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The Flamepetalby Angelia "Lady Angel" Sparrow"Hobbie, is that gunk ready yet?" "Another hour, Wedge. The synth is slow." "I'm not sure it's worth waiting another hour for. But what else is there to do? No patrols at night, the techs won't let us work on the ships, the booze is taking forever, and Solo and Antilles have all our money so we can't even play sabbac. Why am I freezing my c'lket off on this ice cube again?" "Aah, Jansen," Wedge cuffed him, mussing his hair, "you're just a sore loser." He struck a heroic pose and boomed like a holovid recruiter. "We're freezing our c'lkets off for truth, justice and freedom for the galaxy, of course." "And what, exactly, is a c'lket?" came the question from the door of the rec room. "Commander Skywalker, sir!" Wedge snapped to attention. Hobbie made a futile effort to hide the synth. "At ease. We're all off duty. Hobbie, is that gunk of yours ready?" "Not yet." He turned to fuss with it. "So, is anyone going to answer my question?" Luke sat down next to the small heater, exercisizing the one perogative of his rank that he allowed himself. From the corner, a sharp voice chuckled. "A c'lket is what your father gave you, and your brothers, and your mother but never gave your sisters." Luke looked at Han sharply, wondering if the Corellian had been sampling Hobbie's raw brew. He'd never been in a riddling mood before. Luke worked it out, and blushed despite the cold. "So what are we doing tonight?" "The usual. Waiting for the booze, complaining about the cold." "Sabbac?" "Nobody has any money left." Han grinned wolfishly. "And everyone's complaining about having nothing to do," Luke guessed. "Got it in one, kid." "I have an idea," came a voice from the back. A very young pilot looked suddenly uncomfortable at his own boldness. "What about stories?" "Stories?" Wedge laughed. "On my world, storytellers are highly regarded as keepers of our past and our souls. You cannot know where you are going, unless you know where you've been." The boy's nervousness was acute, but he plodded on. "We've all been some amazing places. Maybe telling about them would help pass the time." "Not a bad idea, Dak," Wedge said. "How about it? Solo, you've been almost everywhere, tell us about one?" Han tried backing out. "What, a bedtime story and then a lullaby? You want my old droid for that, not me." The rouges pressed him and he finally caved. "All right, how about the time Chewie and me went chasing the _Queen of Ranroon_?" Mutters of approval went up. A story about a legendary treasure ship promised to be exciting. "No," Luke's finality startled everyone. "If you're telling, there's only one story I want, the one you promised me. The Flamepetal." "All right." Han made himself comfortable. "This is an old legend my granddad used to tell me when I was a kid." ***** Of all the trees on Corllia, the flamepetal is the strangest and most beautiful. It is always two trunks, growing side by side and twining together. It produces two colors of flower, one from each trunk. The flowers as large as a man's cupped hands, and each petal is shaped like a tongue of flame. They bloom through the summer and the smell is sweet and strong. Lovers, bondmates and friends give them as tokens of eternal faithfulness. Long ago, before we discovered even the the gravitic drive to allow us to leave our world, there were two friends, sons of a pair of sisters. Driek had been born at the rising of the first moon, and his hair was the color of the moon, as golden as molten srine. When the midwife laid him in the cradle, he fretted and would not be comforted. Hrahl was born at the moon's setting, dark as the night without the moon, with eyes as green as the flames of burning g'kal wood. The midwife laid him beside Driek, and the other ceased his wails. They were together from the cradle, learning to walk by holding onto each other, learning to talk together. Inseparable in school, inseparable at home. Where one was, so the other could be found. Their favorite place was under a pair of trees that had grown together to form a single trunk. As they grew, people nodded, expecting them to drift with age, or with the attentions of the girls. It never happened. They reached the age of majority believing themselves two halves of the same person. For the first time, they disagreed. Driek was studying with the leader of their village while Hrahl yearned for the far horizons. They made a pact that Hrahl would return once a year, and safely. Driek's mother was a wisewoman and hung a charmed stone from a branch of the twin trees. "As long as Hrahl is safe, the stone will remain clear. Should it turn green, he is in danger. If it turns red, he is dead." Hrahl kissed his aunt, and embraced his friend before setting off. Each morning before assuming his duties, Driek checked the stone. The first year slipped by. Driek was gradually taking on more of the leadership of the village. The stone stayed clear. On their birthday, he began to look for Hrahl. Morning passed, and he toured the outlying farms, collecting rents. Hrahl did not come. Noontime came, and the meal passed. Hrahl did not come. Afternoon wore on, and Driek, tired of pretending to do the village accounting, slipped out to sit beneath the twin trees. He watched the stone sparkle in the waning light. Hrahl did not come. At evening, as the shadows lengthened, and the light took on its golden tone, a figure appeared on the road. Dreik ran to meet his friend. The village celebrated Hrahl's return, and his tales of far places were much in demand. He lived peacefully for a time, but the wanderlust came again. Again, his aunt hung the enchanted stone, and again Driek checked it every morning. The second year slipped by. Driek was becoming the youngest leader the village had known. The stone stayed clear. Again their birthday came and again, Hrahl came at evening, just as the light turned golden. In the third year, when Hrahl had gone again, Driek checked the stone, and found it green. He told the leader he would be going for a time and went to his mother. "Mother, Harhl is in danger. I must go. Give me your blessing." "I shall do better. Here," she kissed his forehead, "is a blessing that will protect you from harm. Here is a ring that will guide you to him. Follow the direction of the prickling. It will guide you home again. And this," she hung a belt about his waist, "will allow you to see through any ill enchantments." She gestured to the trunk in the corner. "Take your father's sword. It is never dull, never rusts, and can cleave any opponent though he be made of stone." She filled his wallet with meat and bread, and walked him to the tree. She hung a second stone from the limb. "This will tell me if you are alive or dead. Come home safely, my son." Driek followed the prickling of the ring. It urged him ever forward, guiding him east and north. in each village and town he asked for news of Hrahl. After several weeks, the news began coming. Another two weeks and it was almost fresh. At last, upon the day Hrahl should have come home, Driek arrived in the great walled city of Tirna. The ring's prickling was almost unbearable as he walked the streets that were festooned as for a bonding. At last, he came to the castle in the center of town. "I seek Hrahl. He is dark, with eyes as green as g'kal flames." "The princess' protector is within. You have come to us on a doleful day, stranger. Tomorrow, the princess goes to the Great Lynd. Her protector will fight the monster, but in the end, both shall be devoured." "So, why the appearance of a bonding?" "The princess always bonds her protector the day before the Devouring." "I am the protector's cousin. Allow me in." Hrahl was seated in the Great Hall at the side of a slim, dark woman. He bounded from the chair at the sight of Driek. "I could not come home this year." "So I came to you." He bowed over the princess' hand. "Welcome, Your Highness, to the family. Tell me of the Devouring." A pall fell over the festivities and Hrahl removed him from the hall. As they talked in the antechamber, the party resumed. "I shall kill this monster, Driek. And the princess and I shall live together happily." "I am going with you. A second sword is always useful." They agreed, and it was announced the princess would have two protectors. At dawn, they went out, the princess between them, to face the Great Lynd. The monster came flowing over the hill, copper scales gleaming bloody in the rising sun, two heads breathing fire and ice, claws striking stone with a noise like an army beating on its shields. Driek and Hrahl stood fast, swords out, and faced the beast. His mother's kiss seemed to burn on Driek's forehead, and he threw himself in front of Hrahl who had no such protection. The first wave of fire parted around him, singeing trees and scorching the grass. They struck, but their swords rattled off the scales of the monster. It turned for another charge. Driek looked at it, and thanks to the belt, saw where the weakness lay. "Hrahl! Strike for its eyes!" Their swords went into the eyes, but not before the Lynd unleashed a final blast of ice shards. The noise ceased and the princess climbed the hill to find her two protectors lying dead in each other's arms: Hrahl frozen and pierced by the sharp ice, Driek slashed and bloody from the creature's death throes. The Great Lynd was dead as well. Their bodies were borne back to Tirna, and their mothers awaited the procession at the gate. They lay in state in the Great Hall, under preservation spells, Hrahl holding the severed fire head of the Lynd, Driek holding the ice head, for a year, and all the land paid its respects. The princess was delivered of a son before the end of the Mourning, with eyes as green as g'kal flames and hair as pale as the first moon. At the end of the year, their mothers took them back to their village, and buried them near the twin trees they loved. They were laid to rest, with the heads of the monster they had slain, in the same grave, as they had been lain in the same cradle. A year later, on their birthday, the princess brought her son to see where his fathers lay. From the grave had sprung two trees. They twined around each other until none could say where one began and the other ended. The leaves were dark and glossy. As the boy sat beneath it, the first of the flowers bloomed. It was as large a man's cupped hands, and the petals were like tongues of flame. The first bloomed as green as g'kal flames. The second, a moment later, bloomed as gold as molten srine. *** There was silence in the pilots' rec room. Hobbie's synth continued ticking to itself, and finally pinged, breaking the spell of the story. "Wow!" ventured Dak. "That was worth hearing." Han, his throat dry, accepted a cup of the homebrew from Hobbie and glanced at Luke. The young Jedi was staring back, a wistful look on his face, his hair as pale as Corellia's first moon. Luke stared. The story had not been what he expected, but it had spoken to something deep inside him. As he looked, he saw that Han's changeable eyes had gone green, as green as the flames of burning g'kal wood. |
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