The procession was just the beginning of the ceremony. Before the sun disappeared from the sky, they would reach the Judges of the Dead, four 50 meter tall rock formations that the people of Socorro swore resembled the forms of four cloaked old women, faces hidden in their palms. The Socorrans believe that the spirit of whoever has passed will be judged by the stone figures and released to another path somewhere--if the quality of their life was high, and they were worthy.
Finally, as the red giant threatened to dip below the horizon, the Judges of the Dead loomed up ahead. There atop a two meter tall boulder stood a man, a man everyone in the group recognized. Aquato Boliscon's slick brown hair reflected a bit of reddened sky, which glinted off his earring as well. For once, his face showed no smug grin. The procession reached the stone platform, and spread out all around it.
Aquato Boliscon spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire group. "O Death," he called over the murmuring crowd, "you are Mistress of all, and even the holiest man cannot cheat thee." The murmur subsided. "Look here upon this fallen form," Aquato continued, "with good spirit and grace. Surely no man on this world was more important than he, high shaman of the Ibhaan'I, walking in exile as all his Bronwen kin, sharing his guidance and truth to each of us. O Death, while we loved him, you loved him most. We beg of thee, Judges of the Dead, judge Benali Ulte; send him on a path in death worthy of his life. Doaba ol'val tru."
"Doaba ol'val tru," came the group's reply. The hundreds of people slowly scattered.
Two men stood off to the side of the group. Dark-skinned like their father, they watched the whole ceremony in silence, and now looked at each other.
"Botani. His legacy, it is yours to carry on. You are the eldest, thus you must be our new High Bronwen, leader of all the Ibhaan'I shaman."
Botani nodded, and then looked towards the boulder. "Our father was a great man, Benoni. Greater even than you and I can know. We have been at home among the tribe all these years, but he has been away, walking alone in the desert, or staying in Vayekka, or greeting arrivals at Soco-Jarel spaceport. The Bronwen's self-exile is no easy task; one must go where the desert sands lead, even if they lead to death."
His younger brother was silent. He hadn't even considered that Botani's taking over meant he would have to leave the Ibhaan'I. And yet a part of him always knew Botani would leave, someday.
"Botani Ulte!" a man nearby called out. It was Aquato Boliscon, walking towards the brothers.
Botani turned to his younger brother. "Go back to the tribe, Benoni. Prepare my things. I will be there soon." Benoni left.
"Botani Ulte," Aquato repeated; he was now only a few meters from Botani.
Botani turned to face him. "Hello, Captain Boliscon," he said.
"Please, golnca, you need not call me Captain. I have not piloted a starship in many years. Call me Aquato."
Botani nodded. "And you," he said, "need not refer to me by that honorific. I have not yet assumed my father's position."
"Ahh, Botani, but when you do, you shall be one of the most important people on Socorro. Your father was a great man, respected by every sentient on the planet--even the savage Bharhulai."
Botani looked down at the sand for a moment. This area was more volcanic than most of the planet; the Socorran sand, dark elsewhere, was jet-black here. He looked back up at the other man. "I must go gather my things," said Botani. "I will see you soon."
"And when next we meet, Ulte, I shall call you golnca, as you will deserve." He walked away.
Botani Ulte turned and looked once more at the massive stone monuments. They really did look like old women swathed in cloaks, faces held in sorrow. By now, most of the crowd had shuffled away, back to their vehicles, back to their lives. But he saw a lone figure under the eastern monument, small, like a person crouching. Botani looked around, but nobody else seemed to notice the man. He looked back, just in time to see him dart behind the rock formation, out of sight.
If you asked later, Botani couldn't tell you why he went after him. Something in him wanted to know who that person was, and what he was doing there. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it was the will of the Force. In the end, did it really matter?
Botani walked over, around to the back of the eastern rock formation. The man was there; he was small, and old, his skin a mottled brown, wispy gray hair atop his head. He looked up at Botani, his piercing blue eyes taking in the tall man's full form. The old man leaned on a straight wooden cane with a handle of dull gray metal, as he shifted his weight from one side to the other and back again. The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment.
Finally, Botani spoke. "Who are you?" he asked, his deep voice serving to underscore his curiosity.
The old man sighed. "The question, my young friend, is who are you?"
Botani reflexively stood to his full height. "I am Botani Ulte, son of--I mean, High Bronwen of the Ibhaan'I tribe." He was surprised to hear his voice trembling.
The old man smiled a toothless grin. There was something about him, the way his eyes stared straight into you, focused, determined. It felt as if the old man were looking deep into Botani's very soul.
"I am Nalo, last of the Jedi. And you, young Botani Ulte, are to be my final student."