Feed me with a Kiss
“Welcome outsider.” The Singing Mountain Matriarch poured him some tea in his cup. She was older than the rest of her clan, but unlike her other Matriarch contemporaries, she retained her usual radiance. Despite her apparent age she was still precise and graceful: in face, to Wraith she looked exactly like an aged version of his saviour.
On his march back to their village, Wraith had reverted back to his usual self. Pushing his newly arisen feelings aside, he immersed himself in the Force, seeing things for what they were. He saw two things: the first that this clan of witches were more in tune with the Light Side of the Force, albeit not like Jedi. The way the witches approached their use of the Force was nothing like Wraith had ever seen before. When comparing them to Jedi, it was like they played the same melody as Jedi but on a different instrument and at a very different pace.
“Thank you,” he replied as he drank the tea. It tasted bitter and light. The Matriarch smiled in return.
“Your business is with our kind, is it not?” she asked. Wraith understood her connection with the Force and how both their minds were linked through it.
“It is. I have come to seek one of your kind to join me in my endeavours.”
“Why a Dathomirian?”
“The Force showed me.”
“What do these endeavours entail?”
“The Force gives me direction. But I know of Sith that need to be eliminated,” said Wraith.
“But you are not a Jedi replied the Matriarch. “That much is clear about you.”
Wraith told her his story, recounting everything to the aged Witch. She listened intently until he finished, gently sipping her tea.
“I have felt this disturbance for some time now,” she finally said. “But we are only concerned by ourselves and our clans. This is simply the way we are.” She rose. Wraith thought that her words meant she was unwilling to help him.
“There is however an anomaly within the Singing Mountain Clan,” continued the Matriarch. “Just like the Sith, Ventress, was destined to roam the galaxy so is one of my very own acolytes.”
“Come on in, Elara,” she said with a loud voice. There was a surprised shuffle outside of the tent and the beautiful witch entered. She bowed deeply before her elder and knelt next to Wraith. She refused to look at him and fixed her eyes on the kettle; acting like a child who was caught in the act.
The Matriarch laughed. “It seems that my child has taken a liking to you, Outsider.” Blood rose to Elara’s cheek. Wraith’s gaze was still on her, taking in every angular and delicate feature.
“And the interest appears to be reciprocated,” chuckled the older woman. It was Wraith’s turn to look away.
“Fascination of a different life and fascination of connection to the Force,” continued the Matriarch. “It seems you two have intertwining destinies.”
She rose prompting the other two to follow her. “I am willing to let go of my child Elara,” she said. “But your endeavours will end in misery. You require better understanding of who you are, Outsider, if you are to succeed.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked Wraith.
A sly smile appeared on the old woman’s face. “I will let Elara educate you in the ways of the Singing Mountain. Like you, we are balanced. Like you, we are strong. Now you must learn to live with who you are.”
Her foot crushed his throat and Wraith was sent flying backwards.
“This is our way of life,” she stated.
Wraith channelled the Force to heal his injuries and stood up. “Kicking men in the neck?” he rasped.
She ignored him. “We breathe the Force, we live on the Force. Every step I take is enhanced by the Force, every notion is deliberate and every word a spell.”
Wraith approached her in a fighting stance. Both of them were deprived of any weapons. Elara had taken him to an empty field and demanded him to show her what he knew of the Force. Before he could blink, she was already kicking him.
Wraith opened himself to the Force: it healed his wounds, it made him faster and stronger, it enhanced his senses telling him where and when his opponent will strike and even where to hit back. As he moved closer he heard her mutter something in a language he did not comprehend. She let out a gust of wind: it spiralled and his face with the power of an actual blow. His head twisted unnaturally due to the wind currents.
“We use the Force to shape our spells,” she said. “We control nature.” Fire sprung from her hands. Her fireball would have damaged him had Wraith not unleashed his own Force blast. He disappeared, planning to reappear behind her. Elara’s hand swung, catching Wraith in the jaw as he reappeared.
“I can see how far the rift in space goes. I know where you would go.” Wraith Force gripped some dirt and flung it in her eyes. He followed up, driving his knee in her stomach.
“Tell me, witch,” he said still reeling from her assault. “Did I perhaps threaten you when I was a Sith? Or is it the fact that I am your equal?”
She flew at him, throwing him in the ground. They rolled, a mess of links and dirt, each struggling for the top position. He kicked her off and shot lightning at her. She redirected it into a blast. Wraith had a Force grip on her leg and they both flew.
Wraith slammed against a tree. He heard his vertebrae crack. Vines came to life, entangling him to the trunk. Elara’s hands wrapped around his neck and she freed one to charge a lightning bolt. Wraith could barely breathe and did the one thing his instincts told him to.
He titled his head forwards and locked lips with the witch.
The sheer shock of the sudden kiss disrupted Elara’s concentration. The vines receded and her strength ebbed. Wraith broke the kiss and turned them suddenly. Their faces were inches away, a fierce look in their eyes. Both their hands were in front of their body: lightning, ferocious red from him and incandescent white from her, sparked angrily at each other. Neither one striking and yet the pressure of the Force power built up until the lightning exploded in a shower of sparks.
Elara looked shaken.
“Never speak of this again,” she said in frustrated tones as she walked away from Wraith.