Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [55]
They were guided to a transitory central square that had been created by placing half a dozen of the self-erecting huts in a semicircle facing the lake. Laughing and squealing children appeared from nowhere to flank the group, while the youthful equivalents of Anakin and Barriss stared in obvious envy at the two Padawans. Anakin did his best to stifle any incipient feelings of superiority. It was an ongoing problem with him that Obi-Wan had been at pains to point out on more than one occasion.
Their suubatars were taken away amid mutterings of admiration for such first-class mounts. Luminara had a momentary concern for their supplies, but Kyakhta reassured her.
“We are officially guests now, Master. To steal anything from us would be to breach ancient traditions of hospitality. The thief would be cast out permanently—if not fed to the shanhs. Worry not for your belongings.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Forgive me for not trusting you, Kyakhta. I know you would have said something if there was any reason for concern.”
They were led to the edge of the lake. A section of reeds had been cleared away to provide a clear view across the tranquil body of water. Small balls of black fluff darted among the reeds, chirping like runaway alarms. Intricately woven mats topped with thickly padded cushions had been set out on the bare ground. While the adults went about their business and children barely coming into their manes watched silently from a respectful distance, Mazong and two advisers sat cross-legged opposite their guests. Food and drink were provided. Luminara took one sip of the dark green liquid placed before her and immediately choked on the spicy concoction. A concerned Barriss was at her side in an instant.
Mazong grinned, then smiled, and finally had to place a long-fingered hand over his face to cover his muted laughter. His advisers did little better. The ice was broken, and none was the wiser for knowing that the Jedi had tolerated the strong local liquor without difficulty, only to fake her reaction for the very purpose of putting their hosts at ease.
That did not mean, however, that by gagging embarrassedly she had instantly gained their friendship and assistance.
One of the advisers, an elderly female whose sweeping arch of a mane had gone entirely gray, leaned forward. “Why should we help you find the overclan?” This anticipated question allowed Obi-Wan to launch into an explanation of their purpose in coming to Ansion. The Yiwa listened quietly, occasionally bending to eat or drink from the modest meal that had been set out before them.
When the Jedi had finished, the two advisers caucused, then whispered something to Mazong. He indicated agreement and turned back to the guests.
“Like all the Alwari, we dislike and remain ever suspicious of the motives of the city folk, even though we all do business with the Unity. What you ask would change relationships on our world forever.” Raising a hand, he forestalled Luminara’s comment. “However—that is not necessarily a bad thing. Time changes everything, and even the Alwari must adapt. But before we will ever agree to do so, we must have guarantees that our rights to our traditional way of life will be protected. We know there have been previous visitations by representatives of the Senate. Those we do not, and will never, trust. As for the Jedi”—once again Luminara found him staring at her—“we have heard that they are different. That they are honorable. That they are highbred. If you can prove this to us, to our satisfaction, then we will feel secure enough to at least point you in the direction of the Borokii.”
Luminara and Obi-Wan whispered while their guides and the two Padawans looked on. When the older Jedi separated, it was Luminara who spoke.
“Ask of us what you will, noble Mazong, and if it is within our power to comply, we’ll certainly do so.”
Exclamations of satisfaction came from the chief and his advisers. What kind of proof do they want? Barriss found