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| - “Have you ever heard of Luke Skywalker?” Standing on the rooftop, watching Lisou disappear stage right so Najahal could star in her nightly pageant…enchantment is a lovely way to describe our background scenery and interlude. The uppermost open air seating (replete with more silk cushions than I have in my suite) that Reunahn installed provides a wonderful vantage point to observe the passage of time: days, nights, dawns, dusks, and every moment which lies between the diurnal and nocturnal entrances. When I asked Jos the question about Skywalker, I was curious to see if his knowledge about that strange hero was more comprehensive than what I could find through legitimate data sources. It was a misguided assumption, because Josym’s confusion was evident; his response proved our levels of knowledge about Skywalker was equal. “I only know he’s the person who blew up the Death Star.” Then he shrugged. “That’s what the latest bulletin says, anyway.” Ah, the weekly broadcast of the Imperial Most Wanted List…standard viewing for many “concerned” citizens, especially in so-called respectable homes, including most of the aristocratic estates. Josym told me about the Prestat’s habit; he retreats into the wicked darkness of his study and watches the falsehoods unfold on the vidscreen, savoring exquisite brandy from his cellar. It’s a frightening thought: a man seated in a high-backed chair, with snifter in his right hand, letting the images of condemned beings sink into his brain. It’s miraculous that son and progenitor don’t possess matching temperaments. “Well, he’s also a Jedi, at least from what I’ve heard—” “Where did you hear that?” “Maybe the kitchen isn’t a perfect location for picking up rumors.” The notion arose yesterday morning when I overheard two maids speaking about Skywalker and his companion-in-rebellion, the Corellian smuggler named Solo. These young girls were engaged in a lively debate about the most pressing concern hormones can devise: which man was more attractive to their maturing gazes. The youngest maid, a recent arrival called Yine, has a preference for Solo, while her companion, a veteran in our company named Celida, maintained Yine’s eyes needed to be checked, because obviously Skywalker was the better looking man. Yine’s declarations about her treasured rogue included “the way light catches in his eyes” and “he’s in trouble with a Hutt! Isn’t that fantastic?” Well, Yine is only a few days past fifteen, so her inclination toward a man who lives on the edge of danger is understandable. Celida’s affection toward Skywalker is based upon factors like his noble image as the galaxy’s savior, and his possible role as a Jedi Knight. Her perspective is more rational, in my opinion. Men who chase danger like Solo might thrill some ladies’ hearts and nether regions, but others like me aren’t inclined toward scoundrels. It wasn’t until after lunch, when that quick mention about Skywalker being a Jedi finally made an impact. Perhaps my unconscious had sifted through a process of elimination, working out the likely truth of a Jedi that could exist in the galaxy without detection all those years. A young man, perhaps born in the same year as Josym, would not have been capable of teaching himself every skill and trick that a fully trained warrior must possess. Was he a real Jedi, or did he adopt that role to enhance his infamy? “Like I said, it’s nothing but a rumor.” Jos leaned against the railing, his right elbow close against my left hand. “Or some gossip made up by a reporter.” “But, possibly, in a theoretical universe, what if the rumor―” “―is true?” He shrugged. “Then I should run off world and find him.” Then he laughed. “Something in the galaxy is changing.” Just then, it felt like a ghost walked through my body, and what came past my lips sounded like words uttered from another soul. “Your vocation is calling.” We both stared at each other for a long moment. Our mutual silence was broken when Jos spoke. “Chasing around the galaxy looking for Skywalker isn’t the best idea.” “It’s more practical to go among the stars and forge your own path until time reveals the proper day when Skywalker is ready to find other sensitives.” He nodded. “Either choice means I’d have to leave Deiu behind.” That note of sadness in his voice…Fortune calls, yes, but it’s never brilliant and glorious, because reality destroys illusions. If Josym follows the path laid before him, then it would inevitably lead away from here. If there is a so-called Dark Side, then Deiu is a magnet for that negative energy, if only because there are more corrupt souls around this world than pure spirits who can attract the Light. “I can’t leave you behind.” He grasped my hand; those artistic fingers draped over my knuckles, with the fingertips placed against my wrist forced airy thoughts from my consciousness. “You know that a Jedi was taught personal attachments were forbidden.” “Sure, but that notion belongs to another era.” “If Skywalker is a Jedi, and he does start another order, then he’ll toss aside every lost trace of the way things used to work.” “Things went awry the first time, since they were isolated from the real world. Staying that isolated from how life works only leads to disaster.” He kissed the back of my hand, like the perfect gentleman. “Contrary to what those warriors of the Light Side believed, personal attachments don’t necessarily have to be destructive.” “You have proof the Order’s teaching was flawed?” I agree with the assertion that attachment isn’t bad, even for a mystic sworn to some higher cause. Love can be the ultimate source of inspiration for anyone…strength to fight any evil, hope to conquer darkness. “We don’t need evidence, Palai.” He pointed upward, but the gesture was meant to encompass more than Deiu’s sky. “Losing your connection to reality means you lose awareness of everything that occurs from hour to day.” In that moment he and I were caught within this unfolding rapture of what might become real, what is true in the present. It feels like we’re part of some ancient myth that has been rewritten and translated for modern times. I’m not sure what story from the annals of mythology fits our situation, although the The Gift of Moonwater Perfume tale strangely comes to mind. “Remember the wedding of Semais and Najahal?” Many tales fall within the particular mythos of the creator god and his lunar queen, but the story which resonates with me is the one called The Gift of Moonwater Perfume. It’s a narrative about Semais’ attempt to find the most romantic present for his intended bride. Jewelry wasn’t adequate for a deity; what gem could hope to impress the Moon? But the scent of rarefied blossoms combined into one fragrance, with each separate ingredient held together by sacred water, was perfect. But misfortune struck the inventive god when he couldn’t find water pure enough to hold the essences of holy flowers in a suspended fashion. On the nuptial day, Semais presented Najahal with other gifts, but couldn’t include the perfume. After much hesitation, he admitted his inability to create the substance. Najahal declared she couldn’t desire anything more than his adoration, and then cried. Semais realized tears from his queen were the necessary final ingredient to bind the scents and create the sacred perfume. The water necessary to create the beloved’s wedding present had to come from the woman’s love of the man. “I’d make a lousy god.” “Quite the contrary, you possess the demeanor of a naughty angel.” I planted a little kiss on his lips. “But I don’t glow, and I’m lacking in the wings department.” I giggled; yes, the action of some besotted girl, shameful under the light of reason, but acceptable up on the roof, with the mysterious allure of evening that contributes to romance. That exchange took place one hour ago…now, I’m taking a few seconds to write in this diary; seated in a swing chaise, while Josym is conjuring up some aperitifs at the bar. Najahal is seated upon high clouds, once again in full glory. Purple and pink, the last remnants of Lisou’s departure, still pattern the lower horizon, while deepest blue flies ascendant for the nocturnal hours. “Writing again, huh?” As the weeks have progressed, my record-keeping routine has taken up a better purpose than private concerns and reflections. It’s evolved into a chronicle, not only about our lives, but a longer compendium about Deiu and its culture. Jos placed two small glasses on the metal table near the chair. “Allow your humble beloved to propose something radical.” Then he sat down in the space created after I moved over to the right on the chaise. “One day, I’ll give you the sacred nuptial gift.’ This declaration surprised me. “A gift of moonwater perfume?” Long ago, on the mother world, aristocratic women supposedly received a bottle of moonwater perfume on their wedding days. The ingredients were terrestrial, unlike the mixed ephemera of the mythological concoction; the penultimate ingredient was indeed water from the moon, frozen water extracted from the original Najahal’s twin ice caps. Thus goes legend, for no proof has ever surfaced to give it substance. “I realize it’s nearly mythological, just like the wedding present.” Jos handed me one glass, filled with Nerys dessert liqueur. “But consider it a promise.” “That we’ll always be together?” “We’ll never be apart.” He paused, caught in the realization that love cannot be the sole reason for our lives. A greater cause lies out beyond this world, and Jos could very well be required to undertake some great purpose. My place within his new life shall depend upon that role, and his choice in the matter. Surely his thoughts connected with mine, based upon his response. “I vow, with every atom in my body and every strand within my soul, nothing shall break our union.” This display of strength is a primary Huranz characteristic, always born from pure motives connected to strong and good emotions, especially love. Love guided Arcadin to protect his nephew yet unborn against the murderous intent of the baby’s father. Casana, unfortunately absorbed into marriage with a poisonous man, defied that bastard to save her firstborn’s near-life. In the previous generation, Josym the First challenged Jedi traditions which forbade contact with birth families. He not only established but maintained relationships with his parents, brothers and sisters; in fact, he came to Deiu for his youngest sister’s wedding just before leaving for the ill-fated battles on Saleucami. His nephew continues that grand tradition, both here and perhaps elsewhere. But all futures ultimately write themselves…for tonight, we’re young folk, floating among the stars and Najahal in her blessed golden disguise. Within this fantasy, we exchanged three words: “I love you”. Nothing can ever approach perfection in this universe, but the hands of unseen guides are carrying us toward something amazing…yes, a singular destination, not only two separate roads. We have different roles to play in this lifetime, but our greatest endeavor shall be precious. Mutual exchanges of love and strength will nurture and sustain this union, in whatever from our bond shall become in the next few years. But Jos needs to get off-world before any destiny can be fulfilled. There is one definite possibility…time for a conference with The Two Uncles.
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