Icarus
KASHYYYK
With the light of life came the darkness of death. The Shadowlands, far below, were rife with both.
In a single bound, the young Jedi leapt from the rotting wooden planks and remains, into where two monumental tree branches forked in two. The flash of the brightly beaming sun quickly added to the beads of sweat that rolled off his brow, with a gloved hand laying flat against the thick bark while the other brushed against his forehead. Through squinting eyes, Rakaan saw verdant fields of green in the thick leaves from the tallest of trees while their differing heights made for rolling hills that stretched on forever. The jewel sat closer than it once was and yet still so far, beyond the pale feathered birds that rose above it all and shadowed by clouds with a dense dome of green leaves and a trunk so thick entire lives could be lived within them. On all sides were mountains of green, whether made from them or covered in them, that was yet to be seen.
There was still so far to travel to reach the Origin Tree. Only there was the clarity that Rakaan sought.
The wind whipped around him on his descent, from one long branch to the next. Each thud heartier than the last with the scarcity between able-bodied branches increasing. The rustling leaves shook with his landing on the jungle floor, stood among the undergrowth of shrubs and bushes and an assortment of other some such vibrantly coloured plants. The songbirds' tunes changed, those cheery few distant and left for the tree tops while the wilder, more feral sat on the forest floor. In the darkness, between the shadows, glowing eyes watched while they crawled about between the shielding greens and even thicker trees. There was little light to be found down here, Rakaan mused while he tread on by.
His dreams, they plagued him. The swirls of red, the twisting and winding blacks and crimsons became intertwined. The flashes of faces, familiar and foreign. It was all too much. Worsening of late. In his bed, Rakaan tossed and turned into sleepless nights and found no hint of mercy in them. Confiding in an old friend, the tales of the Origin Tree came forwards. "It is a place of serene calm, guarded by the Shyyyo bird." She then told him, "A place of pilgrimage for the Wookiees of Kashyyyk. A rite of passage to mark their spiritual connection to their world."
With the watchful eyes of countless creatures, the mentioned calm was not what came to mind. Not as a knot twisted in his stomach or when the hairs on the nape of his neck rose. Rakaan glanced back, observing, then turned to scan for more. Nothing. It was green and red and pink and blue. A wild concoction of colours sprang to life in the depths of the Shadowlands, rising on all sides, enveloping him within. The distant eyes could be felt, some scurrying off to avoid being seen, though they were only ever the frightened and curious.
"Kashyyyk is full of creatures, some so buried in the bottom of the jungle that they would not know what either of us are." Her voice reminded him, "It'd be best to ignore them, though I wouldn't linger. There are great dangers down there too. All with a taste for blood, no matter who's it may be."
He strode across a fallen trunk, coated in moss with life growing from the remnant of such foundations. It creaked with each step, though the blackened and reflective pool of near void-coloured water caught his eye. Lowering into a crouch, leering over the edge and examining little more than his own features. Rakaan did not like what he saw, in truth, as much an Imperial as there was a Jedi. Did the lines blur, he wondered, did the two meld into one? Was such a thing ever possible? His mind ran so wild and free until the ripples in the water emerged, the faintest hint of something beneath the dark water. Once, it rung out, then twice, thrice. "Hnh," the Jedi murmured with some touch of acknowledgement, a sharp feeling of fret.The rising trio of Bolotaurs had gnashed with teeth shaped from onyx knives and claws made to cleave in the shape of the broadest sword. The quickened reflexes of a Jedi served him, tucking and rolling and weaving all the while the brightly beaming cobalt lightsaber swatted and singed and seared until there was no life left to breathe. He did not escape without his share of wounds, a gouging claw tore at his back and left tattered cloth soaked in blood behind. The outer-robes fell in a torn mess, flailing with each following movement while naught more than a sleeveless undershirt sat with a similarly deep tear into the fabrics; the bone-white stained with blood and sweat in equal measure. Though the first, it had not been the last. His journey would mark for days of travel with countless dangers.
"Mighty impressive, Jedi." A Kiffar among the Wookiees once said of him, out from under thick locks of black hair and the yellow markings across his face. The growling voices of the natives spoke alongside him. "The Wookiees wish to know what purpose you have on their world. They said all the Jedi left Kashyyyk, and left them to fend for themselves too."
Rakaan so vehemently denied his affiliation with the Silver Jedi, although neither Kiffar nor Wookiee appeared to be too interested in the differences in their orders; the name Jedi lingered between both, and with a stench that left a bitter twist upon their lips.
"I only seek to climb atop the Origin Tree," the Jedi said at last. "Tell them that."
Though the Kiffar was quick to intercept. "They say you walk a path like many of their own kind, then. Though they also say you have a ways to go and would invite you to ride with them to their village. It is not far, I assure you, and right on your path."
He agreed, thankful. He clambered atop the mount, a great furred beast with a saddle large enough to fit three. Rakaan rode with the Kiffar, learning his name was Iskar and that while his neighbouring planet had come with those of the Silver Jedi many years ago, he much preferred the company of the Wookiees. Rakaan listened with eager intent, thrown into lengthy discussion about the Jedi, about those that left them, and about all that had happened on this world and so many others. A Wookiee cub pawed at his wounds in the meantime, tending to them as any on this planet would.
The sun rose and fell to make way for the moon above, though deep beneath the blinding canopies of the dense jungle one could not always tell. On his journey, Rakaan fed beasts as much as he hunted them, shared tales around the fires while he listened to their own through the translated word of Iskar. With the Wookiees so readily armed, Rakaan could not resist but ask: why?
"When the Silvers left the planet, the Wookiees were left to fend for themselves." Iskar explained while a great furred Wookiee towering so far above them all with thick and ornate armour coating his chest and shoulders, topped with a finely crafted headpiece diadem, offered his own recollection. "The Wookiees could defend themselves and their lands, he says, though that they had not for many years. They did not need to. There were many opportunists that looked to take advantage of this. The Slavers of Dosh, the worst among them."
In Shyriiwook, the chieftain continued. "He wishes to know if you will help them reclaim their village and their people." Iskar said with finality, a hard look in his eyes.
The very calling of the Jedi, Rakaan certainly noted. He would undoubtedly become a fraud to refuse, and neither could Rakaan think to decline. With a content nod Rakaan agreed, "Of course."
Laying in wait but mere days later, the smell of ashen smoke rose into the air. Thick and choking, Rakaan was no stranger to the taste. With their tree-mounted homes torn down into rubble of wooden ruin, set aflame as much as those that once stood proudly upon the jungle floor. The very inhabitants were relegated to crude, crammed cages buzzing and whirring with an electric current while their powerful arms and legs were left in the confines of shackles.
Though beset on all sides, the Trandoshans well outnumbered the heartily inspired Wookiees. The trade of blaster fire and bowcaster was only ever faintly overshadowed with the violently primal roars of those with fur and the promises of reward for pelts from their scaled foes. The weapon of a Jedi was an unforeseen cause for concern. It served to sever locks from cages, shackles from limbs, weapons from hateful claws, and life from the living. Rakaan put an end to their skirmish by slicing through the hull of a well-armoured hovering tank, sending it careening into a ditch with those inside surrendering themselves to captivity.
The chieftain did not think such mercy suited.
"There are many more of their kind that suffer such similar fates across Kashyyyk," said Iskar with freshly worn mud, muck and grime. "Many have been taken from Kashyyyk, sold all across the galaxy. We cannot help them, though we've done well to help those that we can. Can we count on help from more Jedi, like you?"
Yes, Rakaan told Iskar. His tongue was quick and sharp to reply, swifter than his own mind. It was his heart that answered. In truth, the Jedi did not know and later reflection only seemed to sadden him. He sat by the bonfires beneath the stars, on risen ground closer to the Origin Tree and open air. Glistening overhead, Rakaan searched for Maramere. Plotting courses in his mind, though all to no avail while the Wookiees celebrated and cheered for the lone Jedi that had risen from the Shadowlands and come to their aid. There was quickly a name for him, though Rakaan did not know. "They call you friend," Iskar said half-laughingly in some effort to explain, the strength of the Tihar on his breath. "Brother, protector. From the stars."
"It is only ever what a Jedi should be." Rakaan declined such pleasantries humbly, offering an awfully formal answer in turn.
Iskar nodded. "Should be," he said thoughtfully, "though not always is."
He chewed on those words. For the rest of the night, Rakaan mused on his meaning. He did not think to challenge him on it. Not now, and if not now then not ever.
Come the dawn, Rakaan continued his journey alone. The chieftain said it was a must. With fresh supplies and tended to wounds, the jungle trail was tread once more. There was no mount to carry him beyond his own two legs, though it was not the weight of his pack that seemed so heavy.
The worst of his travels were behind him now, standing in the shadow of the monumental Origin Tree. On roaming, winding paths had Rakaan ascended. He grasped onto rocky outcrops, onto swinging vines, and bound across frighteningly deep pits and chasms, leaping full stories into the air to reach what lay above. His lightsaber sliced off the spindly limbs of Wyyyschokks, swatted aside blood-sucking bugs twice the side of his torso, and defeated further wayward Trandoshans on his ascent.
If there was one thing to note atop the Origin Tree, it was the quiet. The air blew, the leaves rustled with them, and branches creaked in turn. Yet, it was quiet. The colourful birds crept across the stemming trunks, and within them a calm in which Rakaan quietly envied. In a large, circular opening littered with crushed, smeared leaves beneath the Shyyyo bird, it sat with a curious lift to it. With white feathers and fur, it curled neatly in a nest. The faint sight of lilac feathers sitting on the wingspan was hardly seen while crimson red eyes stared down over Rakaan from behind a blackened beak.
He closed his own eyes, taking a deep breath. He stood firm and strong, with hands clasped together of his chest. One, two, three. He breathed again. Four, five, six. And the promised serene calm was a familiar feeling at long-last. The sounds of the Shyyyo bird were heard before it was seen, left to do no more than listen to it settle back into place. Across from it, as if with it, Rakaan sat with his legs folded over one another. For the remainder of the day, it was there he sat and well into the night. The sun fell for the moon and so too rose again, though there was no mistaking it with the sky so clear and blue. For days and nights to come, Rakaan maintained his deep meditation within the Force and scarcely ate or slept. There was little need to, and neither no desire.
Though with the heat of the sun upon his flesh, the evening breeze drifting upon it, and the cold of night settling into his bones, it held such little affect for all that Rakaan sought. In his trance and in his dreams, no matter when nor where neither the depth of his focus within the Force, there were only ever them. He thought to shed a tear though only wore a scowl, the blood-black swirls began to spin. Regardless of the kindness of his actions, the strength of his heart, there it was; lingering, looming, the calling shadow. The good between the bad and the bad between the good, though the latter remained ever more prominent. Though it gave rise to the fear, to the anger.
For it was all for naught.
