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Listen, children, here is a story.
One day a child was born among the people, and before their mother even gave them a name, Depur stole them from her arms. “You will be called Nothing,” he said to the child, “because that is what you are. There will be no spirits to guard you, no family to help you. You are mine, Nothing, and nothing more.”
And so Nothing grew up in Depur’s palace. The slaves there did their best to take care of the child, but if Depur saw any one of them getting too close, he would order that slave sent away and punished. And the child Nothing cried bitter tears at every loss. But they learned at once how it pleased Depur to see them cry, so they held the tears in their throat until their voice withered away to nothing, and they had to use their hands to sign to others. They grew up quickly, clever with their hands and quiet, and though it had pleased Depur to see them weep it also pleased him that they were so solemn and hardworking.
Now the Grandmother of the Quarters in that place was called Ratti, and she had watched the child Nothing grow up, and in the darkest part of the night she wept the tears that Nothing could not. She knew that Depur would not allow any one slave to care for the child, so she organized them so that each would do a small part. “This one can find the food, and this one can cook it, and this one can wrap it up, and this one can leave it where the child can find it.” So that no one person could be said to care for Nothing, but all would have a hand in helping.
And Ratti was so clever that it took Nothing many years to learn who was helping them in the dark. When they learned, they were angry and afraid, because they didn’t want anyone punished for their sake. In the darkest part of the night they went to Ratti. “You must stop this,” they said to her with signs. “If you are found out, you will be taken away and punished, and the slaves need their Grandmother.”
And Ratti said, “My child, aren’t you a slave too? Don’t you need a Grandmother?”
And Nothing signed, “I am Nothing. I have no family and no guardians. All that I am was given to me by Depur.” But the bitter tears which they had hidden inside began to spill out at this, and they covered their face and wept.
And Ratti wept with them. “You are not nothing,” she said in return. “You are a person, and you were born to be loved by Ar-Amu. And you are beloved by others as well - I would have you as my own child, if you would have me as your mother.”
And they sat together and wept bitter tears of love for a long time, but Nothing had to steal away before the morning light came, so that Ratti would not be punished for speaking to them.
Now, because Depur was so sure of his power over Nothing, he trusted them to go out into the desert and return to the palace again. “Where else could you go but back to me?” Depur had said. “You are Nothing, and you are mine.” So it happened that the morning after their meeting with Ratti, Nothing went out into the desert to harvest plants. The things that grew in the desert were bitter and tough, but it was all Depur would allow his slaves to eat.
I am bitter and tough, too, thought Nothing. Their heart was still troubled over the meeting with Ratti, and they wandered without paying attention to where their feet led.
They came upon a place where the kaktru plant grew, and were startled that a woman was already there. When the woman looked up they made signs to say they would leave her alone, but she smiled and beckoned them closer.
“Have you come to harvest plants, child?” she asked.
“Yes,” they signed. The woman was a stranger to Nothing, but something about her was familiar. Perhaps the smile, they thought, or is it the eyes? They drew their cutting knife and reached for the thick, sharp lower leaves of the kaktru, but the woman put out a hand to make them stop.
“The plant needs the lowest leaves. They collect the Mother’s water overnight, and grow bitter and tough to protect it. Take instead the flowers from the top, but leave the two largest so the kaktru can grow again.” And she showed Nothing how to trim the flower in one piece, and how soft and tender and delicious it was. When all the kaktru was harvested (except the two largest flowers) the woman stood, and Nothing followed her.
They went together to a place where the dal grew thick on the ground, and the woman showed Nothing how it needed two sets of hands to harvest, one to hold the plant and one to feel for the roots in the sand. Then they went to the amee bush, and instead of the sour berries the woman took the inner layer of bark, which smelled sweet and wonderful to Nothing. And on and on they went, and with each plant the woman showed Nothing where to cut, and what to take, and how to treat what they left behind.
At last they came to a place where the tzai plant grew, and Nothing stopped. “We can’t take this,” they signed. “Tzai is inedible. Toxic. It turns the stomach. Nothing good can come from the tzai plant.”
But the woman only smiled, and led Nothing closer. One of the tzai plants looked half-dead, dry and withered, its leaves brown and red and yellow. It was here that the woman knelt down, and Nothing followed her. “I will show you what to do with tzai,” the woman said. “Take the leaves that have turned red. The yellow leaves are too young and harsh, they will turn your stomach. The brown leaves are too old, they have almost turned back to sand. Only the red leaves are best for what we need. And when you are done, you must thank the plant for its gift.”
Nothing wasn’t sure what kind of gift half-dead leaves were, but they listened to the woman. The two of them sat, plucking the little red leaves into their laps until they were all gone. Then the woman uncapped her water pouch and poured a few drops at the base of the plant, and Nothing did the same. “Thank you for the gift of your life,” the woman said. “In return we give life back.”
It was then that Nothing realized the suns were setting, and it would be night soon. The woman rose, and Nothing followed her to a cave in the rock. “We will stay here tonight, and I will show you what to do with what we have gathered,” the woman said as they stepped inside.
Suddenly there was a sound within the cave, a hiss of movement, and something vast and gleaming white in the gloom stepped forward. Nothing froze where they stood. It was Leia, the Mighty One, the dragon who walks the desert and fears nothing. Nothing trembled, but realized they were not afraid.
The woman stepped forward, and Leia bowed her mighty head to touch her nose to the woman’s hand. “Greetings, Eldest Sister,” the woman said. “May we share your cave this night? We want to make something good and share it with you.” The dragon breathed over them both, then turned and walked deeper into the cave.
Nothing and the woman sat down, and the woman built a small cook-fire. “Will your people be worried, that you have gone out in the desert and not come back when night fell?” she asked Nothing.
Nothing shrugged. “Depur trusts me to come back. He says, where else would I go?” they signed.
The woman smiled, but it seemed sad to Nothing. “I didn’t ask about your Depur, child. I asked about your people.”
“Depur has forbidden anyone to care for me. If they do, they are taken away and punished.” They hesitated, but it was the darkest part of the night, and they knew they could trust the woman. “There is one person. She cares for me in the dark, in ways Depur cannot see. She may worry, but I will go to her tomorrow and show her all the wonderful things you have taught me.” Their signs became small and shy, close to their chest. “She said... she would want me to be her child, if I would want her as a mother.”
“And do you want her as your mother, child?”
Yes, said Nothing’s heart, but their hands said “Maybe. I don’t know. Not if Depur will punish her for it.”
There was a sound in the cave again, and Leia the dragon stepped forward. In her great claw was a cauldron, which she set near the fire. Then she settled down beside Nothing and the woman, her deep breaths slow and soothing as she stared at them.
The woman said “Put the cauldron over the cook-fire to warm. Now I will tell you what to do with what we have gathered.” And she showed Nothing what to do with each plant - which to crush, which to cut, which to steep in whole pieces. And the woman drew the water pouch and a pouch of bantha milk from her bag, and poured them into the cauldron together with the plants and spices, and a wonderful scent filled the cave. When it was done the woman filled a cup for Nothing and a cup for herself, and Leia the dragon drank straight from the cauldron. Nothing drank from their cup, and it was like no food or drink they had ever had before. It was sweet and spicy, deep and bright, and it felt as though it filled them up from the soles of their feet to the top of their head. And the three of them drank until it was all gone.
The woman sighed and sat back. “That, my child, is what you do with tzai. Now we will sleep, and in the morning you will go to Ratti and ask her to be your mother. You will teach her what I have taught you, and she will teach the rest of the people as their Grandmother, and it will belong only to them. And though Depur has so many fine things, so much power, in all of time itself he will never have anything as good as tzai.”
And Nothing’s eyes were growing heavy already, but as they drifted off to sleep, a thought came to them. I didn’t tell her Ratti’s name. Or that she’s the Grandmother. And just before the night overtook them, they thought, I didn’t tell her my name either. But then, she never told me hers…
In the morning Nothing woke just as the suns began to creep over the horizon. They were alone in the cave - no woman, no Leia, not even footprints and claw marks to show where they had been.
But the cauldron was there, and two cups, and a scent of something spicy and wonderful.
Nothing smiled, and packed the cauldron in their bag, and went back to Depur’s palace.
When they arrived the suns were well over the horizon, and Depur was eating his breakfast of rich and savory and fatty things. “So, a day and night in the desert, and you have only tough and bitter plants to show for it!” he cackled when he saw them. “Go on to your hovel and eat, then there’s work to be done!” And as they had done many times before, Nothing hung their head when Depur spoke to them, but this time it was to hide the smile spreading across their face. The smile grew as they went to the quarters, but instead of their own they went to Ratti’s place and knocked on her door.
By the time Ratti came and let them in, a strange sound escaped Nothing’s lips - a sound they had never made before in their lonely, hopeless life.
Laughter.
They dropped their bag and caught Ratti’s hands, laughing until sweet tears of mirth ran down their cheeks. And Ratti did not understand, but she was so relieved to see the child home and safe and happy that she joined in.
Once they could breathe again, the child’s hands flew with signs. “I do not care if Depur says I am Nothing. There are things Depur cannot have, can never have, beautiful and sweet and good things that are only for us. We were made by Ar-Amu to taste sweet and secret things, to laugh, to be loved, to be free. I name myself Ebra. I name you Ratti, my mother, if you will have me as your child.”
And Ratti laughed and wept and touched her forehead to Ebra’s. “I name myself Ratti, mother to Ebra, my sweet and secret child.”
Ebra drew the cauldron and the plants they had gathered from their bag, and they showed Ratti how to prepare the tzai. And they talked together about the woman, and the desert, and the dragon. And Ratti took what her child taught her and gave it to all the people, and each of them taught it to their children, and their children’s children, and their children’s children’s children. And on through the years tzai has been a secret that belongs only to the children of Ar-Amu, and Depur has never tasted something so sweet and good, though he envies it terribly. It is ours, passed from parent to child and loved one to loved one, binding our families together so that they can never truly be separated.
I tell you this story to save your life.