Jidite su'ku slaret het ajonatara pu kai, ni bisi ar sino.
The words resonated, again and again, in the youth's mind. The last words said before he had departed Alaris Prime. The last words that anyone from his Clan had for him. All that he was, all that he had been, come to a single moment.
Jidite su'ku slaret het ajonatara pu kai, ni bisi ar sino. In Basic, it translated as:
Return with the blood of the Sith on your hands, or not at all.
It was a blessing and a curse. Success would allow him to return to his people. If he failed, then he was dead to them. It was more or less the expectation. If he could not secure victory for his Nightsisters, then the least he could do would be to die well.
He was a male. That made him more
a tool than an actual person. It was the order of things. He was a Nightbrother. His was not to question his Sisters. His was to simply obey.
Some of the Jedi on the shuttle may have harbored misgivings about their task or purpose. Jorah was afforded no such luxury. The Sith had made themselves an enemy of Dathomir. There was no mercy. There would be no forgiveness. Death answered death. The Nightsisters understood this.
"Kuk yol lakitra, ci meni tzela," the youth uttered quietly, dropping to his knees as he knelt in prayer to the gods and his ancestors.
As of this moment, I am dead.
"P'far slari," he stated firmly, as he rose to his feet.
Victory is life.
His life was over. If he was to leave this planet alive, he would have to earn it.
The shuttle touched down, a
Jai named
Zaka
leading the charge. Jorah did not know this man, except that he liked this one. In contrast to many of the
Jai that the Nightbrother had worked with, this one seemed a warrior. He guided them into the caves with determination. A conviction of spirit that belied the
reluctance that the Nightbrother had come to expect from
Jai when it was time for action.
As the strike team split up into the tunnels, the boy pulled the lightsaber from his belt. A flick of his wrist extended the shaft out, but he didn't activate the weapon yet. It would not do to give away his position to an enemy who may be looking for a light in the darkness. Instead, with his free hand, the Nightbrother made an arcane gesture as he whispered,
"Ama veshet s'lotirat shuree pareva naletnit pareva."
The youth's amber eyes turned an otherworldly shade of green as
the spell took effect, as the boy put his head down and focused on what was in front of him.
Were the Jedi right by this? He couldn't say. All he knew was one truth, and that truth had become both his eulogy and his chance for a new life.
Dathomir remembers.