“Twenty-First Battle of Zehava?” Obi-Wan whispered to Qui-Gon.
“The city has changed hands many times over the years,” Qui-Gon remarked. “Look at his blaster. It’s an old model. I’d say fifty years or more.”
“I look forward to glorious total victory,” the ghostly figure continued. “And yet there is a chance that in achieving that victory I will die. I accept my death willingly, as does my wife Pinani, who fights by my side. But for my children …” The booming voice faltered for only a moment. “… My children, Renei and Wunana, I leave the memory of the ancestors I have shared with them, the stories of our long persecution by the Daan. I saw my father killed, and I will avenge his death. I saw my village starved, and I will avenge my neighbors. Remember me, my children. And remember what I have suffered at the hands of the Daan. If I die, pick up my weapon and avenge me as I have avenged my family.” Abruptly, the hologram disappeared.
“I guess he didn’t make it,” Obi-Wan said. He crouched down to a stone marker. “He died in that battle.”
Qui-Gon moved past the marker and came to the next. A large golden ball was mounted on a column next to it. He placed his hand on it.
Immediately, another hologram rose from its marker like a ghost.
“I must have triggered the first one when I stumbled,” Obi-Wan said.
The second hologram was a woman. Her tunic was torn and stained, her hair clipped short. She carried a force pike and had one blaster strapped to a hip, another to a thigh.
“I am Pinani, widow of Quintama, daughter of the great heroes Bicha and Tiraca. Tonight we march on the town of Bin to avenge the Battle of Zehava. Our supplies have been depleted. Our weapons are low. Most of us died in the glorious battle to retake our beloved city of Zehava from the ruthless Daan. There is no chance that our battle will succeed, yet we will fight for justice and vengeance against the enemy who persecutes us. My husband died before my eyes. My father and mother died when the Daan marched into our village and rounded them up and killed them. And so I say to you, my children, Renei and Wunana, do not forget us. Fight on. Avenge this great terrible wrong. I will die bravely. I die for you.”
The hologram blinked out. Obi-Wan crossed to the next marker. “Renei and Wunana both died only three years later in the Twenty-Second Battle of Zehava,” he said. “They were barely older than me.”
He turned and met Qui-Gon’s eyes. “What kind of place is this?” he asked.
“A mausoleum,” Qui-Gon said. “A place for the dead to rest. But here on Melida/Daan, the memories stay alive. Look.” Qui-Gon pointed to the offerings that they now saw heaped on pedestals in front of the columns. The flowers were fresh, the trays of seeds and cups of water replenished.
They walked down the aisles, past row after row of graves, activating hologram after hologram. The vast, echoing space filled with the voices of the dead. They saw generations tell their stories of blood and vengeance. They heard tales of whole villages starved and then slaughtered, children torn from their mother’s arms, mass executions, forced marches that ended in suffering and more death.
“The Daan sound like a bloodthirsty people,” Obi-Wan remarked. The accounts of suffering and agony had moved through him like growing pain from a deep wound.
“We’re in a Melida mausoleum,” Qui-Gon replied. “I wonder what the Daan have to say.”
“There are so many dead,” Obi-Wan observed. “But there’s no clear reason why they fight. Battle follows battle, each one conducted to avenge the one before. What is the real dispute?”
“Perhaps they have forgotten it,” Qui-Gon said. “The hatred is bred in their bones. Now they fight over meters of territory, or to avenge a wrong that happened a hundred years before.”
Obi-Wan shivered. The damp, cold air had invaded his body. He felt cut away from the rest of the galaxy. His world had funneled down into this black, shadowy space full of blood, revenge, and death. “Our mission here hasn’t even begun, and already I have seen enough suffering to last a lifetime.”
Qui-Gon’s gaze was sad. “There are some worlds that manage to hold onto peace for centuries, Padawan. But I am afraid that many have seen terrible wars that scar the memories of each generation. It has always been.”
“Well, I’ve seen enough for now,” Obi-Wan said. “Let’s find the way out.”
They walked quickly now, hurrying past the markers, searching for an exit. At last they saw a square of brightness ahead. It was a door fashioned from a translucent material that emitted a white glow.