Story Summary:
Purrgils and a nursery rhyme from his youth have shaped Ezra Bridger's life in ways that even he is not aware of . . .
The Research Survey Mission (22 BBY)
After an agonizing hour being held up by Republic Security, he finally made it to the hangar bay where his escort was waiting. Dodging precariously between the space fighters, grimly masked clone pilots, and their long-suffering mechanics, he weaved his way through the active hangar with a desperate determination.
The war against the Separatists continued to stretch on with no end in sight, he knew. It surprised him that his scientific study had been approved by the Senate, considering all the funds being tied up in the war's progress. His sponsor, Senator Amidala, had taken an interest in the study of purrgil hyperspace travel routes for humanitarian reasons and had lobbied the Supreme Chancellor for this study to be funded.
Wheezing with the strain from sprinting - something not done since his Academy days - he finally skidded to a stop in front of the vessel assigned to the survey mission: an old, but functional looking G9 Rigger class freighter.
"I'm - my apologies for the wait," he gasped out between heaving breaths. It wouldn't make a good first impression if he vomited in front of his team here -
And speaking of his team . . .
Clutching at the stitch in his side, he peered at the two individuals selected to be his escort. First, the pilot: a young human woman about his age, with raven black hair and a feisty expression on her sun-browned face - a beautiful face, he observed, that looked better suited for a leading role in a holo-drama rather than a drab military flight uniform.
The pilot looked impatiently at the chrono on her wrist. "You're late," she remarked, sounding grumpy.
Still taken aback by her beauty, he took a full five seconds to compose himself. "Yes - I'm sorry about that," he replied. "All the new security; I wasn't expecting - "
The second individual on his team gave a sardonic chuckle. "First time on Coruscant?" asked the second person.
He nodded, looking the other team member up and down with a rising skepticism. He was a young boy with short brown hair, some of which was kept in a thin braid that trailed past his shoulders. A strong, serious face with piercing blue eyes - similar to his own - gave the impression that little escaped the boy's attention.
More importantly, he wore the traditional brown and white robes of a Jedi Knight. They fit him well, despite the boy's youth.
Smiling slightly, he asked, "And you must be . . . Master Depa Billaba?"
Amusement glinted in the youth's blue eyes, breaking through the stoic expression. He barked out a laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. She had other pressing matters to attend to. I was sent in her place."
"Ah, I see. Are you another Jedi Knight, then?"
The boy pouted. "Someday. Soon, I hope."
He stuck out his hand in greeting. "I am Master Billaba's padawan. My name is Caleb Dume."
Dume's grip was firm and steady; the skin on his palm was rough, callused from years of hard work and battle. Far rougher than I would expect any young person his age to be.
Inwardly, he felt a small pang of sadness for the young Jedi; a war was a brutal experience to go through, even for the adults who were prepared for such an event. He couldn't imagine the toll it was taking on the young.
Even if they were Jedi.
"My name is Ephraim Bridger, Jedi Dume. A pleasure to work with you."
The Jedi nodded in acknowledgement. Ephraim turned to the pilot -
"Lieutenant Mira," she answered bluntly before he could ask. Ephraim noticed the emphasis on her rank. "And I'd like to actually start flying now, if either of you don't mind."
She turned and stalked onto the freighter's lowered ramp, disappearing into the ship.
Ephraim blinked and turned to Dume. The young Jedi just shrugged. "Can't keep her waiting," he said politely. Both of them soon followed the pilot into the waiting vessel.
"Guess not," Ephraim muttered. "Oh, this is sure to be fun."
"I hope so," said Dume earnestly. "Could use a break from this war. So, what are we hunting?"
"We're not hunting, Master Jedi. We're searching for something. A creature long rumored to be nothing more than a myth, save for scattered reports from spacers over the Republic's long history."
Dume glanced at him curiously. "What would that be?"
Ephraim turned to him, grinning widely. "Ever heard of star whales, Caleb?"
The Star Whale (13 BBY)
"Alright, alright," laughed Ephraim. "Time for bed, young one."
His son, Ezra, was encased in a bear hug, scrambling to free himself. "Ah, come on, Dad. Five more minutes, please?"
Ephraim considered the offer - until he glanced over his shoulder to find his wife, Mira, giving him one of her patented glares. Her eyes - a lovely shade of violet that he always found himself admiring - pierced through him like a blaster bolt.
Deflating a bit, he whispered, "Not going to happen, buddy. The boss says no."
The child twisted in his hug until he could look over Ephraim's shoulder. Mira blew him a kiss.
With his typical accuracy, Ezra mimed to catch it and pressed the kiss to his heart. It was a time-honored ritual every evening, before bedtime.
"Okay, then," said his son. "How about a story instead?"
Ephraim laid his son gently onto the floor, feeling the aches in his lower back. "I would love that. Head up to your bedroom and choose one. I'll meet you there in a minute."
Before he finished his sentence, Ezra raced up the stairs in a flash. Ephraim snorted and turned to look at his wife. She was throwing a hooded cloak over her shoulders, obscuring her figure.
"I'm heading out now, love," she said to him, voice muffled through the thick cloth wrapped around her head.
He went to her and gave a kiss on the bridge of her nose, the only exposed skin available due to her outfit. They had been doing this for a while now . . . but the worry never faded from his mind.
Since the Empire had come to power, he and Mira had taken over an old communications tower to spread messages throughout the galaxy with other groups of people who were fighting against the growing tyranny of the Emperor and his cronies. It was dangerous work.
But someone had to do it. Someone had to light a candle in the long, vast night that had fallen across galactic civilization.
"Be careful," he said quietly. Mira smirked at him, in her typical impish way.
"I always am," she replied. "Sing me home, when it's time."
"Of course," said Ephraim. He watched her slip out the front door, biting his lip. In his mind's eye, he could see her dodging through shadowed alleyways, dashing across empty streets, finding their hidden speeder . . .
Come back safe, darling, he thought.
"Dad!" came his son's voice, interrupting his mood. "Are you coming up or what?"
Ephraim chuckled, feeling grateful for the distraction. "I'm heading up now," he replied.
_ _ _ _ _
"Star whales?" asked Ephraim. "You're sure?"
Ezra nodded. "I found some of your notes - "
Ephraim groaned. "You were snooping around in my office again?"
The boy flushed with embarrassment. He sighed deeply. Mira had noted it before he did; their son had a predicament for getting himself into trouble. Nothing serious as of yet, thank the Force.
But in these dark times, it could spell greater danger down the road.
Especially given his . . . talents.
"For the last time, there is no candy hidden in my desk. You ate all of it."
"Right. Sorry, Dad." The apology would have seemed sincere if not for the smug grin plastered on the boy's face.
He reached over and ruffled his son's hair with fond exasperation. Ezra giggled and waved his hands away.
Ephraim sat back in his chair thinking of all the stories about star whales he knew of. Finally, he said, "Do you know I saw a star whale once?"
His son's eyes went round as a moon. "Really?"
Smiling, he said, "Oh, yes. It was a scientific study. I actually met your mother on that mission. And there was a Jedi, also."
"A Jedi?" Ezra's mouth went agape. "Who were they?"
"A young human boy, actually. Not much older than you. His name was Caleb Dume." A gentle pang of melancholy went through him at the old memory resurfacing; he had not thought of the young Jedi in the long years since that mission.
He wondered if Dume had survived the purge.
Somehow, deep in his heart, he was sure that the boy had made it. Palpatine had been vicious in his extermination of the Jedi Order, but there was no way that all of them had been killed. Rumors continued to pop up from all over the galaxy . . .
He shook his head. Ezra was watching him, waiting for the next part of the story.
"Oh, yes. We spent a week in deep space, tracking down a pod of purrgils," he continued. Ephraim felt the old sense of wonder and awe grip him as he remembered the towering, majestic creatures. The pod had passed by their tiny freighter, flowing around them like river water.
Closing his eyes, he could envision the golden splotches on their skin mixing with the vivid purple - and those eyes. Those giant, glowing eyes. Being looked upon by the star whales felt like an almost religious experience with the calm, magnificent intelligence behind those eyes appraising the explorers' small forms.
"The sounds they made . . . oh, it was like they were singing," he explained. "It shouldn't be possible in deep space, but the purrgils somehow manage to do it. And they did it so beautifully."
"It sounded like music?" asked Ezra in a hushed tone. He nodded.
"Like little songs," confirmed Ephraim. "I believe it's how they speak to one another."
"Did they jump to hyperspace?"
Ephraim nodded in confirmation. "Their tentacles in the back stretched far, far out. I could see lines glowing on them, brighter and brighter and then - they were gone just like that." He snapped his fingers on the last word to illustrate his point.
"Wizard," whispered his son.
"Totally wizard," he agreed. He stroked his beard. "But then something odd happened."
Ezra sat up in his bed, gripping the covers tightly. "What?" he demanded. "What happened?"
Ephraim stroked his beard, drawing out the pause for dramatic effect. Watching his child squirm in anticipation was always a fascinating experience, which he secretly enjoyed.
Finally, he broke the pause and leaned forward. "One of them stayed behind," he said.
His son's expression turned puzzled. "Really? Why?"
"Ah, well, I have only a theory on that," Ephraim confessed. "But I feel that it is true. You see, purrgil pods are a community. They take care of each other, watch out for one another."
"Like you and Mom," Ezra pointed out. Ephraim smiled.
"Precisely. They are also the only creatures with the capability to emit noise in the deep vacuum of space via their songs. Space is large and vast and dark, Ezra. My theory is that even purrgils can get lost sometimes. So, one stays behind to sing them home."
"Even purrgils can get lost," Ezra repeated, sounding sad.
"All beings, large and small," said Ephraim, "need help sometimes."
He watched his son ponder that for a few moments. Then, Ezra said quietly, "You say that to Mom sometimes."
Ephraim frowned. "What do I say?"
"She asks you to 'sing her home' sometimes. Or you ask her. And then one of you leaves during the night."
He felt an icy fist enclose over his heart. It seemed that he and Mira's covert activities hadn't gone unnoticed by their son.
"We do say that," he confessed. "It's just a saying."
Ezra's face turned to him, with those piercing blue eyes that were an inheritance. "Do you think someday, someone will do that for me? If I get lost?"
Ephraim felt the icy fist close tighter. "Your Mom and I will do that for you."
"But what if . . . " The boy's voice trailed off, refusing to give voice to the fear that had arisen in him. But Ephraim knew what Ezra was going to ask.
It was the same question that he and Mira struggled with every night since their child had been born.
What if you and Mom aren't here anymore?
He reached forward and enclosed Ezra's hand in his own. So small, so soft, so warm - and so fragile.
"You will meet others," he said firmly, "who will love you just as we have. I promise it, Ezra."
His son just gazed at him. "You promise?"
"I do. You are so easy to love, my son. You will find someone who loves you like it's second nature to them - and if you ever get lost, they will sing you home."
The Rhyme (4 BBY)
He sat in the cockpit of the Phantom, gazing through the canopy at the field of stars. Whenever things on the Ghost got too quiet, he liked to sequester himself in there and just enjoy the mechanical ambience generated by the shuttle's machinery.
They're out there somewhere, he thought. The purrgils.
His encounter with the legendary creatures, still so recent, had left him in a curious state. Ezra couldn't shake the sensation that this was not the last he would see of them.
Unbidden, an old memory rose to the surface of his thoughts. His father, Ephraim, telling him stories of the star whales.
One stays behind to sing them home.
Ezra smiled faintly, despite the gentle sadness he felt rippling beneath the recollection. Not too long ago, he didn't want to think about his parents. Thoughts of them were a source of pain that he did not want to revisit, especially when he was just a street-rat scavenging on the streets of Capital City for survival.
But now, with his new family. he could remember his parents freely. The memories were no longer a burden; the pain hadn't lessened, but the others helped him to bear their loss a little better.
He reached into his pocket and took out the holo-recording that Sabine had found for him on his birthday a year ago. Pressing the button, the recording flared to life, showing a static image of his family - before the Empire had come to take it all away.
All beings, large and small, need help sometimes.
Ezra gazed softly at the holo-image, feeling the old pangs of loneliness. Despite his time spent on the Ghost, some nights he still felt . . . lost. Like he didn't belong.
"Even purrgils get lost sometimes," he muttered.
"Is that so?" came a familiar voice from behind. Twitching in surprise, Ezra stole a peek at the source.
It was Sabine. To his surprise, she wasn't wearing her standard Mandalorian armor; rather, she wore simple sleeping wear consisting of a plain shirt, shorts, and slippers.
She arched a curious eyebrow at him and gave a little wave. "Hey, goober," she said.
"Hey, Sabine," he replied. "What brings you here?"
Sabine shrugged. "Just checking up on you. You weren't in your room. Zeb's snores don't seem too horrendous tonight, so I was wondering why you weren't sleeping."
"Actually," he admitted, "Zeb's snores help me sleep. Guess I'm so used to them now as background noise. If he's not here, I can't sleep so easily."
She laughed. Ezra felt his ears flush red at the sound.
Play it cool, he thought firmly. Be cool.
She shuffled up to him and pointed at the co-pilot seat. "Mind if I join you?"
He gestured at the empty chair. "Be my guest."
"Thanks." She sat down, still scrutinizing him with a curious look. "So, what's this about purrgils? You still thinking about those gas pods?"
Ezra snorted. "They eat the gas, they're not - well, technically - okay, yes, I'm still thinking about them."
Sabine giggled. "I'm just messing with you, Ezra." Her face turned serious. "What does this have to do with your family?"
He blinked, suddenly remembering the holo-recording playing in the space between them. In a flash he turned it off, feeling self-conscious.
"I don't know," he replied. "I was just thinking about them for some reason."
Ezra turned to look out the Phantom's canopy again. "My dad used to tell me about the purrgils all the time when I was younger."
"Really?" asked Sabine. "What did he say?"
"That purrgils apparently mate for life. There's more myth than fact about them, but that one is true. Despite their fearsome appearance, they're also really gentle. They won't attack unless directly provoked."
Sabine sat back in her chair, absorbing this. "Wow. Surprising."
"How so?"
"Purrgils don't make any kind of evolutionary sense, goober. Far as we can tell, nothing hunts purrgils. They are at the top of their food chain. And yet . . . " She waved a hand at the stars in front of them.
"They just exist. Just travel from star to star and occasionally take a pit stop to munch on some gas," she finished.
"And to annoy spacers like Hera," Ezra added.
Sabine snorted. "True. They continue to do that, maybe Hera will become a predator to them."
That elicited laughter from Ezra. Sabine grinned at him.
When his laughter died down, Sabine asked, "What else did your dad know about the purrgils?"
Ezra thought about it, then said, "The pod doesn't jump together. Not for long distances. He saw it happen, in person: one of them stays behind."
"Why?"
He closed his eyes. "To sing them home, when it's time."
There was a silence from Sabine. Then, he heard her murmur, "Even purrgils get lost sometimes."
"Yup. You get it."
Ezra opened his eyes. "My parents used to say that to each other sometimes. 'Sing me home when it's time'. One time, I asked my dad what would happen if I got lost and they weren't around anymore."
Sabine was quiet.
"He said other people would find me someday and love me like they did. That if I got lost, they would sing me home, just like the purrgils do," Ezra said. His eyes glazed over with tears.
"Some days I feel lost," he confessed. "I'm grateful for you and everyone else here, but it's not the same as it was with my family. I miss them so much sometimes."
Ezra let out a little bitter laugh. "Sometimes, when I was younger and still on my own, I wished that the purrgils would come and take me. That I could be anywhere but stuck on Lothal without my parents. It didn’t matter where we went - they could take me to another galaxy, for all I care."
All the horrible, seething emotions whirled and twisted within him. Ezra closed his eyes again and took deep breaths, trying to enact Kanan's Jedi calming techniques -
Sabine hugged him. Ezra let out a small breath that he didn't realize was being held.
"I'm here, Ezra," she said. "I'm here for you."
He melted into the warm embrace, just allowing himself to feel the strength and surety of his friend's presence fill the deep, dark cracks that his emotions had opened in him.
"Thank you," he mumbled, his voice a little ragged.
After a long moment, she released. Looking into his eyes with an expression of utmost seriousness, she said, "Look, I'm not much of a singer but I'll do it for you."
Ezra stared at her. "What?"
"Better me than Zeb. Or Hera and definitely better than Kanan." She shuddered at the last name.
"What are you talking about, Sabine?"
She rolled her eyes. "The singing, goober! I'll sing you home if you get lost."
His mouth fell slightly open. "You . . . you will?"
"Yeah. Just don't expect opera level talent here. Give me something simple to sing."
Ezra felt his mouth widen into a grin. "I never really thought about it."
"Come on. You have to know some music, Ezra."
He thought hard for a few seconds. Then he remembered something from his past - an old nursery rhyme his parents used to sing, when he was much younger.
"You got something," said Sabine. "I saw it click in your head, judging by your expression."
He looked at his friend, his mood cautious. "Okay," he said, "repeat after me."
Ezra took a deep breath.
"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run . . ."
The Girl Who Was Broken (1 BBY)
It had been a week since Ezra disappeared.
In the distance, despite the fading light of early dusk, Sabine could still see the smoke rising from the rubble of Capital City. It would take years to rebuild to its former glory. Years that the inhabitants of Lothal would now have, thanks to her friend's courageous sacrifice.
Yes, she felt proud. That's what she kept telling herself and the others, too.
But deep down, a wound remained. An Ezra shaped hole that refused to be filled from all the celebration and praise and joy from everyone around her.
I let him go. He's gone.
She shook her head vigorously at this last thought. "He's not gone," she said aloud.
But her words were snatched away by the rising evening breeze. She sighed and leaned against the balcony railing, taking in her surroundings.
Ezra's comm-tower. His home before he came onto the Ghost.
She knew Zeb and Hera would soon be making plans to leave. The Rebellion needed their talents desperately elsewhere. The war with the Empire had tipped in their favor with Thrawn's defeat but it was far, far from over.
She understood why they had to leave - and why she was deciding to stay. Ezra had asked her to see this through, not them. Sabine acknowledged the logic behind the decision to split up the remaining Ghost crew.
That didn't stop it from hurting, however. She and Ezra had spent plenty of nights conversing about this very subject; what they would do, should the worst come to pass.
But every plan they had come up with included them sticking together. Never had it occurred to them to plan about what would happen if they were separated.
And now he was gone.
"He's not gone," she said through clenched teeth. "He's not!"
Her shout became another casualty of the wind, snatched away in a heartbeat.
He couldn't be. She would know if he was . . . no, she was sure of it. Ezra was still alive out there, somewhere.
The trail had gone cold just outside the Unknown Regions. Hera had taken the Ghost, with her and Zeb, picking up the trail of debris from Thrawn's fleet halfway across the galaxy.
They could go no further. Neither of them voiced the obvious fact aloud on the trip back to Lothal: that no one who went into the Unknown Regions returned to tell the tale.
Ezra's lost out there. He's a smart boy, she thought. He'll figure it out. There's got to be some Jedi navigation techniques he can use.
Until then, all she could do was wait . . . and watch over Lothal, as she promised.
A memory came to her, rushing through her mind like the evening's breeze.
One stays behind to sing them home.
It was a silly idea, she knew. A child's hope.
But she had promised.
Sabine turned her gaze upwards, looking up at the starry night sky of Lothal. Somewhere, in between those pinpricks of tiny, scattered light, was her best friend.
She imagined his face, letting the image of him fill her mind.
And then . . . Sabine began to sing, fighting against the rising wind on this Lothal evening:
"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run.
Pick a path and all is done.
Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run.
The night is falling, and the dark will come.
Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf flee.
Follow my voice and run home to me."
Her voice wavered at the last verse. When it was done, she hung her head for a moment, letting the tears fall freely.
Had the wind carried her voice away? Maybe, in her most foolish of hopes, it had carried her song to wherever Ezra was.
That he knew she was there. That someone was trying to bring him home.
Sabine slammed a fist on the railing. "That was so stupid," she whispered. "There's no way he heard that."
It was an idiotic idea that the singing would be heard by Ezra. She wasn't a purrgil.
But Sabine knew, deep down in her heart, that she would try anyway.
I will sing you home, Ezra Bridger. Every night, until you come back to me.
~ epilogue ~
The Lost Boy (11 ABY)
He sat on his haunches, exercising his Jedi patience. Before him, a field of plain, unblemished rocks; the gray skies of the strange world he had crash landed on so many years ago threatened a downpour soon. Ezra scratched idly at his beard, studying the rocks with interest.
Finally, he picked one. With a small smile, he picked up a pebble and chucked it at one of the oddly shaped rocks a few feet away on his right.
It bounced off the rock's exterior - and then the rock leapt into the air, revealing the small, crab-like creature that laid beneath it. Or, rather, was attached to it.
The Noti - as Ezra had come to know them as - used the rocks as defensive camouflage when the nomadic bandits came passing by. Since the planet they were on had so many of them, it became a habit of the bandits to just pass them by without much attention.
The little Noti scrambled in place for a few seconds and then froze at the sight of Ezra.
"Ezra Bridger," it said in a tiny little voice.
"Hello, friend," he replied pleasantly. "The village is looking for you. It's time to make camp."
The Noti, by Ezra's estimation, was still a child. The village elder had approached him earlier that morning, babbling like crazy. He still wasn't fluent with their language, but the gist of it was that they were looking for one of their younglings that had gone wandering off.
"Ezra Bridger," said the young Noti uncertainly.
He shook his head. "No, they're not angry with you. Just worried."
Thunder clapped nearby, the sound roiling over the barren wastes. The Noti immediately disappeared underneath it's rock shell again, afraid.
Ezra sighed, walked over to it, and knocked gently on the shell. "Hey, it's going to start pouring soon. We need to start heading back - "
A gust of wind rose with the incoming storm, and, for a frozen moment of time, he heard something.
A voice, singing. As if from far, far away.
A familiar voice. A familiar song . . .
Ezra went absolutely still, his heart hammering away inside his chest. He strained to listen over the rising gale -
There. There it is.
" . . . follow my voice and run home to me."
And then the voice was gone, carried away by the storm wind.
But he heard it. Oh, yes, he heard it.
Ezra smiled to himself.
"Not bad," he remarked. "You're a better singer than you think, Sabine."
He felt a tug on the hem of his robes. Looking down, he saw the Noti clutching a tiny fistful of the blood-red fabric.
"Ezra Bridger?" it asked.
Ezra knelt down and patted the little creature. "Don't be scared. Stay close to me, okay? We need to go now."
The Noti chirped back an answer in its own native language, sounding cheerful.
"Yeah," Ezra agreed. "It's time to go home."
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