Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 04_ Backlash - Aaron Allston [45]
Luke blinked, considering. “You may be right.”
“So, Dad, what’s our plan for this morning?”
Luke rose, discarding his blanket. “Making breakfast.”
“Not actually the work of strategic genius I was hoping to hear.”
Luke grinned again. “No, but if we don’t eat, I won’t be capable of much strategic genius later in the day.” He headed off toward the supplies.
As Dathomir’s sun rose, the camp began its preparations for the day’s activities. Groups of men and groups of women, seldom mixed, moved out into the grassy fields surrounding the lake, hammering marker stakes into the ground, flattening grasses along racecourses, situating targets, corralling sturdy green-and-yellow lizards.
Firen Nuln, trainer of rancors for the Raining Leaves, perhaps having lost a bet or finding herself in line for minor punishment, came to join the offworlders at their campfire. “I am to answer questions. If you have any.” Her tone was disinterested. Clearly it was a duty she did not relish.
Ben exchanged a glance with Han and shrugged. “Sure. Um, what sorts of competitions are you having?”
“Many. Footraces, riding-lizard races, rancor races, speeder bike races for those who have them, shooting competitions with pistol and rifle, accuracy with spear, wrestling, boating, swimming, riddling—”
“Riddles?” Ben couldn’t keep surprise and even a little scorn out of his voice. “You have a competition for telling riddles?”
Firen nodded. “Of course.”
Ben held out his two hands about a third of a meter apart. “What’s this big, weighs forty kilos, and eats people?”
Dyon, leaning against the cargo speeder and watching the preparations in the fields, shook his head without turning. “That’s not how it’s done. Among the Dathomiri, and among most people with an oral history tradition, riddles take a very different form. Yours would go something like, ‘I am less than the length of a man’s arm. Yet my weight would cause a grown man to stagger should he carry me a full day. And when that day is done, it is a grown man I will have for my meal.’”
“That’s a lot more involved than the way I asked it.”
Firen nodded. “Yet it is more dignified. Less like a child’s game when it is phrased as Dyon did.” She looked restless, uncomfortable. Finally, she added, “What is so long, weighs forty kilograms, and eats people?”
Ben gave her a look that was all innocence. “An Ewok in a lunch box.”
Han snickered.
Dyon turned to give Ben an exasperated look. “You see, that’s not funny because there’s no local context. There are no Ewoks on Dathomir, and no lunch boxes except at the spaceport.”
“It could be adapted.” Firen frowned, considering. “Perhaps a kolef lizard in a wineskin.”
“Loosen up, Dyon.” Han stretched, his joints popping. “It was funny.”
Dyon shook his head. “You won’t win any of the competitions with that attitude.”
Han looked startled. “Win? We’re not competing!”
“In fact, you are,” Firen said. “You must compete—the adults among you, anyway—if you are to hold the respect of the clan members.”
A slow grin spread across Han’s face. “Well, now, that’s a different story!”
Firen nodded. “First, of course, you must declare which of the divisions you will compete in.”
“Men and women, I assume.” Leia, adjusting the top layer of her Jedi robes, sounded only so interested, but Ben wasn’t fooled.
“No.” Firen shook her head. “Women and men compete against each other. The divisions are those with the Arts and those without the Arts.”
“Force-users and non-users?” Ben looked out over the field again. Sure enough, where competitors were gathering, every group had both men and women but seemed to be dominated by one gender or the other rather than having an even mix. He guessed that the groups with more women were the Force-users, and those