Back To Your Roots

[Param Vour]

Broken remains of houses littered the clearing. Streets dirty and worn, tattered rags of various forms waving in the slight breeze. The fires had all gone out long ago, the people crumbled to dust. There was no reason to dig a grave yard, the village was the grave yard. Even the life that tried, in the forms of vines and weeds withered and died. Param couldn’t tell him the sight of the village as she was taken so many years before was worse, or if this was.

At first her silver eyes looked from under her long silver hair at the charred remains, and felt nothing. Then slowly the memories of who had lived where came with each shift of her gaze. Dele and Inel had lived there, and Kelne here. They were all friends, all family. That was until they became slaves. Then they were just kids trying to survive.

Tears fought at the corner of her eyes as she sauntered through the village. It was a testament to what the Sith had taken from her, forced upon her; yet here she stood again, one of them now. At the center of the village she stopped in front of a house that had once stood tall and proud, but now was crumbled mess on the foundation. It had been her home.

The dam burst, and Param fell to her hands and knees, choking out a sob. Her only hope of being normal, her only hope of being a child, taken in a single day. She had stolen those holocrons from her slaver’s library to grow stronger, to break the chains that bound her. Though she succeeded, she found she still couldn’t be normal.

“Some nerve you’ve got,” a voice said from behind her. Param spun around, hand on her lightsaber hilt, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. She was met with a line of spear wielding echani, weapons pointed directly at her. “You spit on the graves of the people that lived here with your presence, Sith.”

“I-“ Param froze. She was wearing black, had a lightsaber hilt on her belt, she certainly looked like a Sith didn’t she? “I used to live here.” Her voice was a squeak. Her mind raced for ideas, her heart pleading not to be the Sith that they hated. She’d lost her home, and was about to lose her people too.

“Hold!” It was a woman’s voice. Param didn’t recognize it, looking around. An older echani woman parted the line of spears, a curved echani sword on her hip. “Sith don’t cry like adolescent children, especially not over the graves of who they slaughter.” Param was frozen in place, barely able to breath.

“What do you want us to do with her?” the center spearman asked the woman.

“Bring her to the temple. I’ll get to the bottom of her visit,” the woman sneered. She turned and walked about through the wall of spears. A wall of spears that enclosed on Param. Grabbed, disarmed, and lifted, Param found herself tied to a spear between two men getting carried on their shoulders like they were bringing home a hunt. She had a feeling if she used the Force to get out of the restraints, she’d be run through by the four other spears.

The temple was a simple complex surrounded by a village. Ornate fences lined the courtyard, separating the every day living area of the village from the lush garden surrounding the temple. Param watched as various plants and flowers passed, and couldn’t help thinking of how gorgeous they were. At least if she was going to die, to pay for her sins of betraying her people, the last thing she’d see was flowers.

She was brought into a large open area in the center of the temple, tossed on the floor and untied from the spear. The spearmen dispersed among the shadows of the outer walls. Only the older woman stood before her, gently placing the sword and scabbard at her hip on a mount. A gentle hum above them filled the air.

“Don’t try to use the Force, Sith. This temple has a Force dampener,” the woman said, turning to Param with a cold stare. “You’re nothing but a misguided echani girl in these halls.” Param looked at her hands. She tried to call the Force, to prove the woman wrong, but it was for not.

“So what now?” Param asked quietly. Her voice was strained from the sobbing earlier. It was the best she could do to feign that her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

“Now, we fight, and I learn why you’re here.”

“I lived in that village, that’s wh-“

“And now you’re a Sith crying over the past. The village isn’t why you’re here, girl,” the woman spat. She shed the light chainmail she wore, revealing simple grey robes underneath. With a step toward Param, the old woman dropped into an unarmed fighting stance. “Come.”

Param wanted to refuse, wanted to protest. Why did they have to fight? Why did she have to betray her people? Assets and liabilities. Her Sith Master’s words echoed in her head. She’d become a liability to her people; a pariah not even worth leaving alone in their own agony.

The stance Param adopted had only slightly changed from when she was five. It was the stance her parents had taught her, the same stance all her friends had used. Even so, Param had spent a long time fighting, she was confident she could beat an old woman.

Confidence misplaced, it seemed. They closed with each other, and Param didn’t have a chance to act or react. The woman had put Param on her own ass with a flurry of blows that took away the wind in her lungs. Even using surprise when Param got to her feet didn’t work, ending in Param getting thrown across the matted floor.

Tears stung her eyes, an almost unnoticeable pain under the bruising and battering her body was taking. What was the point of this? She didn’t want to fight! Why did everything force her to be like all the the Sith? Power hungry, ruthless, filled with a lust of blood for no reason beyond it being fun to them? The holocrons teaching her to use her hatred and anger came to mind, then her disappointment at the lack of strength she gained on Bandomeer, and then there was Kodi.

All she wanted was that damn holocron. His smooth charms and wily antics had beaten her at her own game, and in the process taught her more in one night about what the galaxy had to offer and about real fun than anyone had for eighteen years. Yet every time she was with him, something forced her hand to be the Sith she never chose to be.

With a scream, Param charged the woman. Tears blurred her vision and warmed her cheeks, but she didn’t need to see. She flailed, connecting here, glancing blow there. A fury that she couldn’t stop. If she stopped she’d die; there had to be more to it than just power games and self preservation… right?

A single chop to her neck dropped Param. She sobbed into the floor, trying to give fistfulls of the mat to pull herself back up. The woman stepped back, putting her hands behind her back. The cold, scathing stare from before was replaced with an expression Param hadn’t quite seen before. Not for real, at least. Was it compassion? Empathy? Sympathy?

“That’s enough; you fight like a child,” the woman said. Param could only shake with anger and cry from the floor. “I’ve seen enough to know you’re harmless.” The woman looked up for a moment at someone behind Param and nodded. A moment later Param was covered in bacta patches and having her battered and bloody body dabbed with towels and gauze.

“You are lost, child. That’s why you’ve come. Everyone tells you what to be, and it is never yourself. You yearn for a normal life that you were never afforded,” the woman explained. Param was so far beyond angry she had turned to crying mess of a ball. “But you’re echani, child, and we are far from normal. Stay, and we will teach you how to be you.”

 

[Param Vour]

Param woke the next morning in a small room. There were no bars or cages, just simple living quarters with a bed, a desk, and a training mat covering the middle of the floor. A small lamp sat on the desk, dimly lighting the small room with a pale yellow glow. She didn’t remember coming to this room, nor being placed in it.

Remembering the old echani woman, and the beating she’d given Param, she checked herself over. No bruises, scrapes or otherwise. Soreness ran up her arms and legs, but that was a bout it. The point that stood out the most was that instead of the dark clothes she had been wearing when she arrived on Eshan, she was now wrapped in thin, silk like fabric around her breasts and groin.

Param slid off the bed and to her feet, a small groan escaping her lips from the soreness. Making her way through the door, she found she was still in the temple. The room was one of a series of rooms that lined the back fence of the temple. The moment she emerged into the sunlight, she was greeted by a rainbow of hues from the garden. She practically squealed.

One by one, she took turns gently touching the flowers, smelling their fragrance. For a moment she even forgot that she was surrounded by a people that hated her for being a Sith. If they hated her so much, why was she still there then? They could have ended her and been done with it.

Stay, and we will teach you how to be you…

The old woman’s words echoed in her mind. What did she mean? Only one way to find out. With a contented sigh Param turned toward the back doors of the temple. Just as before, if she were to die today, at the very least the last thing she saw would be flowers.

The old woman was in the center of the training mat already. Her long, silver hair draped over her bare shoulders. She wore the same, thin wraps that contained Param. The woman’s silver eyes met Param’s before Param had even stepped out onto the mat.

“So, you’ve decided to stay,” the old woman said, turning her body toward Param. Param stopped a few paces away, eyes wandering around the interior of the temple for a moment. In a more calm state, she was able to make out the details of it all. The support beams and columns at every joint were made of wood painted red, the walls themselves some composite that could withstand both fighting and the elements. The doors however were made of a paper-like, sheer material. The inner circle, covered by the training mat, sat in the center. The second floor formed a roof over the outer areas and a balcony that people could watch the duels from a heightened position. At the very top of the temple, a round metal object with a blue ring pulsed- the Force dampener.

“Why did you keep me alive?” Param asked, her silver eyes turning from the architecture to meet the old woman’s gaze. “You know what I am.”

“I do,” the woman started. “You’re echani, but you never had the chance to be echani.”

"But I'm a Sith," Param said. The woman shook her head.

"Whatever is built upon the foundation is fickle, and can change. Your roots will always be who you are."

“Huh?” Param’s brow rose in confusion. Wasn’t she echani just by, well, being born? The old woman chuckled. It was a sweet sound, like a grandmother being amused by her grandchildren. How had this frail old woman beat the snot out her?

“Tell me, what do you know about me?”

“You’re old?” Param answered, not sure what the woman wanted to hear. “But not as fragile as you look.”

“That is true,” the woman laughed. “Those are appearances though; observations. You don’t know who I am because you did not listen when we fought.” Param tilted her head. This woman was more cryptic than the Sith holocrons. She was thankful her master wasn’t so vague; told it like it was, no beating around the bush. “Yet I know a lot about you, child. Your pain as a child, your aspirations of strength. You’re hope in a teacher, a struggle with bloodlust, and even a first chance at love gone wrong.”

Param took a step back, eyes widening. How? Sith more powerful than her had read her mind before, that wasn’t new to her. This woman practically knew her entire life story?

“For echani, our martial arts, our rituals are a part of how we communicate. You don’t truly know someone until you fight them. Every strike, every defense- all carries a message,” the woman explained. “You only need to learn to listen.”

“You… learned all that from fighting?” Param asked. There was no way, right? In a galaxy where the Force was in everything, it wasn’t too far fetched, though.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, child. It’s not hard to hear what you say,” the woman said. “Reminds me a lot of myself when I was younger, but that is a story for another time. Let us start with introductions. I am Zedha.”

“Param.” Well, she was here. She wondered how her master would react to her getting in touch with her roots. He’d probably just stare blankly at her, with a tinge of disappointment; like he always did. Go on about how her past was a liability and she should look to the future. To build her power with a purpose.

“Come, Param, let us duel again.” The two took their stances, and began. Just as the day prior, the old woman wiped the floor with Param. Every one of Param’s strikes were blocked or parried, and every one of the Zedha’s strikes connected flawlessly. Even as the blows landed, Param couldn’t hear the sound of her flesh being bruised and battered. Zedha frowned at the end. “You’re trying to listen with her head.”

“It’s how I sense things,” Param answered, letting out a groan as she got back to her feet.

“With your fickle Force, yes,” Zedha spat. “The Force can be blocked, taken away, tricked. The heart cannot.” She patted her chest. “Echani listen here, not here,” she said, tapping her head. “Again.”

Param closed with her again, delivering a flurry of strikes that were all parried or outright blocked. Frustration seeped into her core. If she had the Force this would have been a done deal already. Just like that gamorrean that hurt Kodi. The woman’s technique was simply far more advanced than Param’s child like attempts at martial arts. Even so, she’d try it Zedha’s way. She turned her mind off, stopped trying to grasp the Force that was simply out of reach for her. Instead she simply felt.

The change however came with the first counter-strike the old woman landed to Param’s ribcage. There was something in the movement, something in the pain. Happiness? Another blow. Chaos. Two quick blows to her chest. Loss, forgiveness. By the time Zedha had pummeled Param to the floor, Param was fighting tears back. She didn’t know the finer details, or even how to interpreted the feelings and emotions she had just felt, but the roller coaster was something Param had never felt.

“You see?” Zedha said, offering Param a hand, and helping her to her feet. “You’re still unrefined, your technique is awful, but listening is the first step.” Zedha tapped Param’s chest. Pride. Param’s body shook, a little from pain, but mostly emotional shock. It was like being deaf for years and suddenly being able to hear. She let go of the fight over her tears and let them stream down her cheeks. “Let’s go eat, then we can work on your technique.”

Param turned a tear gaze up to Zedha, finding her with a warm smile.