Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [56]
Unsurprisingly, it was not what she would have expected.
Rising, Mazong gestured toward the camp. “Tonight we will have a proper feast. There will be entertainment. Among the Alwari, it is traditional for guests to provide it. We have never heard of representatives of your Senate deigning to do this. To us, this says that they have no souls. If the Jedi can show us that they, like the Yiwa, also have souls, then the Yiwa will believe they possess what their politicians are lacking.”
Barriss’s lower jaw dropped. To her surprise, Luminara was smiling agreeably. “We will meet your terms, noble Mazong. But I must warn you: aesthetics are not the first thing a Jedi masters. You may find our presentations less polished than those of your usual guests.”
All but openly affable now, Mazong stepped forward to place a hand on her head. The long fingers reached to the back of her neck. “Whatever you do, it will have the virtue of novelty. For now, though, I have only one question, that has troubled me since first you arrived.”
Looking up at the Yiwa, she felt only slightly concerned. “What is it?”
“Why,” he asked frankly, “do you tattoo your chin and underlip instead of the top of your head, as is proper?”
Intensely curious about everything around her, Luminara was struck by the flickering light from the portable glowrods that illuminated the mock central square. Nor was she shy in asking Mazong about the phenomenon.
“If you like, my friends and I can try to fix those lighting devices. Their internal schematics are fairly simple.”
Mazong expressed confusion. “But there is nothing wrong with them.”
She hesitated. “They should be supplying steady light. Constant illumination.”
The Yiwa chieftain’s response surprised her. He laughed. “Ou, we know that, O wise and observant Jedi. But we remember, and honor, the ways of our ancestors, who could hold such gatherings only by torchlight.”
Realization dawned on her. The glowpoles had been deliberately modified to simulate the flickering of torchlight. Among the Yiwa, it appeared, retrogressive aesthetics took precedence over cutting-edge functionality. She wondered if they would find the same reverence for ritual among the overclan.
Her thermosensitive robes warded off the evening chill and kept out the ever-present wind as she took her place alongside Obi-Wan and the two Padawans. Mazong sat down nearby, his two elderly female advisers close behind him. It seemed as if most of the clan had crowded around the open space. Hundreds of bulging Ansionian eyes glistened in the light from the glowrods. On the far side of the encampment, torpid dorgum and irritable awiquod grunted and hissed as they jostled for space with the more high-strung sadains. A few deeper hisses, like steam escaping from a sauna, indicated the location of the travelers’ suubatars.
For the second time since their arrival, food and drink had been laid out in copious quantities. Having already consumed samples of Yiwa fare, they found that the individual components of the lavish banquet had lost some of their exoticism. They were delivered straight from the transportable high-tech kitchen by lines of young Yiwa clad in guest-greeting finery. Kyakhta and Bulgan sat like regal potentates, still unable to quite believe their good fortune. Thanks to Barriss’s healing and Jedi largesse, for two clanless vagabonds they had come a very long way in an exceedingly short time.
There was music, of a sort, produced by a quartet of seated Yiwa. Two played traditional handmade instruments, while their younger colleagues opted for free-form electronics. The result was a cross between the sublime and a porgrak in its final death throes. Luminara found her ears simultaneously outraged and captivated.
Beyond the music, there was no entertainment. That, she knew, was shortly to be provided by the clan’s guests. If this was deemed acceptable, they would then hopefully receive useful