Log:Jakku: The Night before Reestkii - a short
Jakku: The Night before Reestkii - a short
Location: Rolling Sands, Jakku
Participants: Rheisa Dirleel
Somewhere across the rolling sands of Jakku, a ghost serenades the desolate landscape.
At least, that is what the superstitious residents of isolated Reestkii are claiming in order to shoo the wee ones to bed. In truth, they don’t know who-or what-is responsible for so eerie a sound but they don’t want their children wandering into the darkness in search of it.
High atop the ridge overlooking Reestkii, a lone figure stands against the soft glow of twilight and breaks from her song to watch the tiny blips of campfires flicker to life in the distance. It is the hour in which the sentinels of night and day may commune before trading their posts. Their loving embrace spreads a myriad of color over the quiet landscape. It is this hour which has called her forth from the safety of the ships. The hour in which one may greet both deities of the sky, if they are so moved.
And here, from this perch, she may truly listen to the sand-stirring whispers of wind and reply with a voice of her own.
The Togruta closes her eyes against the stark beauty of dusky, desert terrain and lowers to sit atop ‘her’ shard of rock jutting from its thin veil of sand. Her toes strain forward from their dangling, burying just the tips into the warm grit. Her fingers do the same, spreading over the weathered rock to seek the very core of its strength. Rheisa’s spirit roots to the essence of life that dwells here by these actions, tapping into its energy. Its soul. Only now can she properly sing her incantation.
The keening, warbled wail that raised the hairs of tomorrow’s hosts-turned-beneficiaries was but an exercise to warm her throat.
The real intonation begins low in her chest and swells into a broader sound. Her vocals do a peculiar thing, riddling the rhythmic chant with a layer of otherworldly overtones. Syllables that do form are simple in nature – a language from another time, another world. Hers. She summons them from memory to seek favor from the watchers of all things light and dark, that they may be pleased and bless this place. That the gifts offered tomorrow will be received well and prove useful to the forgotten souls who forge a living from this desiccated valley.
Far below, across the sandy plain of an ancient river bed, one listener remains. While the rest of the audience has tucked in for the night, he meets the onset of darkness with a bold gaze, unafraid. It is aimed at the ridge line. Strangers are few and far between, this far from Niima, farther from any mining operation. His eyes – narrowed with suspicion – had spied the glint of the freighters’ hulls when they arrived. His eyes have witnessed many strange things though in his counted years and know what may come bumping in the night. The old man’s weight lowers shakily onto his own seat, near the glow of embers. He will wait. Watch. And if need be…raise alarm. Until then though, may as well enjoy the evening serenade.
