NJO Book II | Chapter III - The Prophet of Ossar Kolv

The gates of Ossar Kolv opened slowly to the wastes beyond its walls, and the group of people waiting there.

At the Hermit Oku's request, the guard allowed the Jedi to follow him inside. They quickly found themselves as part of an energetic procession of Elders, disciples, and stone-faced guards. Hidden in the middle was the Prophet himself, Oku, safe among the warriors. A few of the initiates found themselves shoved to the back of the group, in the rush of people.

The Jed couldn't help but marvel at the size of the town of Ossar Kolv. It was the first time they had seen anything like it on Ator Hollos—the closest thing to civilization they had seen in months.

Rows of streets and slanted black roofs stacked up in blocky layers around stone walls. Windows glowed with the warmth of well-lit homes, and craning faces appeared in every doorway to watch the procession pass. Despite the rows and rows of lush, producing fields they could see in the distance, the Jedi noticed that many of the townspeople looked hungry, wary, and tired.

"Finally," Jun breathed. "Something outside the bubble. We can do what Jedi are supposed to do, right? We can help these folks."

Nokori tilted her head in his direction. 

"If they'll accept help."

"Hundreds of people must live here," remarked Druffin, from the rear of the group.

One of the warriors turned, smiling at the ignorant visitor as one does when they relish the chance to correct.

"More than a thousand. Ossar Kolv is the largest stronghold on the planet."

Nokori looked into the passing faces of the townspeople. As she expected, she saw various reactions to the Jedi:; curiosity, indifference, fear, and suspicion. Gaggles of children hounded them, prodding and pulling and laughing until their parents or an impatient warrior sent them away. Nokori smiled at the kids, while the guards shooed them away.

Everyone quickly lost interest in the Jedi the moment they caught sight of hunched old Oku in the center of the group.

The effect he had was swift and dramatic; a rising chorus of shouts spread throughout the crowd and people rushed towards him, barely impeded by his escort as they began calling out questions, wishes, pleas that he might fulfill for them. Everyone had something to ask Oku, and they clearly believed he could deliver.

Even though the guards pushed them back, they wouldn't relent: they were desperate to know their own destinies, the future of their harvest, and of their sons in the guard. They wanted to know if the one they loved also loved them in return. If they would fall prey to the Blinded and the beasts in the woods. If their walls would survive another year.

Then came a cry that rose above the rest, not like the others, but sharp and furious. A man pushed his way between the throng, face twisted up in anger over a thick gray beard.

"Where is my son? Let me see my son!"

Oku quickly found the source of the voice, and quieted the crowd with a wave of his hand. The angry man stared him down.

"They never take the warrior's children! Only us out in the fields!" The man's voice cracked. "They took my son! I want to see my son!"

Warriors broke from the procession to retrieve him. Though he jerked at the last moment to evade them, his reflexes weren't what they once were. They battered him with their staffs and dragged him by the arms toward the center of the street, while others hurried to step away from the trouble. The man sprawled across the flagstones, soaking in a dark puddle, and then craned his neck to look up into Oku's face. The anger had given way to weeping.

"Prophet . . . please, where is my son? Where is my only boy?"

Oku looked down at him for a long moment with an inscrutable look in his eyes.

Silence hung around the street.

The Jedi watched closely.

Finally, the old prophet knelt down to meet him face-to-face. His eyes watered beneath the dark, thick locks hanging over his face. His voice came out leathery, thick with sympathy.

"Your son is a hero to this dying world. Because of him, because your son, we have hope. Your pain is deep, I see it. His gifts burden him with a difficult path. Know this - your son thinks of you often. He is making you proud. He is saving us all. Thank you for what you have given, thank you, thank you."

He laid a hefty hand on the man's shoulder, gripping it as the father sobbed. Soon he let go and rose to his feet. He turned to address the crowd.

"For a century, I have gathered those with the power to save our planet. It is solitary work. Solitary work. But they have each other."

The crowd nodded soberly. Nokori saw doubt, anger, and confusion in faces scattered among the faithful.

"Know this: their work is of the utmost importance. It is work only they could do. And I seek to be their servant in any way I can." He looked at his audience, and smiled sadly.

"Now, we must continue, for we have another savior to meet."

The procession continued down the narrow street, as the questions and shouts renewed. 

The Jedi looked at one another, their questions exchanged only in glances. 

Part II

The crowd immediately crushed in after him, once again shouting a torrent of questions, but Oku went on as though they were not there.

The sudden surge of people meant that a few of the Initiates found themselves with a wall of devotees cutting them off. Nokori caught their eye through the crowd, but before anything could be done, the warriors had moved the procession onward down the narrow street, and four of the Jedi students—Druffin, Katch, Lyra, and Meego—were left among the stragglers, watching as a handful of townspeople rushed past them through clouds of dust to try and catch up to the Prophet's entourage.

No one paid them much mind. There were chores to do, for those not chasing the Prophet.

"Lunatics," Druffin grunted.

"What do we do?" Meego asked, his shoulders hunched up nervously.

Lyra watched the now-distant crowd dubiously as it turned down another street. "Catch up to them, probably."

"Well, um, wait a second," said Meego. "Maybe we could do more good if we explored a little, and got a . . . er, you know, sense of things around here. While they're all busy. Uh, divide and conquer, right? "

The other three all looked at him, each with a variation of the same expression. It wasn't like him to take initiative like that, and in such a relatively rebellious way. The young Jedi blushed (as much as a Rodian can).

"What?" He winced. "I'm trying to be, um, resourceful."

"Now hold on, kid's got a point," Katch said, smiling and rubbing his bearded chin, the beginnings of a plan twinkling in his eyes. "Maybe this is an opportunity. I bet you there's a dozen other ways to wherever it is they're goin'. We could hit one of these side streets and see where we end up."

"Meego is exactly right. There's much to gain here," Druffin said matter-of-factly.

Lyra's head was on a swivel, alert to any danger, but she stopped to raise an eyebrow in her fellow initiate's direction. "Based on the reception so far, don't you think they might object to strangers wandering their town freely?"

Druffin had tired of standing in the street and discussing their plans in broad daylight. He identified a nearby alley—as good as any—and started in that direction. If they were going to snoop, they had best get started.

"Then let's not look like strangers," he said sharply, and then disappeared between the two houses. The others barely realized he was gone in time. They jumped to follow.

The four initiates crept through the alleys, up and down flights of stone stairs, catching glimpses here and there between the buildings of the full scope of the town's sprawl.

Just before they burst out onto the street ahead of them, someone whispered, "Get down and hide!"

Following their instincts, they each stepped close to the walls, and pulled their cloaks up to shield their faces. They watched from the shadows as a half dozen warriors patrolled right past them, knocking on doors and calling people out of their houses.

"The Prophet of Ossar Kolv has come! All must bear witness to the Ceremony of the Chosen! All must bear witness!"

The Jedi looked around for the source of the warning, and found it in a boy sitting on the roof above them, legs dangling over the edge.

Katch threw the boy an appreciative salute. "Thanks, kid."

The boy was young, but his face was hard. He examined them, his eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" he asked, and then in answer to his own question, he hissed, "You're outsiders."

"Hey, we don't mean any trouble," Meego assured him. "We're Jedi. We've come to help your town. If, uh, you want us to."

The boy scrunched up his face, but finally seemed to make a decision. "We don't get outsiders around here much," he admitted, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Come on, you need to hide, or the Ossari are gonna find you."

He showed them a spot where several stacked barrels made it easier to get onto the roof, and watched with wide eyes as they leapt up to join him with seemingly no effort at all. The Jedi watched him, amused, while he stared.

"You have the gift! You're like Sasil!" As soon as he'd said it, he frowned, as though clamping down on the sentence and willing himself to have kept his mouth shut.

"We are allies with the Force, if that's what you mean," Lyra said, dusting off her robes. "Who is Sasil?"

But the boy did not respond. He watched the dense stream of people below now making their way down the street, obeying the summons of the warriors.

Katch started forward.

"Hey, kid. We haven't been properly introduced; I'm Katch. These three are Lyra, Druffin, and that's Meego. What should we call you?"

The boy turned to look at them, a dull expression on his face. He looked at each, then slowly said, "My name's Wint."

"Nice to meet you, Wint," Katch said, a warm grin stretching across his face.

Meego asked, "Um, so why do we need to hide from the . . . what did you call them?"

"Ossari," Wint repeated, firmly.

"Who're they?"

One warrior in the street below stopped to enter a home and shouted at the family inside. Quickly, with bowed heads, they brought him food, and the man finally left gnawing away at a grainloaf. 

"A bunch of skasthals." Wint cursed, and scowled at the man until he disappeared, then turned to glance at the Jedi. "I guess you all don't know anything about Ossar Kolv, huh?"

Meego shrugged.

"First time visiting," Lyra said.

"Wow," he blinked. "I've never met anyone who didn't know anything before. I guess that makes me an expert, huh? I'll teach you. There are four castes. The seven Elders rule over everything. They're the wisest of all of us," he said, as though it was an oft-repeated mantra. "They stay in the Long House all the time. But really, it's the Ossari that boss everyone around the most. They're all the warriors, the scouts, the guards on the walls. Those guys down there with the spears—they're Ossari. The Kavat—the farmers, the workers, the traders—the warriors treat them all like sheep. They tell them what to do, and take things from them whenever they want. The warriors get the best of everything because they're so important to 'keeping the town safe'. I heard they lie and make up stories about what they see out on patrol, to make themselves more important. They have it real easy, they just pretend it's always a big deal, life and death. So that everyone will be grateful for them and let them keep kicking us around."

"Maybe so," Lyra said, tilting her head. "There's plenty out there that wants to kill you. I can confirm that, at least. But these warriors wouldn't be the first to lie to protect their own power."

Wint watched the group of warriors pass with stormy eyes. "Yeah. So, if you work, you're a Kavat. Farmers, smiths, merchants, whatever. And then there's Tlab. That's what I am."

"What's Tlab?"

"Nobody. Useless. That's what the Ossari say, anyway. If they catch you guys, you're worse than Tlab. You're outsiders."

"Uh, what are they gonna do if they find us?"

Wint shrugged. "Maybe they'll kill you, but they'll probably throw you in the cages. Outsiders aren't allowed in town."

Druffin crossed his large, furry arms, all four of his eyes on the boy. "Your prophet vouched for us. Perhaps that gives us some sway."

Wint's eyes went wide. A flurry of emotions crossed his face; fear, anger, betrayal, awe. "The Prophet? Are you with the Prophet?"

"No. We've met twice. But at his word, the guards at the wall let us in. He is important to your people, yes? You all seem to adore him."

"Not everyone," Wint snapped, turning away.

Katch caught the others' eyes and made an expression meant to communicate something like, "Geez, touchy." Druffin and Meego, not as adept at interpreting human facial expressions, interpreted it instead as the closely related, "I'm confused," and both shrugged. 

Lyra got it. But she was more interested in getting to the bottom of things.

"What is the Prophet to you, Wint?"

The boy had tried to hide his feelings from them with mixed results, but the pressure finally became too much. He broke. Suddenly he looked like a cornered animal. Desperation and helplessness fell across his face, as it contorted into a snarl.

"They let him do anything he wants. They're going to let him take my sister."

Part III

The procession came to its final destination. In the center of the town stood its spiritual and ceremonial center; a longhouse called the Tutik, an enormous building made from the same stones as the exterior wall. Guards stood attentively at every entrance, armed with glaives and the same old, rebuilt blasters carried at the wall. Its tall, heavy wooden doors opened out onto a wide square, with a crowd growing bigger by the moment. The warriors kept back the throng with their weapons, blades and barrels pointed outward so that the Prophet could pass unbothered.

Three red-garbed Elders stood on the steps of the long house to receive them. Warriors in blue flanked them with long, bladed glaives. Gonng Zall joined his men, and watched the Jedi unflinchingly. Humble and nondescript as they seemed, the Jedi were twice as vigilant.

One of the Elders, a human with a huge white beard, stepped forward and spoke in a high, strong voice.

"The signs and omens bear good news. A glorious day is this, our Prophet! Servant of the Chosen, defender of Ator Hollos, steward of the healers of its affliction. Eagerly we have awaited your noble coming."

"Elders," said Oku humbly in reply. "You honor me too much. Too much."

"The young woman is strong with the gift of sight, she will serve well as one of your sages."

"Good, good. May I meet her?"

"She is in the final steps of preparation. Come, Prophet."

The Prophet ascended the steps, spoke quietly with the Elders, and entered the Long House. The Elders turned back.

The Neimodian clasped her hands in front of her.

"And these must be the Outsiders. Jedi, as we understand they are called. We do not know you, Jedi. You are here at the behest of our Prophet, who eternally holds our deepest gratitude. You are allowed here as witnesses of the Ceremony of the Chosen. Beyond that, the nature of relations between you and our people remain to be seen."

"Thank you, Elders. I am Jedi Knight Nokori Imani, a leader of the Jedi here on Ator Hollos. This is Jedi Knight Jun Jin-Wa."

"Ah, the warmonger," sneered the Elder.

Jun stepped forward, with a slight bow of his head. He glanced up through the hair fallen around his face at Gonng Zall, who watched smugly. Jun's eyes flicked back to the ground.

"I . . . apologize," Jun said, the words crawling out of him. "For how I met your men. We hadn't met anyone else here other than a gang of rovers calling themselves Immortals. I figured your town's scouts were cultists, like them."

The Elders looked stiffly between themselves. Finally, the man on the right nodded.

"Understandable. Speak no more of it, and neither shall we."

Nokori continued. "Our true desires are peace. We want to learn more about the struggles faced by your people, and be of use to their wellbeing."

The Elder waved her off. The dismissiveness of their reception was starting to wear on Nokori. She forced herself to fight down a rising anger, to remain passive and at peace.

"You survive months on this planet and expect we will thrill at your offer of help? We who have carved out our survival for centuries? What arrogance. Your desires can wait. You have arrived on a sacred day—all our attention must be reserved for the Ceremony. If you must be here, you may wait inside during the final rites and preparations."

Both Jedi paused before bowing respectfully, and passed the lines of guards to follow the Elders inside.

"How'd I do?" Jun muttered so that only Noko could hear. She shot him a look of approval.

They seemed to disappear to others once inside the dark halls of the long house. The room was dark, lit by dim lanterns alone. The Jedi passed several guards into an open atrium, a lavishly and carefully decorated meeting space. 
The Elders quickly vanished into their chambers. Attendants and scribes bustled around, absorbed by their preparations. No one paid attention to the Jedi.

Nokori scanned the room, then murmured under her breath to Jun.

"Something is deeply wrong."

"No kidding."

"My senses are clouded by the dark side."

"You and me both," he grunted darkly.

Nokori caught an attendant as they rushed by, speaking to them gently.

"Pardon me. I would like to meet the young woman, before the ceremony. Would that be possible?"

The attendant looked startled. She answered in a sharp voice.

"This day is sacred to the girl."

"I know. Please, it's important."

The attendant thought for a moment, and eventually sighed. "I will tell her your request. If she agrees, you might be allowed to see her. Might."

Then she rushed off.

Jun and Nokori stood there waiting for several minutes. Jun crossed his arms impatiently. Nokori took the time to sneak in a brief meditation.

Finally, the attendant returned with a strange expression on her face.

"Jedi," she said quietly, "The Chosen girl has seen you in visions. She would like to speak with you. Come, I'll show you where she is."

Part IV

Nokori stepped into a small room, lit by windows set high in the wall. A girl stood, surrounded by dyes, makeup, and a large ceremonial headdress sitting on a stand. She was waiting for the Jedi.

"I have seen visions of the future. I have seen you in them. Cloaked servants of the Giver, with blades of light still sheathed. Your arrival is supposed to bring great change. Whether for good or evil, I cannot tell. Something has obscured my sight."

Nokori took a moment, then smiled.

"My name is Nokori."

"I am Sasil," said the girl. "It's good to meet you."

"And you. I see visions, too, Sasil, though mine come from the Force."

The girl was hungry for knowledge, it was written all over her face. She jumped on the phrase as soon as Nokori had said it.

"The Force? What is this?"

Nokori smiled. She could appreciate her curiosity. 

"The Force is an energy that connects all living things. It's our connection to the Force, we believe, that gives us our strength as Jedi."

Sasil looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps this Force is the Giver, by another name. They sound quite similar."

"Perhaps so." She nodded. "The Force exists in all places, by many names and in many forms. It is like a living thing; it is vulnerable to unbalance. When evil abounds, its destruction affects everything. The people, the creatures, even the plants. The Force is deeply unbalanced, on this planet. This planet, and this town, are steeped in the Dark Side. It clouds the truth, even for those whose senses are attuned to the Force. Perhaps it is what has clouded your visions."

The girl considered and compared this to her own beliefs, and nodded. "I wish we had more time to talk. What you say is fascinating. Yes. Ator Hollos cries out in agony. It has for centuries. That is why we hold the Ceremony; healing it is my destiny, as it is for many others."

Nokori raised an eyebrow. "Who told you about this?"

"The Prophet," Sasil said warmly. "He has walked this world for many years, seen many of its secrets. He is the one who established the Ceremony."

"And what happens at the Ceremony? Some sort of restoring process?"

"No, that work requires the cooperation of many, and occurs, I believe, far from here. The Prophet has been gathering powerful ones like me for many years. He is building a fellowship who might turn back the power of evil and free Ator Hollos. I am the most recent to be honored with this destiny."

Nokori looked at the girl for a long time in silence. True insight was so difficult to obtain on Ator Hollos, where the Dark Side swirled in every fog and cloud. She could not shake the troubled feeling in her gut.

"Where does the Prophet do this?"

"It is a secret. Some say a far off castle, or a grove in the forests. The Prophet is able to appear and disappear wherever he likes, so no one even knows which direction it might be." Sasil's lip quivered into a kind of nervous smile. "I'm looking forward to finding out."

"Once you have gone, will you be allowed to return here?"

Sasil shook her head. "No. It is a life of solitude, and separation from my people."

Nokori's voice was soft, full of understanding. Her heart hurt for this girl. She could relate in so many ways.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I am not afraid," the girl replied, and she said it like she meant it. "This is our village's greatest honor. My gifts will be used to protect them, even from a distance. And I have a new people waiting for me. Ones who are gifted, like me. Like you."

"Has the prophet explained what you'll be doing?"

"It is all a mystery. But shouldn't it be? It's only for the worthy to know. I'll prove myself worthy through the ceremony, and discover my true purpose."

Nokori smiled sadly at the girl. She reminded her so much of herself, back on Hiju. Inspired by a life of selfless destiny. So serious.

The girl noticed the look, and questioned her. "Why do you stare? Is it the ceremonial robes?"

"I apologize. It's just . . . I was much like you, when I was younger. Because of my gifts, my village appointed me as a protector as well. Eventually, it cost me this hand," she said, flexing the digits on her mechanical prosthetic. "But I cannot imagine the cost for you. I am very sorry."

"You are not in your village now," said the girl, frowning. "Did you . . . abandon your role?"

Nokori laughed a little at her boldness before replying. "No. I accepted another calling, one just as important. I chose to become a Jedi. Much like you hope to do, I joined a community of people who were gifted, whose purpose was protection and healing. So I understand how you feel today. If it weren't for your decision, I might extend an invitation to come join us. In fact, that door will always be open, should you ever change your mind."

The girl grew suddenly cold, and her respect for the Jedi lessened. "You do not change your mind once you've committed to your calling. I'm sorry, but the reality is that we will never meet again. The work I go to do is far too important, no matter what it costs." She seemed to realize she was being rude, and composed herself into a cold politeness. "Thank you, Jedi Imani. I would like to spend these last moments before the ceremony alone."

"Of course," Nokori bowed. "Thank you for sharing your time with me. May the Force be with you, Sasil."

The Jedi turned and quietly left the room, and the girl watched her go. Once she was by herself, Sasil sighed, staring once more at herself in the mirror. She quickly regretted sending away her only companion. The room was silent, and even with her destiny coming closer by the hour, she felt deeply alone.