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Author Topic: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others/Author replies 09/15
ratna 
Registered: Mar '07
7949_Jappor Snippet
Date Posted: 7/7/07 12:56pm Subject: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others/Author replies 09/15 - Date Edited: 9/15/08 12:14am (22 edits total) Edited By: ratna
Title: The Pearl Of Naboo.
Author: ratna
Timeframe: Pre-TPM / AU
Characters: OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others
Genre: Short story / apocrypha
Summary: An old woman, a young boy, a mountain shrine, and the road to Theed.

Apologies to George Lucas for building fanciful castles in his sandbox!


********************************************


Adeste


Llyren loved his Great Gram, but he didn't love his Great Gram's pilgrimages. She never went to the temples in Deeja or Keren. Those were the places his Ma and Da would take him, though only once in a very great while. The temples there were ringed by rows and rows of vendors' stalls, and Ma and Da always had a coin or two for him to spend. The nune cakes in Deeja made his mouth water just thinking about them. And if it were a festival day, there were sure to be acrobats, and puppet plays. But Great Gram never went to those temples. She only went to strange caves or piles of rock, places so old that the sooty resin left from pilgrims' incense lay thicker than his finger. Places where they had to bring their own water and food and offerings, on their backs. Places where, often as not, Llyren and Great Gram would be the only ones there. Llyren never knew how she found these places. He swore that the trails Great Gram followed were made by the wild tukopis, and not by any tribesman or woman. Sometimes there was no trail at all.

"Don't dawdle, 'Ren." The ancient woman's voice floated down to him from the rock-strewn slope above.

Llyren didn't mind the getting there so much. Great Gram invariably went up. Llyren reckoned he'd seen farther than any of his friends ever had. Or would. This morning, looking out over the sun-drenched valleys and plains, Llyren felt as if he were one of the high flying kresh-kytes. He'd heard Great Gram say that the kyte flies so high he can see the Three Worlds -- Past, Present and Future. Truly, if Llyren spread his arms, and the wind caught his jacket just so, if he could just weave his fingers into that high air ... who could say but he might indeed soar out over the land.

There were stories -- A silent boy. A test failed. Driven from his village. Fed in the wild by the sky tribes. Returning with a gift. Ridiculed. Driven again. Running from the jeering age-mates ... until the ground beneath his feet ended in a cliff. He had stepped off into emptiness, to fall with outstretched arms. There was only the wind, and --

Tsieeer!

-- the piercing cry of the companion from the wild. The shirt shredded from his back as he plummeted, plucked away by the rushing air. And replaced ... by feathers.

When the village elders reached the edge of the cliff, all they saw were a kyte and its mate, flying wing tip to wing tip, into the sun.



Great Gram's hand was like a kresh claw on Llyren's shoulder. Nothing but skin, tendon and bone.

"Where's my walking stick got to now?" she muttered.

"I'm right here, Great Gram."

"Gone to beg nune-cakes at the sky folk's lodge again?" Great Gram's eyelids crinkled in her age-creased face, as she teased him with a sing-song voice. She was a tiny woman. Spare as winter twigs. The three braids that hung down her back were thin and white and dry, and the quilted jacket that she always wore -- even in summer -- swung loosely from her shoulders. Ma said that Great Gram had fashioned that jacket herself, and that all the tiny scraps of cloth that made the wheel design on its placket had once been as bright and varied as wildflowers. Now they were faded to a single, dusty mauve, no longer distinguishable save for the tight, tight stitching.

Llyren had used to love to sit in his Great Gram's lap, especially when she was talking story. But he'd kept growing (though not as fast as his age-mates did) and she'd kept shrinking (though not as much as the prince who turned into a hopper had) until this year, barely into his tenth summer, he was already as tall as she. Which was why Ma and Da always said he had to go with Great Gram on her peregrines.

"She's too old to be going alone, 'Ren. If she fell, or twisted an ankle ... why, no one would find her for days."

"Why can't Rija go, or Tai, or ... Or any of his brothers or sisters or cousins.

"They did, when they were younger. It's your turn, now."

The baby. He was the baby. All the others were grown, with families of their own. Llyren was his Ma and Da's child of old age. Unexpected. A sudden, too-old thought came to him. Maybe he was Great Gram's child of old age, too. Great Gram's life had been hard.

There had been sickness in the mountains when she was young. So it was told by those who had lived. Some said that the sickness had been brought by off-worlders, though none of those had come this far from the cities since the siege of Karunirani, in long ago days.

Great Gram had lost Great Pa when their children were still small. The scourge had seemed to lift for a time. But then it came back with a vengeance, sending half the village to the wind scaffolds. So it was told. None of Llyren's brothers, sisters or cousins had ever known their Grams or Pa's. Ma and Aunts had all been raised up by Great Gram. There had been an uncle, too. Remembered every feast day by the children of his sisters. The sickness had gone hard with the sons of Naboo. Until the Queen had sent her healers from Theed to every corner of the Mountains and Waters, bringing the smoke that made people well, and driving the sickness from the land for good.

"Great Gram, I think I can see Theed."

It was just a pale smudge on the horizon. Alabaster palaces and waterfall mist. Too far to see the perennial rainbows.

"Don't dawdle, 'Ren."

"Ai." The boy scrambled up the steep slope, grabbing for purchase on the purple mountain-mat. Traces of pungent fragrance wafted to his face from where his fingers had ripped the low shrubs' tiny leaves.

"Ask forgiveness, 'Ren."

Llyren recked that he and the plants were even, since the dense weave of prickly stems had scratched his hands sharply each time he grasped them. But Great Gram would never have any of that.

"You reached for your Sister and she held you up," she said.

Hastily, Llyren spoke the True-Words, as he'd been taught. He knew he'd have no peace if he did not. Once again, Great Gram's hand was on his shoulder. To Llyren's dismay, he heard her breath rasping in the mountain air. Great Gram, tired? It couldn't be. Didn't she always spring up the mountainsides, as nimble as a tukopi kid? Dragging him after, no less, and all the while claiming he was her walking stick?

They walked on, together, and Great Gram truly was leaning upon him. Llyren lost count of her breaths, and of the steps they took along the narrow alpen track. As they walked, the sun climbed along with them, and then above them, up to the top of his journey over sky. Then Great Gram brought them to rest in a little hollow, out of the wind.

The purple mat grew so close to the hillside here as to be almost a carpet. It was warm, deliciously warm, in the little sunward cup of earth. The mat was springy, even if not soft, and, pulled by the sun's rays, its purifying spice filled the air. Llyren wanted nothing more than to curl up in that warm, fragrant cradle, and sleep until the sun went down.

"Water, 'Ren." Great Gram handed him the cup. He remembered to offer it to the ten directions, and sprinkle some on the mat. Great Gram smiled, and he was happy.

They broke bread, made their offerings, and ate in silence. At the end of the meal, Great Gram took out her pipe. Llyren sighed happily. They would stay in the sunlit mountain bowl a little longer. He watched carefully as Great Gram took a bit of the dried mat herb from her pouch. She pinched a bit off to offer. Always offer. And then scattered the consecrated smoke-leaf back to its roots.

"One soul, many skins. Many skins, one soul."

Llyren knew the words by heart.

The next pinch went into the bowl of the pipe. And another after that, and another. All the while, Great Gram hummed her pipe song. There were no words, just sound. Until she had tamped the smoke herb just so.

"Here, boy, you take the flint."

Llyren's heart jumped. Great Gram had never let him touch any of her smoke things before. Shyly, he took the flint and the little iron bar, and struck them toward the pipe bowl, as he'd seen Great Gram do so many times before.

"Strike it sharp, boy. Flick your wrist."

Llyren obeyed, and, sure enough, a spark flew into the bowl. Great Gram drew it expertly into the herb with her breath, and the pipe was lit.

But Great Gram did not smoke this time. She only touched the bowl of the pipe to the earth, and then sat still. The pipe-stem lay cross-wise upon her knees, and she stared into a place that Llyren couldn't see.

Left alone, Llyren watched the smoke as it curled and twined ever so lazily upward. In his imagination, it became one of the blue-grey serpent fish said to live in the Southern Sea. Sometimes one, sometimes two, the smoke snake twisted, drawn higher and higher upon a warm ladder of air, until it, too, was lost to his sight.

And still, Great Gram sat where she was. Wouldn't the pipe go out, Llyren worried, with no one smoking it? But the thin, blue trace still rose from the bowl. Llyren waited, as best he could. One must never fidget when Great Gram was having a smoke. Even if she wasn't smoking.

The mountain-mat started to itch through his leggings.

The pipe burned on, un-smoked.

The tickling Llyren felt was more than just the mat. The crumbs offered from noon meal had attracted a host of the little crawlers from their nests among the roots. Having made off with most of those offerings, now they were exploring the mountain that Llyren's body was to them. They crept over his shoes and up his sleeves. One here, three there, following trails made by folds and seams, venturing the great dark caverns of collars and cuffs.

Go away! Llyren thought. And tried to pick and brush away the tiny creatures without attracting Great Gram's eye.

Tsieeer!

High and thin, the kresh-kyte's cry rang down.

Old woman and boy looked up together.

Great Gram touched the bowl to the earth again, then offered the pipe to the bird.

"Eyes of the Air," she whispered. "What do you see?"

Only a stone's throw above them, the kresh circled once, and hovered. Its chest was white as snow, and Llyren could see every feather of its wings, tilting and balancing on the breeze. Then, whatever had held the kresh above them was gone, and it set its wings and planed away, behind the shoulder of the mountain.

Llyren gasped as it disappeared. He had been holding his breath the entire time. Kytes were rarer than rare. Had been since before even Great Gram was born. But, once, they had been the constant companions of the mountains, and of the hardy clans that lived there. So it was told.

The burning mat-herb tickled Llyren's nose. Great Gram was puffing on her pipe and nodding. She handed the pipe to him, mouthpiece first.

"Great Gram?"

"Go ahead. You know how."

Eyes shining, Llyren reached for the pipe with two hands. It was heavy. He offered the smoke, as he'd seen the elders do when they passed the pipe, then took his first puff. It burned! He hadn't expected that. His eyes watered, but he managed not to cough or sputter.

Great Gram nodded, and took back the pipe. She took in a great breath of smoke, then blew it back, over his face and down his front. Thus did First Mother blow on her children when they were born. Another breath, and she blew that all down his back. Before and after, with a Visible Breath, She blew on them. The old woman felt the visible breath move inside of her, as it had at first light that morning. They had come to the mountain in a good way. The boy had daydreamed and a kyte had answered. And now they were ready to find what the kyte had seen. Great Gram finished the smoke, and knocked the pipe, then wrapped it and put it away in her bundle.

"Time to go, 'Ren," she said. "Not far, now."


tbc

(edited for typo's, etc)

 

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VaderLVR64 
Title: Fan Fic Manager in Combat Boots
 Registered: Feb '04
40219_Obi- Wan<br>and Beru
Date Posted: 7/7/07 1:00pm Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's except one.....
I can already tell I'm going to love this one! Please put me on your PM list!

There were stories. A silent boy. A test failed. Driven from his village. Fed in the wild by the sky tribes. Returning with a gift. Ridiculed. Driven again. Running from the jeering age-mates ... until the ground beneath his feet ended in a cliff. He had stepped off into emptiness, to fall with outstretched arms. There was only the wind, and --

Tsieeer!

-- the piercing cry of the companion from the wild. The shirt shredded from his back as he plummeted, plucked away by the rushing air. And replaced ... by feathers.

When the village elders reached the edge of the cliff, all they saw were a Kyte and its mate, flying wing tip to wing tip, into the sun.

You've created a rich and complex world here. I love it.

applause

 

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My baby boy wears combat boots. tongue
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dianethx 
Registered: Mar '02
47113_2008 Winter Holidays
Date Posted: 7/7/07 1:11pm Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's except one.....
I felt like I was there. Great job on the setup. I loved all the background material and his thoughts about his family and life.

Only a stone's throw above them, the Kresh circled once, and hovered. Its chest was white as snow, and Llyren could see every feather of its wings, tilting and balancing on the breeze. Then, whatever had held the Kresh above them was gone, and it set its wings and planed away, behind the shoulder of the mountain.

Llyren gasped as it disappeared. He had been holding his breath the entire time. Kytes were rarer than rare. Had been since before even Great Gram was born. But, once, they had been the constant companions of the mountains, and of the hardy clans that lived there. So it was told.

I could almost see it.

PM me with updates please.

 

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Betrayal - http://boards.theforce.net/s/b1/10935143 updated 9/22/08
Fragments of Illusion- http://boards.theforce.net/bts/b10475/28456473 updated 11/20/08
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At last - Hope for our country
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Healer_Leona 
Registered: Jul '00
44266_Fan Art - Female Chiss
Date Posted: 7/7/07 5:21pm Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's except one.....
Add me to the PM list.

How wonderfully descriptive!

 

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ardavenport 
Registered: Dec '04
22348_Luke Skywalker
Date Posted: 7/8/07 2:54pm Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others
This is the beginning of something interesting. It starts with a reluctant Ren sent off to keep his elder from hurting herself and Ren gets slowly involved in the pilgrimage, while the narrative slowly reveals their purpose. Most intriguing and it has a nice flavor of Naboo. I look forward to seeing where this goes.

 

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Links to all fics -- http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=25405090&brd=10304&start=26223917
The Heart of the Jedi -- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26013327
---- Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, JA and everything you wanted to know about lightsabers
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ratna 
Registered: Mar '07
7949_Jappor Snippet
Date Posted: 7/11/07 4:32am Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others
Dear readers, thank you all for stopping by!

VaderLVR64: blush blush blush I will do my best not to disappoint!

dianethx: I loved all the background material and his thoughts about his family and life.
Thank you! I was worried that readers would find it boring... As for the hawk descriptions, I am a closet birdwatcher. tongue

Healer_Leona: Thank you! I will.

ardavenport: You've pinpointed what I was trying to do with this opener. Thank you!

Current PM list is:

VaderLVR64:
dianethx:
Healer_Leona:

If anyone wishes to be added or subtracted please PM to let me know.

The Muse and DRL are duking it out as I type, never sure who will get the upper hand on any given day. However, I will TRY to update every 10 days +/-

Thanks again, ratna rose

 

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jedidas3 
Registered: Apr '07
20252_Obi-Wan Kenobi
Date Posted: 7/11/07 8:24am Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others
Wonderful! applause Reading this was just like being there watching the events unfold. Beautifully written and I'm looking forward to more. Please add me to your PM list as well.

 

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ratna 
Registered: Mar '07
7949_Jappor Snippet
Date Posted: 7/14/07 8:13pm Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others
jedidas3 Thank you for such a kind reception. Next post and PM are on their way!

To all readers, revealed and otherwise, thank you for stopping by.

Current PM list is

VaderLVR64
dianethx
Healer_Leona
jedidas3

Now for the next post...

 

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ratna 
Registered: Mar '07
7949_Jappor Snippet
Date Posted: 7/14/07 9:35pm Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others - Date Edited: 8/29/08 5:27pm (37 edits total) Edited By: ratna
Sticks and Stones


"How long has this been so, Senator?"

Noon heat shimmered in the gardens, and the trill of a buzz-beetle rang in through the open doors of the Audience Hall, to echo through the cool, high-ceilinged spaces. Prince Veruna, Royal Consort of Naboo, glanced sideways to his Queen.

The song of autumn is early, this year, he thought to himself.

The Queen had insisted on receiving this report personally, ignoring Veruna's pleas that she spare herself. Her confinement was approaching, and Veruna had known in advance that the Senator did not bear good news. But when he had cajoled her yet one more time in their bedchamber last night, with the light of three moons streaming in, she had merely teased and cajoled him right back. Just as she had used to do, when they were children.

"If my sources are indeed to be trusted, Lady, the unauthorized export of our fair planet's treasure has a very long history."

Before she became Queen Rehenna at the age of eleven, Numi Iolan had been a playful, and often mischievous girl. It had fallen to Prince Veruna, youngest son of the then-reigning Queen Basajri, to keep all of the little maidens from the Provinces out of trouble. Well, perhaps he had taken that charge upon himself. He had been seven when they first came to the Palace. A gaggle of girls. The youngest barely out of toddlerhood, the eldest nearly his age. Among those youngest, little Numi had been the one with the three stubby, black braids and the sparkling dark eyes. The one who always went where she wasn't supposed to.

Now, she held herself royally on the throne beside him. Robe and Regalia draped gracefully over the swell of new life that at last filled her womb, and he thought fondly of the little girl who had been. Or perhaps was to be, reborn now in their child.

Veruna's union with Numi had been consummated after her first blood. She had been thirteen. Only thirteen. Veruna himself had been little older, still awkward with the sudden, man's height that had come to him two summers earlier, in the year that his mother had died.

The Healers said that Basajri had spent her mana too recklessly as a young woman, dispelling the wandering sickness that had first scourged Naboo in the reign of her own predecessor, Queen Trinme. Veruna's mother had driven the disease from the land, and the people had lavished epithets upon her for it. Basajri, the Pure. Plague Queller. Visible Breath. But the cleansing of the land had spent her in unseen ways. When her blood tides ended, so did her life.

At first, the days and nights with Numi had been absorbed with all the small and tender discoveries of each other, while affairs of state went begging. But suns rose and moons set, and those first months had soon become years. The two grew up. Childish escapades fell forgotten, and together, they shouldered the care of a world.

One day, the Queen and her Consort turned around to see that a dozen years had passed under Theed's Rainbow Bridge. And never, not even once, had Numi's cycle been interrupted. For Numi's sake, Veruna had scoured all of Naboo for Healers who might end her barrenness. In the end, he had even sought off-world.

Beneath the maquillage of the Gracious Mother, Queen Rehenna's perfectly oval face betrayed no sign of how grave, and how ill-starred, was the report she had just received. A trillion-credit black market trade in illegally mined plasma was being carried out on Naboo, even as they spoke.

"How long, Senator?" she asked.

The figure in dark blue robes bowed deeply. He was slender, and not overly tall, with rust-blond hair that looked already to be thinning, though he was barely older than Veruna. According to his dossier, he had never been married -- an uncommon thing for any Naboo who had reached his thirties.

His nose is too great, and his chin not great enough, Veruna observed, for perhaps the thousandth time since he had first met this man.

Yet, he is courteous enough, and he serves Naboo better than I had supposed.

Memory followed inexorably. Five years ago... The shocking assassination of Veruna's half-brother, Vidar. The emergency election. The popular young mayor of Theed, abruptly catapulted to the Senate, and Coruscant.

When it had first been reported that the new Senator had stripped the Naboo mission of every trace of Vidar's tenure, Veruna had thoroughly hated him. But the man had surprised him two years later, by presenting a well-conceived plan to carry out the investigation into plasma smuggling that Vidar had been about to launch, just before his untimely death.

"Projecting backwards from what my informants tell me," the man in blue answered, "I cannot but conclude that the first contrabands left Naboo as early as the reign of the great Dritikali."

The new Senator had warned that the investigation would take time. "I am still a newcomer on Coruscant, my Lord. The necessary contacts will take time to cultivate. And of course, discretion will be paramount."

Veruna had been privately dismissive at first. The Senator's cautious presentation seemed very like excuses, and Veruna had counted the purported revival of Vidar's most cherished project as nothing more than an attempt to curry favor. He had expected long, elaborate, and ultimately empty reports, written by underlings, and delivered by holo. He had certainly not expected an early string of tips to bring successful arrest and deportation of privateers operating from a hidden base on the Barren Moon. Nor had he expected the humble but incisive progress reports, handwritten on flimsy, in a disciplined, elegant script, and delivered to him every three-moon by a mute courier.

But most of all, he had not expected the magnitude of the hemorrhage that this man's tireless inquiry had finally uncovered.

"Explain," the Queen said.

"My Lady." The Senator bowed his head, but his eyes were raised, and Veruna saw that he held the Queen's gaze without flinching. "When Dritikali came to the throne it was already a hundred and seventy years since Queen Nuwa the Victorious had brought Naboo into the Republic. In that time, Naboo still held the ancient Admonition of Unelanuhi. We exchanged gifts freely with other worlds, but there was no commerce such as the off-worlders practiced."

"This we know, Senator. Proceed."

Again, the Senator inclined his head courteously. "Even before Dritikali's Accession, there was great pressure upon us to open our gates to full trade. Senate archives of that time actually record a motion to expel Naboo from the Republic if we did not join the so-called 'economic community of free worlds'. However, upon receiving the Regalia, Dritikali outflanked them all with her brilliant Eudike."

This was history known to every Naboo. Even unlettered children knew the tale, for its telling was woven into lullabies and hearth stories. Unelanuhi, Nuwa and Dritikali were the three Great Queens of Naboo.

The Senator was still speaking.

"In the midst of that crisis -- and make no mistake, your Highnesses, it was a crisis -- the Eudike was a masterpiece of balance, allowing trade in our famed handicrafts, yet prohibiting both the export of natural resources and the transplantation of off-world manufacturing onto Naboo soil. In a single stroke, Dritikali neutralized the off-worlders' chief objection to our foreign policies, transformed adversaries into allies, and ushered in an era of unprecedented prosperity, that has continued unbroken to this day. All this, while preserving the sacred trust in which Naboo's sovereigns have always held the resources of our beautiful world."

Is this how he pontificates in the Senate? Veruna wondered. Surely this man does not presume to lecture us? And he felt his spirit move to stand between the Queen and this public servant, as if to protect her from any insult, intended or otherwise.

"We are familiar with our predecessors, Senator," Rehenna intoned evenly. "And with the Laws bequeathed to us from them all."

The Senator bowed his head in acknowledgement of the Queen's words, then raised his gaze again. "Alas, the normalization of commercial trade with off-world parties also created conditions that eventually fostered the black market in artisan goods, and even raw materials, which my investigation has now uncovered."

From the corner of his eye, Veruna saw the Queen motion for the Senator to continue. In her gesture, she unconsciously echoed the postures of the sacred Dances; and, for one brief instant, the air seemed to thrum with import and power.

"It was but trinkets, at first, my Lady. Singular artworks the off-worlders coveted, but could not obtain by legitimate means."

"This we have known. The exceptions preserve the law."

The Senator's pale eyelashes swept downwards, almost sorrowfully. "And yet, in the immoderate soul they become a wedge for greater transgressions to follow."

"We will hear all that you have discovered, Senator," the Queen replied

The blue-robed man before them drew himself taller, as if gathering courage for a plunge into icy water. "My Lady," he began, "There are no records, of course, but my sources have provided certain ... evidence regarding the art treasures that left Naboo illegally, within Dritikali's own lifetime."

The Senator proffered to the Queen a data chip from the formidable stack that he held in both hands. "For your Highnesses' review. At leisure, of course." Rehenna directed him to place it on the small table beside her right hand.

At last, and with meticulous documentation, the soft-spoken official began to trace the history that he held, laden high against his chest.

In the 8th year of Harunoe -- discrepancies between the actual and reported export volumes for cabinetry and textiles. Two data chips were placed on Rehenna's small table. One a collection of text documents, the other a partially degraded holo transmission from Harunoe herself to the Constable of Keren.

Two years later, the gap was in laquerware, and incense.

Then it was xhol, the Nabooan face paint that became wildly popular after 'Handmaiden's Farewell' premiered at the Republic Opera.

Two decades later, suddenly shaak milk and meat, orchard fruits and herbs -- raw staples categorically forbidden to export -- were finding their way into the hands of rare commodities speculators off world.

"The operations were, of course, all quietly shut down each time they sprang up."

More data chips followed.

Rehenna sat beside Veruna, supporting the heavy headdress as gracefully as a pad-gilly bloom rising from still water. Veruna wished with all his heart that the audience would be over soon, though he knew it would not. He had need to hold his Queen, and rest with her in some peaceful corner of the gardens, to sort out together how to repair this unraveling of the bonds that held the Naboo in covenant with each other and with their world.

"Alas," the Senator continued, once again holding Rehenna in his gaze, "the demand for Naboo's treasures has always exceeded the limits which our Queens have so wisely placed on trade. And, as your Highnesses certainly know, the off-worlders have always thought our Queens' bans on the export of natural resources to be --" His eyes flickered. "Forgive me for reporting their exact words, Lady, they consider it -- 'absurd'."

By the reign of Queen Ophaia, the violations -- large and small -- numbered in the thousands. Raw gemstones stolen from the mountains and sea caves, great trees felled from remote forests and groves.

How much of Naboo's prosperity has come from this hidden rapine? Veruna suddenly wondered. And for the first time, he knew fear.

Then, in the 23rd year of her reign, Ophaia decreed it legal to export clothing and furnishings that incorporated bits of plasma in their decoration.

"This decree was entirely lawful, my Lady, and upheld in full the ancient admonitions.," the Senator reported.

For the items exported were crafted by artisans -- not ripped living from the planet.

And yet --

"In our own time, of course, the export of plasma crafts is utterly normal, and a great deal of our legitimate trade is in just these cleverly fashioned articles, which have become a hallmark of Naboo."

Veruna felt a strange, metallic taste seep into his mouth. Every word the Senator had spoken was true. The exports were legal and normal. Did not he and Numi review each year the tallies submitted to them by the Minister of Trade? And yet ... Every child knew that the plasma permeating Naboo's bedrocks and seas, surging like a living thing within her core, was a gift from the Mother, bestowed upon this world, unique in all the galaxy. Some even said that it was the plasma that had called to the three ships sent forth by Queen Tasia from doomed Grismallt, so long ago that the tale of it was only half-believed. Believed or not, the misty legend was still told, that the plasma had pulled the ships out of hyperspace, down through the spiraling gravity well, to crash on the planet's plains, thus beginning the human history of Naboo, 4000 years ago.

Who can wonder that the foreigners desire this substance, Veruna pondered, for it is strange and beautiful. And it is also a gift of power, which makes possible the ease and prosperity of life on Naboo.

Yet we have come to buy and sell it -- this mana which delivered our ancestors from exile and despair -- and we think it normal to do so.

Again, Veruna's spirit moved, to stand between Rehenna and the sins that this man was telling.

For the exquisite plasma crafts, pride of Naboo, soon also came to be smuggled away, far in excess of the ordained quotas. Once off planet, the robes and lamps and inlaid chests were ripped apart, their the plasmas pooled together, only to be resold in bulk to the highest bidders. And Veruna did not know whether he was more appalled at the callous oath-breaking or at the mindless desecrations of beauty.

"Here you will see that, in the 20th year of Queen Trinme, the first diversion of raw plasma from legitimate channels occurred. A thousand cubic meters was shuttled up from our north pole, to a dubiously registered Corellian freighter that had been granted temporary orbit clearance for ... 'repairs' ".

The stack of document chips beside Rehenna's right hand was now a tower in danger of toppling; and the telling had long ago become tedious and numbing. For an hour, now, the Senator's voice had echoed softly, filling the wide audience hall, until it seemed that the syllables all turned back on themselves, to thread through Veruna's heartstrings with a tight, dark and unbreakable strand.

The sleeve of Rehenna's dress moved slightly against Veruna's own, and he knew that the same wicked weaving had snared her as well. But worse for you, my Lady, his heart thought, for you are Queen, and the Queen is Naboo. And Naboo had been sleeping through her centuries of peace, while, province by province, and year by year, this illegal trade had quietly spread beneath their feet.

Until now, plasma -- the Visible Breath, the shining, sacred heart of the planet Herself -- was being indiscriminately mined, and sold across the Galaxy.

"It is little short of outright plunder," the dark man sighed.

Like his Queen beside him, Veruna held his face impassive as he listened.


Cup of silver, cup of gold
How much water will you hold?
Water for the silver cup, wine is for the gold
Drink, my Lady, from the lip or leak out through the hole.


Veruna had not understood the song when he'd heard it that day, in the long-ago innocence of his boyhood. He should have. He was a Queen's son, and even the lowliest herd-boy knew the Cup, the Ninefold Cup of Naboo.

Eyes fixed forward, he felt, rather than saw, the Regalia where it rested now, upon Numi's swollen belly, rising and falling with her breathing beside him.

He had been a very young boy then, and not looking for signs. And so, he had not told his mother about the song at all.

And there was other reason for his silence that day -- reason that had seemed very important to one not yet ten. For he had gone where he wasn't supposed to.

For a moment, memories stole close once more. Bitingly cold air. And steaming nune cakes at a tiny corner stand. The winter of the Solstice snow. Sneaking out of the Palace with Numi to look for ice-frogs, the two of them so bundled in fur and brocade that only their faces showed. He'd had to go with her, alright. She was too young to find her way back by herself. And she would not be dissuaded either. The street urchins had been dancing in a circle and singing.


Cup of copper, cup of clay
Fill with shaak milk if you may!
Water silver, wine for gold
Milk and muja, guess how old?
Drink, my Lady, from the lip or leak out through the hole
You must dance and rhyme with me, until the tale is told!


It was a chain song, each verse changing and adding to the ever-lengthening list that preceeded, until the children's imaginations were exhausted and they would all fall down, giggling. Numi had wanted to join in, and he'd had to stop her. If they were recognised, caught ... well, there had indeed been rebuke that day, regardless of his precautions. He'd borne her share in her stead, by lying about whose idea it was. That night she had snuck into his quarters, twining her arms about his neck, and tearfully promising never to get him in trouble again.

Would it have made a difference, Veruna wondered, if he had told his mother, or any of the royal women, about the urchins' song back then? Would his mother have pricked her finger on her Handmaid's spindle, and read the broken Covenants and loss of mana in the scatter of the red drops? Would things be different, now? Were there other signs that had been missed?

"My Lady, and my Lord." The man in midnight blue broke Veruna's reverie. "As you will see from these documents, the value in Republic credits of the illegal trade first exceeded that of all sanctioned commerce during the fortieth year of Queen Trinme."

The insects in the gardens keened loudly, and for a moment Veruna wondered whether the Senator had somehow read his thoughts. It was in the fortieth year of Trinme that the first wave of the pestilences had swept across Naboo. The very air itself had cried out warning, but no one had heard.

Were there no Truth-Tellers in the Queen's court that year? Veruna wondered.

Or had their tongues all been confounded?

As mine was...

He settled his breath, and again his and Rehenna's sleeves brushed imperceptibly. The fabric was light, for it was midsummer, and he could feel the heat of her arm through the delicate weave. We shall overcome this together, he thought grimly.

His report completed, the petitioner proceeded carefully, for it was not his place to suggest policy. "My Lady, and my Lord," he began.

"Speak," the Queen commanded.

The Senator bowed deeply again, as two droids cleared the refreshments that had long since been finished.

"According to the information I have gathered," he said, "the true source of this desecration lies outside of Naboo."

Both Queen and Consort waited silently for him to continue, while the long noontime droned lazily amidst the flowers and trees. It had been a completely private audience, thank the Goddess.

"The illegal operations are all owned by off-worlders, your Highnesses."

When the two before him did not answer, he went down on one knee. "They keep their corporations outside of Naboo space and jurisdiction -- on purpose, my Lieges -- so that we ' ... may burn the grass to ashes, but with Spring's first rain it sprouts again.' "

The blue-robed man waited patiently, still on one knee. He had the two sovereigns' undivided attention, yet they did not offer any of the small words or gestures to draw forth his next testimony. A bitter smile formed within. The Senator from Naboo had faced things far more intimidating than a ruler's silence.

"Acting alone, we are powerless," he said. "We must look to the Republic to assist us in rooting out this evil."

"Is this possible?" the Queen asked.

"The Senate has full authority," he assured, "to uphold Naboo's sovereignty over her resources."

Yet again, the royal couple greeted his words with silence. They did not even bid him to rise.

"It is a question of will," he said, delicately. "The Republic renders aid to those worlds whose influence is most ... prominent."

"Prominent." The Queen echoed.

"Yes, my Lady," and he cast his eyes downward.

Again silence. The time had come to fill it.

"As your Highnesses both know, even today, the Core worlds think Naboo provincial and backward. For as long as I am permitted to remain Senator I shall dedicate myself tirelessly to winning for Naboo the regard and influence necessary to protect our sovereignty from incursions such as I have uncovered. At the same time, I cannot help but recall that Naboo's star has always shone brightest when the off-worlders saw a King upon her throne."

Queen Rehenna felt a tiny, fleeting ache deep within the bowl of her pelvis. The Senator had already provided all of the information that she and her Prince would need. She resolved to call the audience to a close as soon as he finished speaking.

"To this day, the histories of our neighbor worlds bear record of King Narmele the Explorer, who colonized our Spring Moon." He was Tiirailani's Consort, the Queen corrected, in her thoughts, but the off-worlders gave him title of King. They do not know our ways.

The small pain stabbed again, then vanished.

"And my colleagues in the Senate recall King Jafan as the unifier of Naboo and author of the 'Great Time of Peace', which continues to this day, unrivaled by any other Republic world. How tiresome he is, Rehenna thought. What is his point?

Pain stabbed yet again, and the Queen wondered if her child could be coming now?

And still the Senator from Naboo droned on, about ancient traditions, and meetings between tribes, and the matriarchs sitting within the tribal compound while the men stood at the gates, arrayed in panoply, dueling the visitors with wit and word, and it truly was so very, very tiresome, and --

The fourth pain knifed through Rehenna's belly from top to bottom, ripping out between her thighs. She cried out in surprise and alarm as much as from the hurt. All eyes turned to her, and for a moment utter silence reigned. Then, a small, dark stain began to blossom across the exquisitely embroidered planetscape in her lap.

... ... ...

Veruna pelted down the corridor beside the hover couch, as it bore the Queen at top speed to the Emergency Center. Senator Palpatine had been left behind, completely unattended in the Audience Hall. Veruna didn't care.

Numi looked at him with large, frightened eyes, and tried to reach for his hand. The medical droids had already converged on her, and, with profuse apologies, were pushing the Prince aside to gain access to scan and treat.

"Danil!" she cried, panicking as his hand was pulled away from hers.

"I am here! Numi!" He reached for her again, fighting for a path between the droids' busily working appendages, as she floated and he ran beside.

"I am wet, Danil," she wailed. "I am wet and it hurts! What is happening?"

"Breathe, my Numi," he urged, still separated from her by the single-minded machines. "Breathe as the Midwives have taught you."

She tried, but could only gasp. The pain possessing her middle was relentless, and her belly felt like a temple stone. Tears began to streak her face, washing the maquillage into her hair. Her headdress had been hastily ripped away, so that she could lie on her side, unencumbered. Freed from its windings, her straight ebony locks cascaded even off the edge of the couch.

"Was I wrong, Danil?" she choked, as vasc-tubes snaked into her arms. "Was it wrong to let the Republic healers open my womb so I might conceive?"

Danil looked in sick fear at the slow red tide spreading through her skirts. It had doubled in size since they began this pell-mell run. But finally his fingers touched hers, and they both held on with all their strength. "No, Numi," he answered. No blame. Not now. "It is no sin ... to long to give life."

An oxygen mask closed over the Queen's nose and mouth, and she spoke no more.

From the inner palace, Rehenna's Handmaidens arrived at a dead run, falling in before and beside. Decoys three, who looked so like Numi that even the spirits might be fooled, the Weavers of the seasons, carrying silken nets, and the Warriors of the four quarters, still buckling on their archaic weapons of metal and wood as they ran.

The doors of the treatment room opened and the entire entourage rushed inside. To his dismay, Danil found himself barred at the threshold by Yeshi, the Guardian of the North.

"NUMI!" He tried to burst past, but the Handmaiden held him fast.

"My Lord, you must wait here!"

"No!" he cried between gulps of air. He had run the entire length of the Palace to this place. "She needs me!"

Smaller than he, but tightly built, Yeshi was immovable. Only her voice was gentle. "This is no ordinary birth, my Lord. The room will be too crowded."

She was telling him that he could do nothing to help.

A stricken groan rose from his chest, and brought Yeshi's quick hand to grip his shoulder, as solidly as any man's.

"We are sworn to her, my Lord."

As was he.

The Handmaiden's eyes blazed fiercely, with a devotion that had begun when all of them were small. "And I swear to you, Danil, no harm shall touch her, or the child, while I or my Sisters draw breath."

NO! But Yeshi had already disappeared into the treatment room, and left him staring at the closed door.

"Danil."

The Lady Chel stood behind him. Others of the royal household were gathering.

"My Sister! They will not let me ... "

"I know. We must wait here. It will be well."

... ... ...

Danil could neither sit nor stand. He strained to hear sounds from within. Yes, he did hear the Handmaidens, chanting the True-Words of Protection. And sometimes there were mechanical sounds, or the voices of the Midwives. But he could not make out their words, and mostly there was quiet. Too much quiet. He sat down. He got up again. He wished he were in the Palace Sanctuary. It was a holy place, that always gave him peace. It was dedicated to the Lady in her most beloved aspect. Karunirani. The Compassionate. She Who Listens.

Numi!

He could not leave and he could not stay. The strands of dread that had bound his heart as Palpatine counted out to them the litany of sins had moved downward now, to the pit of his hara. With horror, he felt the strands begin to coil and uncoil ceaselessly there, like a nest of dark and venomous worms. No,he begged, let this not be the Goddess' sign. He stood up, then sat, then stood again, and paced like a caged tusk-cat, until Lady Chel stopped him and held his shoulders firmly. "You seek the Compassionate One."

"No, I must stay here." And his voice held the frantic edge of a man pulled from the riverbank by swift waters, with no reed to grasp onto.

Chel motioned for the rest of the family to withdraw to the anterooms. "There is no place that She is not, Danil. You know the practice. I will stay with you." She squeezed his arm. "Our Lady will hear. You'll see."

They sat down side by side on the bench, outside the treatment room, and sister gently took brother's hand. Softly at first, and then gradually ringing through the air, Chel's voice rose in the song of the Compassionate One. Danil did not trust his own voice, and so let her sing alone. Stick by stick and stone by stone, the Lady Chel built an altar of sound, to invite the Deity. Danil closed his eyes, silently repeating the Seed of the divine Name -- Ruh, Ruh, Ruh. Slowly, the Face and Body of the Goddess took shape before him in his mind, and he prostrated his soul upon the ground.

It was the embroidered image that hung from ceiling to floor in the Sanctuary, but come to life now in the inner eye. Draped in rainbow silks she was, all decked with diamonds and lazuli. Flowers bloomed forth in her Hair. Emeralds, rubies and tourmalines made garlands about her Shoulders and Waist, and corals and pearls dripped from her Hands. Every living thing played about her Feet, and a golden light shone forth from her Crown. Just beyond the edge of hearing, steady, lilting and strong, Chel's voice was her Throne.

Prostrate before Her, Danil reached out to clasp the beautiful, shining Feet. A thousand prayers for protection and mercy tangled and tumbled in his chest. A thousand barters for the safety of his wife and child -- his sight, his limbs, his life. But, try as he might, no words would form. Far away, black in the distance behind him, a new shape rose. Emaciated and ancient, the Four-Tusked One, the Red-Tongued, the Guarlara-Faced, Queen of Battlefields and Crematories. Grinning skulls were her Garland, and a dripping string of severed hands encircled her Waist. Dancing sky clad on the graves of the world, She leaped and twirled, with Eyes bulging and wild Mane flying.

Danil choked in terror. Not even the single syllable of NO could he form. The Black One would not leave his sight. She held a skull cup in Her right Hand, and a great curved knife, running with blood, in Her left. Greedily She lapped the red, red blood from the white skull bowl, as She danced and stomped, each Footfall trampling up bones from deep within the rotting soil. A great wind whistled and moaned about Her, and the cry of the mountain kyte arrowed down from above. Cursed with vision that saw in front and behind at the same time, Danil could not escape.

The sound of the wind became the thunder of Theed's waterfalls. It seemed that he was a tiny leaf tossed in their spray, with the seven-colored rainbow arching over him from behind to before and back again. Once more, Danil tried to pray. He thought his chest would burst with his pleading, but no word came. Until at last, he wept in despair the only words his lips would shape. "Thy Will be done."

An eternity passed. He raised his head to the great, kind Goddess, and saw that he embraced nothing but a pile of stones.

tbc ...


 

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Ou n'a tu pas tellement aime quelqu'un que tu avais peur de l'aimer au peur des souvenirs?
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dianethx 
Registered: Mar '02
47113_2008 Winter Holidays
Date Posted: 7/15/07 5:20am Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others/UPDATED 07/14/07
I also love watching birds!

This was wonderfully done. I loved how you built up the tension, all the while giving us more detail into the lives of these people. I can already see the way Palpatine is poisoning the well, arranging things so that it looks like he's trying to help when all he's doing is making things better for himself.

Loved that Veruna was so worried about his wife, as well he should, and that he was praying to his gods and getting only despair back. Love the contrast between the two.

It was the embroidered image that hung from ceiling to floor in the Sanctuary, but come to life now before him. Draped in rainbow silks she was, all decked with diamonds and lazuli. Flowers bloomed forth in her Hair. Emeralds, rubies and tourmalines made garlands about her Shoulders and Waist, and corals and pearls dripped from her Hands. Every living thing played about her Feet, and a golden light shone forth from her Crown. Just beyond the edge of hearing, Chel's voice was her Throne.

Prostrate before her, Danil reached out to clasp the beautiful, shining Feet. A thousand prayers for protection and mercy tangled and tumbled in his chest. A thousand barters for the safety of his wife and child -- his sight, his limbs, his life. But, try as he might, no words would form. Far away, black in the distance behind him, a new shape rose. Emaciated and ancient, the Four Tusked One, the Red-Tongued, the Queen of Battlefields and Crematories. Grinning skulls were her garland, and a dripping string of severed hands encircled her waist. Dancing sky clad on the graves of the world, she leaped and twirled, with eyes bulging and wild hair flying.


Great job. Looking forward to more!

 

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Betrayal - http://boards.theforce.net/s/b1/10935143 updated 9/22/08
Fragments of Illusion- http://boards.theforce.net/bts/b10475/28456473 updated 11/20/08
jedidas3's Master
At last - Hope for our country
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Healer_Leona 
Registered: Jul '00
44266_Fan Art - Female Chiss
Date Posted: 7/15/07 5:37am Subject: RE: The Pearl of Naboo: pre TPM, AU, OC's, Palpatine, King Veruna, others/UPDATED 07/14/07
One day, the royal couple turned around to see that a dozen years had passed under Theed's Rainbow Bridge

This particularly stuck with me, knowing how quickly time passes.

Can't do more than shake my head at how well Palpatine manipulate and manuveurs tings around him.

Excellent post.

 

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To me, you're strange and you're beautiful,
You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see,
You turn every head but you don't see me.
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jedidas3