005. AID AND ABET

( —To assist someone, usually in a mischievous or illegal activity. )

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"They're quite adorable."

"They say their thanks," the amused farmer translated for her from Jawaese. 

In these few days, Myra had seemed like a solemn person to the Mandalorian. Focused on keeping her distance, teasing and obviously, too seductive for her own good. Only now, he was seeing her laughing, golden eyes wide and glistening and the sound that he could trace back from a mile away. It was soft, friendly and hysterical if he thought about it.

He wondered how she kept changing her clothes without having nothing on her. On that morning, she adorned a close-fitting, satin gold dress that had two long slits that went up the sides to allow movement. Her dark hair that was usually left to cascade down her back was pulled to a slack braid behind her back and the exposing apparel showing off the array of tattoos that encompassed down her back and front. 

He blamed the Ichor or whatever the hell she followed, for the attraction that she amassed. If he was ever feeling anything, it was because of bewitching and sorcery. 

"They, they... belong... to me!" Mando tried to speak their language when they spoke a negotiation for his parts but struggling in the bending tongue. The clutter of Jawa that surrounded him began to laugh, a high and cold cackle that pierced his ears.

"You speak terrible Jawa," they continued to cackle in their mother tongue as one spoke for the rest. "You sound like a Wookie."

"You understand this?" He bit out when they teased him, using the flamethrowers on his right vambrace to spit fire out at one of them. Myra gasped in horror, springing forward to tug back his arm to cease his motions.

"They're just petty creatures," she whispered at him through her teeth. He released his fists when he heard her words. "Have a little respect."

The Jawa spoke to the Ugnaught farmer with their eyes trained on her, clapping together in delight. He breathed out loud, turning to the Mandalorian who clicked on the flamethrower again. She sensed the displeasure roll off him in fuming waves, heightening the curiosity in her.

"What?" She asked the farmer. "What did they say?"

"They want you or the child," he translated for her. "In trade for the parts."

She laughed again, shaking her head at their favourable trade offer. "Well, I can escape after. That's no big deal."

"I'm not taking any chances, especially with you," he specified to her. 

"Oh, have you grown to honour me, Mandalorian?" She teased him lightly, nudging her elbow into his side. He let out a defeated sigh.

"Okay, you know what," he looked to the farmer seriously, "they can take her for all I care. Die with them, too. What's one less bounty going to do to me anyway?"

Myra pouted, slouching into herself. She understood that it was a harmless threat sent her way to secretly ask her to shut up. She read his fledgeling thoughts, bordering on murderous when they spoke about wanting her. A small smile rose on her lips.

"Simmer down, Mando," the farmer advised calmly. "We're not nearly exhausted of options."

The Jawas during their time of conversation had huddled together to take a relevant decision. She searched their minds for what they were referring to; an egg of a mudhorn. Or whatever that thing was. It lived in a lair not too far from here and the egg was something savoury for the Jawas. She let out a creeping chuckle, smothering it with her hands when they placed forward their arrangement. 

"The egg? What egg?" 

The Mandalorian turned to the witch and the farmer who already seem to know. The farmer looked ashamed of what the wanted, palming his temple with a tough breath.

"You're in for a longspun voyage, Mandalorian."

"Why me?" The Mandalorian sighed to himself for the nth time and Myra couldn't help but laugh at his misery. 

"Aid and abet," she muttered innocently. "If you want me to—I could make it ten times easier."

"I can do this."

She pouted. "But, I can—"

"I said I can do this," he stood on his feet. It didn't take a genius to know he was directing a conceited glare at the still laughing witch. Only, her laugh was stirring a part of him: slowly, delicately, strangely.

"By myself."

∞

Myra raised her hand to the sky to shield her eyes from the heat of the midday sun. The gold bracelet that embellished her wrist glimmered in the light, her skin glowing like metal. She never realized how beautiful gold reflected in the natural daylight, smiling as the light danced off the element. 

One of the Jawa had tugged on the hem of the dress, catching her attention. She turned, kneeling in front of them with a widespread smile. They spoke Jawaese but she could understand them through just their minds. 

"They bring you a gift," the farmer graciously translated for her, smiling lightly. 

"Oh," she laughed in astonishment, "for me?"

One passed to the other from behind and Myra tried to catch a glimpse of what they were to give. When it reached the front and to the frontmost Jawa, he gave it to her with a generous pat.

In her hands laid a silver, steely wristlet curving at the edges and a thin, complex pattern progressing through the equator of the ornament. She looked at them with a grin, sliding it onto her wrist.

"I've never gotten a gift," she told them gratefully. "Thank you."

They spoke back after the farmer translated for them. "They say that a woman like you deserves more Beskar steel than the rude Mandalorian."

Myra was shocked to see that it was Beskar steel, ignoring their statement on Mando. She stared at the farmer, wide-eyed. "This is—is this—?"

"I think they like you a little too much," he shared with her, placing a hand over her shoulder. She flinched and he retreated back with a string of slow apologies. "Sorry. I momentarily forgot about—"

"It's nothing," she smiled tightly at him. 

He looked back to the Jawas, embarrassed. Myra bit on her lip, thinking of how she could return the favour. She lit up when it struck her. 

"Perhaps, I should do something about it."

She felt like she had to return their charitable gesture. Quickly, she shifted to the train of her gold dress and tore a small piece of the material onto her hands. Readying herself, she pushed hair behind ears and held it out for them to watch.

Her eyes draped shut, letting the spirit of Ichor flow to her hands. She pleaded the waters to return the kindness they had done for her; it seemed like they were celebrating and when her lid fluttered open an intricately twisted, gold-metal blade laid waiting. It was as long as their tiny arm, weighing a lot more than them and taking two to carry it. They let out chortles and hoots of astonishment at the gift.

They held her arm, shaking it fervently and she laughed under her breath, nodding at them. "Thank you. Please, just returning the kindness."

"Mando!"

Myra spun on her heels when the farmer proclaimed the return of the Mandalorian. She bit back loud, raucous laughter when she saw the state of his armour on his arrival. The white pod that held the child followed after him, her brows crinkling when she spotted it tucked into the blankets and fast asleep.

He was soiled from head to toe in grime, stinking strangely of a wild animal. His chest-plate flopped askance with dents and the layer of hardened mud peeling to the ground with his every step. 

"I have it," the Mandalorian announced, a furry oval-shaped globe tucked into his side. "I have the egg."

That was the egg, Myra realized. It was large, matted with tufts of dark fuzz and passed to the Jawas. They were rejoicing, chanting about the egg in their language and running for the Mandalorian. Upon retrieving the egg, they cracked it open and feasted on the yolk with celebratory cackles. 

Her eyes scanned the hunter for any sign of injuries, detecting a few bruises that lay as welts under his armour pads. She walked over to him, tilting her head and her mind reciting a healing enchantment in the process of it. The Mandalorian, sensing the faraway look in her eyes and strange ebbing of blood around the bruises, knew what she was doing. 

"How was that adventure?"

"Terrifying," he answered simply and looked to the silver bracelet that he didn't see before he was gone. "That's not yours."

"It's a gift from the Jawas," she smiled at him. "Apparently, it's Beskar steel."

"I figured," he said honestly. She heard him estimate a thousand things to say in his head, some condescending and some too sugary. When he arrived at a judgment, he stated, "It suits you."

"I wear it better than you, don't I?" She teased heartfully.

"Overstatement."

"You didn't deny it either," she tucked her tongue in cheek. He walked past her without an answer and she knew, under the helmet, he was withholding a large smile. 

"Wait up, I want to ask you something," Myra quickened her pace to fall in line with the Mandalorian, her eyes set on his face. Despite the mask, her grin seemed to worm in and perform contagious actions. 

"What?" He asked when he slowed down so she could catch up to him. She had remained quiet, trying to match their gaits with a smile. "You wanted to ask me something?"

"Nothing," she shook her head. 

He wanted to groan out loud but smothered it down between tight lips. Just as they fell into a comfortable silence, he felt something move as he walked, just under his back braces. He finally remembered. 

"Here, I found this on the way," he mumbled, finding the itch and produce a measly stalk of suffocated, yellow wildflowers, the colour that you would weave dreams from. The Mandalorian thrust it into her expecting hands, cupped forward with an anticipant grin, more sharply than compassion allowed. As if to dispose of it with no definite meanings. Just a thought. 

"Wow," her lips rounded like a child's, poking the petals, "what are they?"

"Desert plumes," he answered curtly. 

"They're gorgeous," she gushed, uncaring of his slicing tone, plucking the flowers off the stalk. "Look here."

And, he did. All her teeth were showing as she slowly pinned it beside the intricate braids behind her ear. Now, there were at least five petite flowers pinned down a side of her copper-coloured hair, snatched away of the beauty because of the witch who wore it.  

"I love them," she laughed, running a finger down the petals. "Thank you so much. This is better than Beskar steel."

"It's nothing," he bit out through clenched teeth, sweltering with embarrassment under his helmet. A dribble of sweat fell down his eyebrow when he blinked. "Just looked nice."

"And now on me," she grinned. 

One way to put it. Better on you, he thought.

∞

Once again, darkness overlapped the blanket of light over the border. This time, Myra made sure she had a front-row seat to watch the gradual sinking of the sun, folding her legs underneath her. The winds were gratefully fresh, playing with her parched skin and brought on the scent of a feverish fire. A sky of fire, she termed it as it was the reflection of a promised dawn after the velveteen night that would follow. It was complete when the mauve of the evening sky deepened, and in the next few moments, the largest quasar had set and presented space for a million others. 

She heard someone approach, from the racket of the hodge-podge thoughts that intensified, it was the Mandalorian. In his hand was a tawny, rounded fruit whose scent she had caught from metres away.

"Guessed you needed something in your system," he told as he seated himself next to her on the wide, flat rock that overlooked the massive ravines. She took the sweet-smelling fruit from his hands, looking at it weirdly.

"What?" He asked and suggested himself before she opened her mouth to answer his question. "Do witches not eat?"

She laughed through her nose. "I've never had to. Ichor's energy is enough."

"That is the craziest stuff I've ever heard."

She bit into it anyway, the flesh sweeter than anything she had ever savoured. A small moan left her when the luscious taste danced on her tastebuds and bit into it again to take a larger bite. It was fibrous, soft and had a large stone in the middle. 

"Please don't tell me that's the first time you've eaten anything."

She pulled on a sad smile. "It's true."

"You have got to be kidding me," he asserted evidently, looking at her in what she didn't need to read his mind to realize as scepticism. "Who raised you on Iego, savages?"

"No one raised me," she shot him a dry look. "I was trained to follow the path I now tread on since I was born. The females at the Cathedral on Iego took care of me until I was ready. I basically, raised myself."

The Mandalorian was still curious. "But your father—"

"He," she let out a breath, "he never bothered. He had a kingdom to protect and a rebellion to fight off. He was hell-bent on keeping me a secret because of my birth and turned me over to my mentor."

"Your... birth." He made it sound like a dirty word. 

"I was a female born to an Iegoan king. Iego has never endured the reign of a woman before. People thought it would jeopardise the realm. My father deemed radical alteration a path to his overthrowing. So," her voice quietened, "he cast me out."

"Why did you want to leave?" He asked, his voice the softest she had ever heard. She looked at him this time, her face reflecting back on the black of his visor. She wore a discernible smile, blinking back at the now darkened horizon with a squint.

"Once you reach the summit in your training, you're allowed to leave," she nodded. "And so, I did."

"Why through the Bounty Hunter's Guild?"

She winked at him cheekily. "To meet you, of course."

He shook his head. "Be serious."

"For the thrill of it," she grinned, being truly honest with him. "I wanted to run away and piss the king off. I'm guessing I did."

"You definitely did."

She laughed and waved to the million stars that laid married to the many moons above. "And it was worth it."

He leaned behind, letting his hand support his body. "So you finally saw the light and ate for the first time, nearly got yourself killed—what's next?"

She shrugged at him, confused. "I could always practice Sight. I'm thinking I don't want to this time. I want to be surprised."

"I would if I were you," he taunted in a light-hearted voice. He looked at the ocean of newborn darkness beyond. "It's a crazy galaxy out there."

"I'm sure if I learn to navigate a ship..." she drawled.

"Takes practice." He wavered for a moment. "Takes more than one pilot."

She looked at him. "You do it alone."

"Because I've been doing it my entire life."

"I see. But I do not want to know my Fates," she refused, thinking about the future. "After you turn me in, I want to live without boundaries. Like you," she nudged her arm into his. "Live somewhere with so much light."

He was silent for only a moment; contemplative. Forward. A little more brazen after the conversation.  

"Alone?"

"Unless you want to come along?" She brimmed with a tease, leaning so close that her warm breaths had started to sneak under the cowl around his neck. 

"I was—I just—" He stuttered with a short clearing of his throat and she burst out laughing, pulling back to wave her hands away as a mere joke. A beat passed before she answered seriously. 

"I don't know," she pursed her lips, happy to provide him with an answer. Her fingers unknowingly traced the moon glyph on her wrist. "It would be nice to find someone. But, a wise witch never seeks out company."

"Do you," she heard him swallow, "do you want me to turn you in?"

She was confused now. "What?"

"I mean, I could just let you go on Nevarro without passing you over to a sponsor," he informed her, his voice steady and sure. "It's your call. I would have nothing to lose—maybe a few credits."

She looked at him with an honest smile, reading the sincerity in his mind. "You'd do that?"

He breathed out, "It is possible."

"I—I don't know if I want to be alone now," she muttered under her breath, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was frustrated with the future, the options and moreover, the choices she would have to make. "I don't know anything about anything. I'd be lost."

"I could..."

Myra snapped her head to him with a tiny smirk breaking out on her lips. "You could what?"

"Stop it with the jibes," he pointed a finger at her in a threat. 

"Even if your words deceive you, Mandalorian, your mind does not."

"My mind is—my—my what?"

Oh god, she regretted it the moment it left her lips. Blinking out of her trance, she shuffled backwards on hand and foot, soon sauntering away. She started to speed-walk, rubbing on her temples and inwardly hating her stupid, big mouth. 

"Wait a minute," the Mandalorian caught up to her, seizing her elbow in a death grip. Upon the contact, her instincts fled to protect her and she slapped his hand away, twisting on it painfully. The Mandalorian being more trained than her soon had trapped both of her arms, turning her around and thrusting her wrists into the small of her back. 

"I said don't touch me," she hissed at him, trying to use her confined hands to conjure a spell which went in vain.

"You can read my mind."

"Let me go—!"

"You proved your worth now, haven't you, you manipulative witch?" His voice was tinged with violence, as if someone had a crossed a line with his patience. 

"I didn't want to scare you off," she tried to explain, her voice downed to a whisper. He was right, her mind whispered at her. She had no rights to look into his head without consent. Consent. Where did the double standards come from? 

"Well, you didn't," he spat. "You only pissed me off. And to think I could actually trust you."

"I'm sorry," she attempted to say. "I didn't think it would matter—"

He scoffed his tone nothing but venomous. "Of course. Snoop, seduce and surmount—that's what witches do, isn't it?"

And that was the last straw. A splinter in her heart.  A slap to her face. It was the striking blow that broke Myra, the truth she had managed to convince herself was a lie. The truth was, Myra was born a temptress and no matter how much she tried, people were going to appraise her for the path she followed. There was no changing it—a partner was just not for her if she was aimed at being alone all her life. 

Her inexistent heart contracted on its watch as if not sure to go on beating. 

It had come to her like a sea of unknowable abysses, swift currents of painful honesty and prowling beasts of doubt. Her knees met the ground after she yanked herself away from his death grip, her arms going around herself to protect her from any other lurking touches. She was disgusted in herself, looking at her hands which had wielded the same magic that disappointed her. What was worse, she couldn't even cry. 

"You come near me again, I'll shoot you dead myself," he said through his teeth. It ached with vicious intensity—it stabbed her right at her dignity. Or what was left of it anyway.

"Mandalorian, please," she managed to choke out, a soft whisper but he was far too gone to hear it. Not another look spared for her words. She did not mean it—somehow with him, she couldn't hold back.

Myra looked behind her shoulder, seeing the farmer work on the wrecked starship and the Mandalorian nowhere in sight. The pod with the child was gone too, which seemed to follow him everywhere he went. 

She couldn't stay anymore. 

Standing on her feet, she swiped the fallen sleeves of her dress up her shoulders and let the Ichor flow through her again. Something burned on her back when she did, biting down a cry of pain and conjuring the teleportation spell anyway. 

She thought of anywhere but this planet, drawing all the power in her to teleport through entire light-years itself. The spirits were stronger than ever, ebbing and flowing out of her as she concentrated the hardest she could. Almost until a loud grunt of effort left her lips and in a moment, she vanished. 

Without a promise of return.

∞

"Mando!"

Din Djarin looked from the crushed, broken tracking fob to the worried eyes of the farmer. The fob was of no use now, he had the witch anyway and the weight on his shoulder as with every other bounty. 

His face held a gnarly grimace underneath under his helmet as he crushed it beneath his feet, nodding at the Ugnaught. "What is it?"

"Myra," he asked, adding to his misery. "Have you seen her?"

"She's probably inside the ship," he said plainly.

"No, I've searched everywhere," he refused with a shake of his head. "None of my blurrgs are missing either."

Something heavy settled in his stomach as he looked to the cradle where the child slept soundly. His paces were fast, one after the other—anxious and bearing guilt. His words were a little far-fetched, but was he lying?

"She couldn't have left," he muttered to himself. "She couldn't have."

Oh, how he wished he was right. The terrain was empty, the ochroid dust that usually followed her on the wake of her footsteps were all that was left behind. No footsteps lead out to anywhere in the territory—teleportation. 

"What happened, Mando?"

He swallowed hard, looking at the questioning farmer. 

"She stayed on her own will," he added. "With powers like Myra's, she could have easily escaped, but she chose to stay all this time. Something must've upset her."

"I... I didn't think it would hurt her."

"Or so I heard differently," the farmer said monotonously, neither this nor that. "A witch's attraction increases by her endowment. As in the more powerful she gets, the more her alluring she becomes. It's just the way of the Ichor."

His hands fisted together, nothing more that brought desolation to his soul than his strange bounty disappearing in moments.

"So the moon glyph was wrong," the man said to himself, confusing the Mandalorian. He walked off with a disappointed shake of his head.

"Maybe a witch is meant to be alone perpetually."

X X X 

{ I got bad, bad, bad kind of butterflies, like when you got something to hide - ehehehehehe I meant every word in this chapter and this only the beginning *strokes beard in evil thought* }