’a and Ve’lon met and fell in love, but he does enjoy the spice mixes, sauces and brining liquids Hei’a’s family members send her, so perhaps she is right.
“Ama, I’m home!”
Ja’hon sat and began removing his boots next to the door, another idea Hei’a had brought into their household. The spaceport did not get nearly as dirty as a home on the steppes, but it was easier to keep their home clean now they did not “trudge through the place” with their boots on.
“Ja’hon! Did Ve’lon say how late he will be?”
“No, but I’d say to expect him to come late for dinner. He’ll have to help settle some visitors from the Neihma Coven.”
Some of the sounds stopped, and Ja’hon winced, knowing Hei’a could not see him. He decided to distract her with a question.
“Ol’gen and Vensa should be home soon, right?”
Some of the noises Ja’hon had learned to associate with Hei’a cooking returned.
“Yes, I’m sure they’re right behind you, so hurry and clean up before they attack you with their chatter and grubby hands.”
Ja’hon laughed and came into the kitchen to follow Hei’a’s orders. He rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed the disinfectant foam Hei’a kept near the kitchen entryway over his hands and lower arms.
Hei’a went back to humming and finishing the last steps of their evening meal.
Ja’hon knew it was unfair that he did not love his mother as deeply as he loved his father.
Unfair, but understandable.
Ve’lon was Ja’hon’s hero, his protector, his best friend. Hei’a was kind, and she loved Ve’lon, but Ja’hon was almost grown by the time she’d married Ve’lon.
It had been so confusing for Ja’hon, to watch his father blush and go quiet around the relatively pretty but otherwise unremarkable woman who came to the port to trade with her village representatives. Every five years, the different Zeison Sha settlements sent people to trade and reconnect at the Tho Yorla Spaceport, and twelve years ago Hei’a had travelled with her representatives.
It had been their first year living at Tho Yorla Spaceport, Ve’lon and Ja’hon. They’d never been fully accepted in the larger Zeison Sha settlement where many groups of warriors lived and trained about a four-hour transport ride from the spaceport where Ve’lon had moved when he became an adult.
The people there respected him, how could they not? But they did not appreciate the reminder that Ve’lon had acted honorably, and continued to act honorably, when they had not. Ve’lon did not have to say a thing for their hypocrisy to be made evident. Some of the elders and leaders of the settlement still liked Ve’lon though, and when the position to act as the Zeison Sha elders’ representative at the spaceport was made available, they suggested Ve’lon accept.
Knowing it was much a way to honor Ve’lon as to get rid of him and Ja’hon, he’d accepted.
Then the Force had rewarded him with Hei’a.
It would have been understandable for Hei’a to not claim Ja’hon as her child. He’d been fourteen, nearly fifteen, and already declared a ‘Jedi Knight’, whatever that meant, by the Jedi Wanderers. He was not something small and cute that needed her care.
And when Hei’a announced she would accept ve’lon’s suit, there were many who told her it was enough that she married Ve’lon, but would she not want her first child to actually be a child, not the strange Jedi foundling now mostly grown and awkward?
The first time someone suggested so in front of Ja’hon, that was when he understood why his father loved this woman, when he saw the steel of her in her spine, the cut of her in her eyes.
“So I should not claim the children brought to me by the Force? Ja’hon, through Ve’lon, has been brought to me just as any child that I might bear, or any child I might find alone, wandering.”
(And Ja’hon knew Hei’a had used that term purposely, to remind them of how Ja’hon had become Ve’lon’s child, that she knew and accepted the agreement her to-be husband had made with the Wandering Jedi.)
They loved each other, truly. But they did not understand each other intuitively, they way Ve’lon understood both of them.
Ja’hon was distracted from his melancholy thoughts by the loud arrival of his younger siblings. He helped them put away their school bags, and asked them questions about their day (though he moreso played referee as the children tried to talk over each other, both excited to share their accomplishments and school-room gossip with their older brother.)
He got their hands cleaned as well, then directed them to help set the table and tried to keep them out of Hei’a’s way while she finished late-meal. All four of them were seated and had begun eating by the time Ve’lon arrived home.
Hei’a had sent Ol’gen a quelling look and Ja’hon had to grab the back of Vensa’s shirt to stop the children from rushing to the table to attack Ve’lon in the entryway, and instead remain seated at the table.
“Let your father sit down for his meal without fending off you two terrors. You can ask him about his day once he’s gotten cleaned up and after you’ve shared how you did on your daily assignments.”
Vensa scowled. Today’s assignments would have been writing, her least favorite subject.
Ve’lon shared a heavy look with Hei’a, then Ja’hon when he joined them at the dinner table, but he only asked the children about their day at school.
Ja’hon leaned against the back of his chair.
Ve’lon would share more, once their meal was finished and the children were distracted by their nighttime games and holoreels. But from that look Ja’hon knew. He’d been given this assignment, his first alone and out into the galaxy.
He felt a touch on his hand and looked down to see Hei’a’s right hand wrapped around his left.
Ja’hon looked up to see her smile at him. He felt her hand squeeze around his. Pride, pride and sorrow, that’s what he saw there, what Hei’a let him see. He brought their joined hands to his mouth, kissed the back of her hand, then went back to his meal, mind racing with all that would come next.