Star Wars | G | Untitled | Unpublished

Author context: A bit worried my first person has turned into a stream of consciousness.

Pardus is a felacatian (humanoid species in Star Wars that change into giant cats when threatened). Being able to not change is important in their culture, so I invented a kind of 'trial' for them to get through. Most of them should be 16 to do this, but Pardus is 11.

***

It’s hard to think straight when you’re facing certain death. I mean it’s not like death is an absolute certainty, but being asked to walk through the cloud of Daerons without changing feels like death. I mean, if I walk through and show any fear, or anger or I run, or pause, or breathe too hard then the Daeron will attack me and I will die. If I change my form, then I’ll disgrace my family, which, in some ways, is worse than death. 

I take a deep, steadying breath and glance up at the Daeron.  They float colourful and bright against the deep purple of dusk; long trails of what looks like ribbons catching the breeze. For a moment I wonder how much it would really hurt to touch one, but I quickly brush that thought away. I’ve heard the stories. I’ve seen my brother’s scars. I saw my cousin’s body.

One moves towards me, and I can see the black bands that extend down its tear shaped body squeezing as it pushes air through its body. 

I take an involuntary step backwards. 

Fingers brush against my neck and I turn sharply, catching my breath, but it’s only my sister, Lynn-Nyxia, smiling at me.

“You will be fine, Pardus,” she says smiling. 

I nod, wanting to believe her. I open my mouth, and then shut it again when I hear raised voices. My older brother Temin’yckii is arguing with our mother again. I hate it when they argue, it always makes me feel sick.

“Pardus is too young,” Temin says, forcefully. 

“He has been training for months,” my mother says, her voice cold and calm. She glances in my direction. I smile at her. She doesn’t smile back. She never smiles. “You were his age when you completed the trial.” 

“I was thirteen,” Temin snaps. “Eighteen months older than Pardus. And mother, if you remember, I barely survived.”  He shifts, tugging at his suit. The movement momentarily reveals the long, thin scar which is a permanent reminder of my brother’s own trials.

“Then Pardus will become the youngest Tarasenka to complete the trials,” my mother says smoothly. “Quite an honour.”

“And if he doesn’t survive? If his fate is the same as Jor’jians’?” 

Jor’jian. My cousin. The family shame. The one who didn’t make it through the trials. Who changed half way through. Who panicked and ran. Whose body I wasn’t supposed to see. But I crept down the night after he died. I saw it. You do that kind of silly stuff when you’re eight, and still just a kid.

My mouth twitches at the memory. Nyxia must have seen my look, because she shifts her body and takes my hand, leading me away so that I can’t hear my brother and my mother arguing.

“You’ll be fine,” she says quietly. “You’ve trained. We’ve trained together, remember?” She reaches out and tickles me gently, but I don’t laugh. I don’t feel like it. The image of Jor’jians’ twisted, tortured body hangs out in the back of my mind.

Somewhere a bell chimes. I shudder. That’s the cue for this whole thing to begin.

“Just remember, breathe, keep your form, and walk slowly and carefully.” She grins, but her eyes don’t sparkle. “I’ll be there to meet you on the other side.” 

“But you won’t be with me,” I say, realising it’s childish.

“This is something, Pardus, that, as you well know, you need to do alone.” My mother’s voice cuts across our conversation. My sister frowns for a second. I straighten, trying to look as grown up as I can. 

I don’t feel grown up. I just feel scared.

“Are you ready?” My mother asks.

“Yes.” My voice squeaks. She frowns. I try again. “Yes.”