And it had all gone so wrong.
Now he was back in the place where his carefully ordered life had begun to unspool. Not the exact location, of course. The Lars family lived in the middle of nowhere, and it was a part of Tatooine where Obi-Wan had never gone until he had brought Luke to them. But it was the planet where his whole existence had been forever altered.
He’d gone to Shmi Skywalker’s grave to apologize for losing her son. He had never met her, knew her only from Anakin’s stories, but Qui-Gon had made her a promise and Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to keep it. As he stood there, looking at the stone, he felt an even deeper shame. Qui-Gon had left her there a slave, and Obi-Wan had done everything in his power to prevent Anakin’s return. It was only the love of a good man, here on Tatooine, that had saved her — the kind of love the Jedi were supposed to eschew. Yet it had done something the Jedi could not.
But that was the past. What he did now, he did for an uncertain future and for hope. He had trusted in the light side of the Force for his entire life. There was no call for him to stop now. He found the center of his meditation, the quiet place where there was no emotion, no resistance, no worldly bonds. He rooted his feet in that place and reached again.
Still nothing.
Obi-Wan shook himself out of the trance, more annoyed with his failure than disappointed, and found he was still sitting on the floor of Ben Kenobi’s house. It was sparsely appointed, only the basic necessities. He hadn’t been there long, but he got the feeling that even if he stayed until Luke Skywalker had a long gray beard, he still wouldn’t accumulate many possessions. Tatooine wasn’t that sort of place.
He stood up, his knees creaking in a rather alarming fashion. Surely he wasn’t that old yet. It must be the desert climate that affected him strangely. He got a small cup, filled it with water, and then returned to his seat on the floor. Something caught his attention, one of the few pieces of his old life that he’d taken with him to his desert solitude.
Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber.
It was all that was left of the man who had been, often simultaneously, Obi-Wan’s greatest annoyance, his brother, and his closest friend. If any other part of Anakin had survived, it was lost to evil and darkness. Obi-Wan couldn’t save him any more than he could save any Jedi who was still at large in the galaxy, trying to find footing in the new order. All Obi-Wan could do was make sure the child Luke survived to adulthood, and train him if he exhibited his father’s talents.
He wondered briefly how the daughter was faring under Bail Organa’s tutelage.
Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Down he plunged, through memory and dream. There was Commander Cody, handing him back his lightsaber only to blast him off the cavern wall moments later. There was Anakin, laughing as he made some improbably difficult landing, saving all their lives again. There was Ahsoka, her hands on her hips, her endless questions challenging him at every turn. There was Palpatine, as Chancellor, his disguise so complete that Obi-Wan couldn’t detect his villainy even when he knew where to look.
He made himself pass them all by. It was easier this time. It grew easier every time. That made his heart hurt, to think he was so fickle that he could turn his back on them to achieve his own ends. When he thought it, he heard Yoda, reminding him that his work was important, that he must focus on the future alone, obscuring the past and even ignoring the present if he must. He had to break through.
He reached the bottom again, the quiet place where his doubts, loves, and fears were gone. Then he realized it wasn’t the bottom, not quite. There was another level below.
Obi-Wan let go of Ben Kenobi’s house, the last place in the galaxy where a piece of Anakin Skywalker rested, and broke through the wall between life and death.
It was dark there if he wanted to take anything with him or leave anything behind, but he wished for neither of those things, so he stood in the light. His senses were sharp. He could hear every sound at once, and also none of them. It took him a moment to focus on the voice he wanted most to hear.
Alone and connected. Aloof and hopelessly entwined. Obi-Wan had only a moment before he was wrenched back into the physical world, but it was long enough to renew his hope.
“Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon Jinn. He was sure the voice was stronger this time. “Let go.”
Chapter 21
THE SIXTH BROTHER’S return to Raada had not been as triumphant as he had hoped. He had not been able to make a positive identification of the Jedi, but he was fairly certain that any news of his forthcoming actions on the farming moon would reach the Padawan’s attention. He’d tracked a series of happy accidents — happy, that is, for the people who had been saved from run-ins with the Empire. The events had Jedi do-gooding written all over them: low death count, grateful civilians, and a lack of official records. All he had to do was make sure that someone on Raada was left to send a distress call in the right direction and the Jedi would come to him.
His first order of business, after he landed and squared away his ship, was to read the situation updates on the insurgents. As he’d suspected, the local troops had made no inroads in capturing them, which suited him just fine. The district commander seemed to be avoiding him, which also suited his purposes, so he called in the chief interrogator instead.
“I require information on the girl who escaped your custody,” he said, cutting straight to the chase. Interrogators usually appreciated the direct approach, which was something he admired about them. “Her appearance, preferably. Not her character.”
“She had dark skin,” the interrogator said. “And her hair was in braids when I saw her, but unless she’s found someone to redo them, I imagine she’ll be wearing a scarf or something now.”
“Why couldn’t she fix them herself?” the Inquisitor asked.
“Her arm is broken,” was the reply. “The right. I think there may also be damage to her shoulder, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“Are your methods so callous?” It was always nice to trade professional information.
“No, the arm was an accident,” the interrogator said. “Our initial torture scared her so badly that when I mentioned the possibility of revisiting it, she knocked herself over and pinned the arm under her chair.”
“You have been most helpful,” the Inquisitor said. “You’re dismissed.”
The interrogator was smart enough not to take umbrage at someone with no discernible rank issuing orders. That sort of person was likely to do well in the Imperial hierarchy, which required a certain amount of flexibility. The Sixth Brother made a note to write a commendation. His job, and the jobs of his brothers and sisters, would be easier if the upper ranks were populated by people who listened to them.
Alone, the Inquisitor called up the map of the moon’s surface, to refresh his memory of the geography. It took him only a few moments to identify the best places to hide a large group of people, and then he closed the terminal and headed for the door. It was time to stop asking questions and go hunting.
Kaeden had played, in her estimation, approximately ten billion games of crokin since Ahsoka had rescued her and left Raada. It had been Miara’s suggestion. With a broken arm and limited medical options, Kaeden needed to learn to use her other hand, and crokin was the easiest way to do that. She played with her sister frequently, but her most common opponent was Neera. Once the sedatives had worn off, Neera had shambled around the cave like part of her was missing, and Kaeden thought that wasn’t far from the truth. The only time Neera showed any spark was when they played. Neera always trounced her, but if it made her feel better, then Kaeden was happy to lose.