by James Kahn
THE starry sky seemed very near the treetops to Luke as he and his friends were carried into the Ewok village. He wasn’t even aware it was a village at first—the tiny orange sparks of light in the distance he thought initially to be stars. This was particularly true when--dangling on his back, strapped to the pole as he was—the fiery bright points flickered directly above him, between the trees.
But then he found himself being hoisted up intricate stairways and hidden ramps around the immense trunks; and gradually, the higher they went, the bigger and cracklier the lights became. When the group was hundreds of feet up in the trees, Luke finally realized the lights were bonfires—among the treetops.
They were finally taken out onto a rickety wooden walkway, far too far off the ground to be able to see anything below them but the abysmal drop. For one bleak moment Luke was afraid they were simply going to be pitched over the brink to test their knowledge of forest lore. But the Ewoks had something else in mind.
The narrow platform ended midway between two trees. The first creature in line grabbed hold of a long vine and swung across to the far trunk—which Luke could see, by twisting his head around, had a large cavelike opening carved into its titanic surface. Vines were quickly tossed back and forth across the chasm, until soon a kind of lattice was constructed—and Luke found himself being pulled across it, on his back, still tied to the wooden poles. He looked down once, into nothingness. It was an unwelcome sensation.
On the other side they rested on a shaky, narrow platform until everyone was across. Then the diminutive monkey-bears dismantled the webbing of vines and proceeded into the tree with their captives. It was totally black inside, but Luke had the impression it was more of a tunnel through the wood than an actual cavern. The impression of dense, solid walls was everywhere, like a burrow in a mountain. When they emerged, fifty yards beyond, they were in the village square.
It was a series of wooden platforms, planks, and walkways connecting an extensive cluster of enormous trees. Supported by this scaffolding was a village of huts, constructed of an odd combination of stiffened leather, daub and wattle, thatched roofs, mud floors. Small campfires burned before many of the huts—the sparks were caught by an elaborate system of hanging vines, which funneled them to a smothering point. And everywhere, were hundreds of Ewoks.
Cooks, tanners, guards, grandfathers. Mother Ewoks gathered up squealing babies at the sight of the prisoners and scurried into their huts or pointed or murmured. Dinner smoke filled the air; children played games; minstrels played strange, resonant music on hollow logs, windy reeds.
There was vast blackness below, vaster still, above; but here in this tiny village suspended between the two, Luke felt warmth and light, and special peace.
The entourage of captors and captives stopped before the largest hut. Luke, Chewie, and Artoo were leaned, on their poles, against a nearby tree. Han was tied to a spit, and balanced above a pile of kindling that looked suspiciously like a barbecue pit. Dozens of Ewoks gathered around, chattering curiously in animated squeals.
Teebo emerged from the large structure. He was slightly bigger than most of the others, and undeniably fiercer. His fur was a pattern of light and dark gray stripes. Instead of the usual leathery hood, he wore a horned animal half-skull atop his head, which he’d further adorned with feathers. He carried a stone hatchet, and even for someone as small as an Ewok, he walked with a definite swagger.
He examined the group cursorily, then seemed to make some kind of pronouncement. At that, a member of the hunting party stepped forward—Paploo, the mantled Ewok who seemed to have taken a more protective view toward the prisoners.
Teebo conferred with Paploo for a short time. The discussion soon turned into a heated disagreement, however, with Paploo apparently taking the Rebels’ side, and Teebo seemingly dismissing whatever considerations arose. The rest of the tribe stood around watching the debate with great interest, occasionally shouting comments or squeaking excitedly.
Threepio, whose litter/throne had been set down in a place of honor near the stake to which Solo was tied, followed the ongoing argument with rapt fascination. He began to translate once or twice for Luke and the others—but stopped after only a few words, since the debaters were talking so fast, he didn’t want to lose the gist of what was being said. Consequently, he didn’t transmit any more information than the names of the Ewoks involved.
Han looked over at Luke with a dubious frown. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
Chewie growled his wholehearted agreement.
Suddenly Logray exited from the large hut, silencing everyone with his presence. Shorter than Teebo, he was nonetheless clearly the object of greater general respect. He, too, wore a half-skull on his head—some kind of great bird skull, a single feather tied to its crest. His fur was striped tan, though, and his face wise. He carried no weapon; only a pouch at his side, and a staff topped by the spine of a once-powerful enemy.
One by one, he carefully appraised the captives, smelling Han, testing the fabric of Luke’s clothing between his fingers. Teebo and Paploo babbled their opposing points of view at him, but he seemed supremely uninterested, so they soon stopped.
When Logray came to Chewbacca, he became fascinated, and poked at the Wookiee with his staff of bones. Chewie took exception to this, though: he growled dangerously at the tiny bear-man. Logray needed no further coaching and did a quick back-step—at the same time reaching into his pouch and sprinkling some herbs in Chewie’s direction.
“Careful, Chewie,” Han cautioned from across the square. “He must be the head honcho.”
“No,” Threepio corrected, “actually I believe he’s their Medicine Man.”
Luke was about to intervene, then decided to wait. It would be better if this serious little community came to its own conclusions about them, in its own way. The Ewoks seemed curiously grounded for a people so airborne.
Logray wandered over to examine Artoo Detoo, a most wondrous creature. He sniffed, tapped, and stroked the droid’s metal shell, then scrunched up his face in a look of consternation. After a few moments of thought, he ordered the small robot cut down.
The crowd murmured excitedly and backed off a few feet. Artoo’s vine binders were slashed by two knife-wielding guards, causing the droid to slide down his pole and crash unceremoniously to the ground.
The guards set him upright. Artoo was instantly furious. He zeroed in on Teebo as the source of his ignominy, and beeping a blue streak, began to chase the terrified Ewok in circles. The crowd roared—some cheering on Teebo, some squeaking encouragement to the deranged droid.
Finally Artoo got close enough to Teebo to zing him with an electric charge. The shocked Ewok jumped into the air, squealed raucously, and ran away as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. Wicket slipped surreptitiously into the big hut, as the onlookers screeched their indignation or delight.
Threepio was incensed. “Artoo, stop that! You’re only going to make matters worse.”
Artoo scooted over directly in front of the golden droid, and began beeping a vehement tirade. “Wreee op doo rhee vrrr gk gdk dk whoo dop dhop vree doo dweet...”
This outburst miffed Threepio substantially. With a haughty tilt he sat up straight in his throne. “That’s no way to speak to someone in my position.”
Luke was afraid the situation was well on its way to getting out of control. He called with the barest hint of impatience to his faithful droid. “Threepio, I think it’s time you spoke on our behalf.”
Threepio—rather ungraciously, actually—turned to the assemblage of fuzzy creatures and made a short speech, pointing from time to time to his friends tied to the stakes.
Logray became visibly upset by this. He waved his staff, stamped his feet, shrieked at the golden droid for a full minute. At the conclusion of his statement, he nodded to several attentive fellows, who nodded back and began filling the pit under Han with firewood.
“Well, what did he say?” Han shouted
with some concern.
Threepio wilted with chagrin. “I’m rather embarrassed, Captain Solo, but it appears you are to be the main course at a banquet in my honor. He is quite offended that I should suggest otherwise.”
Before another word could be said, log-drums began beating in ominous syncopation. As one, all the furry heads turned toward the mouth of the large hut. Out of it came Wicket; and behind him, Chief Chirpa.
Chirpa was gray of fur, strong of will. On his head he bore a garland woven of leaves, teeth, and the horns of great animals he’d bested in the hunt. In his right hand he carried a staff fashioned from the longbone of a flying reptile, in his left he held an iguana, who was his pet and advisor.
He surveyed the scene in the square at a glance, then turned to wait for the guest who was only now emerging from the large hut behind him.
The guest was the beautiful young Princess of Alderaan.
“Leia!” Luke and Han shouted together.
“Rahrhah!”
“Boo dEEdwee!”
“Your Highness!”
With a gasp she rushed toward her friends, but a phalanx of Ewoks blocked her way with spears. She turned to Chief Chirpa, then to her robot interpreter.
“Threepio, tell them these are my friends. They must be set free.”
Threepio looked at Chirpa and Logray. “Eep sqee rheeow,” he said with much civility. “Sqeeow roah meep meeb eerah.”
Chirpa and Logray shook their heads with a motion that was unequivocably negative. Logray chattered an order at his helpers, who resumed vigorously piling wood under Solo.
Han exchanged helpless looks with Leia. “Somehow I have a feeling that didn’t do us much good.”
“Luke, what can we do?” Leia urged. She hadn’t expected this at all. She’d expected a guide back to her ship, or at worst a short supper and lodging for the night. She definitely didn’t understand these creatures. “Luke?” she questioned.
Han was about to offer a suggestion when he paused, briefly taken aback by Leia’s sudden intense faith in Luke. It was something he hadn’t really noted before; he merely noted it now.
Before he could speak up with his plan, though, Luke chimed in.
“Threepio, tell them if they don’t do as you wish, you’ll become angry and use your magic.”
“But Master Luke, what magic?” the droid protested. “I couldn’t—”
“Tell them!” Luke ordered, uncharacteristically raising his voice. There were times when Threepio could test even the patience of a Jedi.
The interpreter-droid turned to the large audience, and spoke with great dignity. “Eemeeblee screesh oahr aish sh sheestee meep eepeep.”
The Ewoks seemed greatly disturbed by this proclamation. They all backed up several steps, except for Logray, who took two steps forward. He shouted something at Threepio—something that sounded very in the nature of a challenge.
Luke closed his eyes with absolute concentration. Threepio began rattling on in a terribly unsettled manner, as if he’d been caught falsifying his own program. “They don’t believe me, Master Luke, just as I told you...”
Luke wasn’t listening to the droid, though; he was visualizing him. Seeing him sitting shiny and golden on his throne of twigs, nodding this way and that, prattling on about the most inconsequential of matters, sitting there in the black void of Luke’s consciousness... and slowly beginning to rise.
Slowly, Threepio began to rise.
At first, he didn’t notice; at first, nobody did. Threepio just went right on talking, as his entire litter steadily elevated off the ground. “... told you, I told you, I told you they wouldn’t. I don’t know why you—wha—wait a minute... what’s happening here?...”
Threepio and the Ewoks all realized what was happening at just about the same moment. The Ewoks silently fell back in terror from the floating throne. Threepio now began to spin, as if he were on a revolving stool. Graceful, majestic spinning.
“Help,” he whispered. “Artoo, help me.”
Chief Chirpa shouted orders to his cowering minions. Quickly they ran forward and released the bound prisoners. Leia, Han, and Luke enfolded each other in a long, powerful embrace. It seemed, to all of them, a strange setting in which to gain the first victory of this campaign against the Empire.
Luke was aware of a plaintive beeping behind him, and turned to see Artoo staring up at a still-spinning Threepio. Luke lowered the golden droid slowly to the ground.
“Thanks, Threepio,” the young Jedi patted him gratefully on the shoulder.
Threepio, still a bit shaken, stood with a wobbly, amazed smile. “Why—why—I didn’t know I had it in me.”
The hut of Chief Chirpa was large, by Ewok standards—though Chewbacca, sitting cross-legged, nearly scraped the ceiling with his head. The Wookiee hunched along one side of the dwelling with his Rebel comrades, while the Chief and ten Elders sat on the other side facing them. In the center, between the two groups, a small fire warmed the night air, casting ephemeral shadows on the earthen walls.
Outside, the entire village awaited the decisions this council would arrive at. It was a pensive, clear night, charged with high moment. Though it was quite late, not an Ewok slept.
Inside, Threepio was speaking. Positive and negative feedback loops had already substantially increased his fluency in this squeaky language; he was now in the midst of an animated history of the Galactic Civil War—replete with pantomime, elocution, explosive sound effects, and editorial commentary. He even mimicked an Imperial Walker at one point.
The Ewok Elders listened carefully, occasionally murmuring comments to each other. It was a fascinating story, and they were thoroughly absorbed—at times, horrified; at times, outraged. Logray conferred with Chief Chirpa once or twice, and several times asked Threepio questions, to which the golden droid responded quite movingly—once Artoo even whistled, probably for emphasis.
In the end, though, after a rather brief discussion among the Elders, the Chief shook his head negatively, with an expression of rueful dissatisfaction. He spoke finally to Threepio, and Threepio interpreted for his friends.
“Chief Chirpa says it’s a very moving story,” the droid explained. “But it really has nothing to do with Ewoks.”
A deep and pressing silence filled the small chamber. Only the fire softly crackled its bright but darkling soliloquy.
It was finally Solo—of all people—who opened his mouth to speak for the group. For the Alliance.
“Tell them this, Goldenrod—” he smiled at the droid, with conscious affection for the first time. “Tell them it’s hard to translate a rebellion, so maybe a translator shouldn’t tell the story. So I’ll tell ’em.”
“They shouldn’t help us ’cause we’re asking ’em to. They shouldn’t even help us ’cause it’s in their own interest to—even though it is, you know—just for one example, the Empire’s tappin’ a lot of energy out of this moon to generate its deflector shield, and that’s a lot of energy you guys are gonna be without come winter, and I mean you’re gonna be hurtin’... but never mind that. Tell ’em, Threepio.”
Threepio told them. Han went on.
“But that’s not why they should help us. That’s why I used to do stuff, because it was in my interest. But not anymore. Well, not so much, anyway. Mostly I do things for my friends, now—’cause what else is so important? Money? Power? Jabba had that, and you know what happened to him. Okay, okay, the point is—your friends are... your friends. You know?”
This was one of the most inarticulate pleas Leia had ever heard, but it made her eyes fill with tears. The Ewoks, on the other hand, remained silent, impassive. Teebo and the stoic little fellow named Paploo traded a few muttered words; the rest were motionless, their expressions unreadable.
After another protracted pause, Luke cleared his throat. “I realize this concept may be abstract—may be difficult to draw these connections,” he started slowly, “but it’s terribly important for the entire galaxy, for our Rebel fo
rce to destroy the Imperial presence here on Endor. Look up, there, through the smoke hole in the roof. Just through that tiny hole, you can count a hundred stars. In the whole sky there are millions, and billions more you can’t even see. And they all have planets, and moons, and happy people just like you. And the Empire is destroying all that. You can... you could get dizzy just lying on your back and staring up at all the starshine. You could almost... explode, it’s so beautiful sometimes. And you’re part of the beauty, it’s all part of the same Force. And the Empire is trying to turn out the lights.”
It took a while for Threepio to finish translating this—he wanted to get all the words just right. When he did eventually stop talking, there was an extensive squeaking among the Elders, rising and falling in volume, ceasing and then resuming again.
Leia knew what Luke was trying to say, but she feared greatly that the Ewoks wouldn’t see the connection. It was connected intimately, though, if she could only bridge the gap for them. She thought of her experience in the forest earlier—her sense of oneness with the trees, whose outstretched limbs seemed to touch the very stars; the stars, whose light filtered down like cascading magic. She felt the power of the magic within her, and it resonated around the hut, from being to being, flowing through her again, making her stronger, still; until she felt one with these Ewoks, nearly—felt as if she understood them, knew them; conspired with them, in the primary sense of the word: they breathed together.
The debate wound down, leaving finally another quiet moment in the hut. Leia’s respirations quieted, too, in resonance; and with an air of confident serenity, she made her appeal to the council.
“Do it because of the trees,” she said.
That’s all she said. Everyone expected more, but there was no more; only this short, oblique outburst.
Wicket had been observing these proceedings with increasing concern, from the sidelines. On several occasions it was apparent he was restraining himself with great difficulty from entering the council’s discourse—but now he jumped to his feet, paced the width of the hut several times, finally faced the Elders, and began his own impassioned speech.
