THE PYRE
The burning pyre cast an eerie, somber glow over the plush-gardened landscape of Hapes, the intermittent hollow snapping of the fire reflecting the mood of those standing around it.
Jedi Grand Master Luke Skywalker and his wife Mara Jade stood side by side, their hands clasped respectfully behind the small of their backs, and their gaze unwavering as they watched the flames burn down into smoldering embers.
Next to them were Kyp Durron, who'd left his squadron to be here, as well as Corran Horn and his wife Mirax, and a collection of Jedi Masters and students, among them Valin and Jysella, whose young faces were streaked with newly-shed tears.
On the opposite side of the pyre were the Solo family – Han, Leia and Jaina – huddled together in a tight embrace, their anguished faces barely visible over the now high-reaching golden flames.
Both Han and Jaina were remarkably serious, their expressions hard and free of tears. Leia, however, was struggling to remain upright, and was clearly being held in place by the strong arms of her husband and daughter.
It was a painful sight; almost too agonizing for the young girl standing a little ways back from the group on her own. She pried her eyes away from the grieving family and stared at the darkened ground, watching the methodic flicker of pale orange sweep across her bare feet as the gentle breeze licked at the tongues of fire protruding from the smoking wood.
She'd almost not come here at all, hoping that by opting out of the memorial, she could still cling to the notion that he wasn't dead after all; that he'd survived the horrid battle, and was coming home.
To her.
Now that she was here, the last sliver of hope she'd had in her heart had been stripped away by the heat of the fire, and in its place sat an emptiness like she'd never felt before.
Emptiness, so cold and hollow that she felt nothing at all; not even sadness.
And she wanted to grieve. She wanted to cry; to feel heart-breaking sadness like Leia, or soul-consuming revenge like Jaina. But as hard as she tried, she still felt nothing.
The cool wind whipped at the skin not covered by her thin Jedi robes, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the pyre. She didn't even shiver as the strength of the current intensified, and everyone else reached for his or her coats.
She was numb – inside and out, and couldn't imagine a time when she would ever feel anything again.
As the fire slowly began to burn down, the Jedi surrounding it started to move away. Soon, all that were left were the Skywalkers and Solos…and Tahiri.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Han Solo shift his stance, and felt his aching gaze boring into her mind. She brushed the touch away as you would an unwanted insect, and continued to stare ahead at the flames, losing herself in the shimmering golden waves.
After a time, she thought she felt a soft stroke on her shoulder, but as she turned around, she was shocked to find no one there. She was vaguely aware of the dull ache that coursed through her body as she twisted back to the pyre, only to find that the once burning object was now black and almost silent, a soft hiss filling her ears every now and again as the last of the embers died.
Just like him.
She surmised that she must have been standing there for hours, but couldn't remember when everyone had left. She wasn't even sure if they'd tried to take her with them or not.
A small crackle shot out of the ashes, the tiny orange spark illuminating the surrounding area for a split second, before fizzling out and bringing back the darkness.
The shot of bright light blurred her vision somewhat, and she became acutely aware to the fact that her eyes stung from the hours of smoke exposure they'd endured. Her cheeks, also, felt unusually hot, and despite the throbbing flowing through her muscles and bones, she smiled.
Her feeling had returned.
A solitary tear trickled down her reddened flesh, and the gaping void in her heart opened up so that every inch of her being was exposed to the bitter pain of the loss she had suffered.
With the agony of loss also came the twinge of guilt she felt at what had happened. She blamed herself for the outcome of the mission, and more importantly, for his death.
Others would argue with her, she knew. They would comfort her, and tell her that his death was the will of the Force, and that it was nobody's fault, least of all hers. But she knew; she knew the truth. His death was her fault – pure and simple.
And she would live with the guilt of this every single day, for the rest of her life.
She let out a long, shuddering breath as her mind drifted back to that one fateful night, before his death, and before the mission. It was the night she, Tahiri Veila, had made the biggest mistake of her life.
They'd been discussing the state of the war, as they sat in her room aboard the Star Destroyer, Errant Venture.
She was laying stomach first on her bunk, her head resting on her arm, while he was crouched on the floor with his knees pulled tight to his chest.
In the background, the voices of a Peace Brigade commander could be heard barking orders to his soldiers. Somehow, Anakin had managed to hack into the enemy's communications, and had rigged together a small listening device, in order to familiarize himself with their actions.
They were hunting Jedi again, and this time, they'd actually managed to catch some, using hideous bio-engineered voxyn to do their dirty work. He'd thought that hacking into the Peace Brigade's systems would help him deal with this, but it had only managed to dampen his spirits even further.
Anakin had been in as worse a state as she'd ever seen, his Force-aura a pit of despair and vulnerability. It was a side to him he hadn't shown very often. In fact, that day had been the first time she herself had seen it.
The next time she'd seen it had been on Myrkr, shortly before his death. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the interruption in her reverie.
At this stage in the war, the Alliance had had very few victories against the Yuuzhan Vong, and the death toll of family and friends had started to have a negative affect on Anakin, and had caused him to question every move he'd made against the enemy.
She'd tried to comfort him by reminding him that he wasn't all-powerful, but that had only aroused a troubled sigh from him.
And then came the words that had wrecked everything. The words that had sent him to his death.
"The Jedi are not gone. You're still here, Mr. Incredible. You can still do great things. Or you can sit all night listening to Peace Brigade reports. Your choice."
She'd only meant to bring him out of his negative slump, but those words had struck a cord in him, and were the reason he'd died.
After that night, he'd gone to his uncle and the other Jedi Masters with a renewed sense of determination, and a plan to derail the Yuuzhan Vong and their Jedi exterminators, the deadly voxyn.
And it was that plan, instigated by her words, which had resulted in his death.
It really was all her fault.
She smiled weakly through her tears as another memory from that night appeared in her mind - a happier memory.
The Peace Brigade listening device had been switched off long ago, and they were both now resting on the cool floor, their warm bodies turned toward each other.
She had intertwined her hand in his, and he had grinned at her with the irresistible Solo grin she'd come to love.
A small lock of brown hair had fallen into his eyes then, and she had instinctively reached over and delicately brushed it out of his face.
Her movement had caused his grin to fade, and he'd stretched his face forward, kissing her lightly on the lips.
She'd giggled under the out-pouring of emotion, and when he'd pulled away, she had dragged his head back to hers, a position they'd stayed in for the remainder of the night.
As she gazed back at the smoldering remnants of her dead lover, she realized that she no longer felt cold. A hand flew up to her shoulders and gripped warm, wooly fabric.
A jacket...
Tahiri spun around to find the owner of the coat, and came face to face with the heavily lined face of Han Solo.
Anakin's father.
"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxed softly. "You need to come inside."
He held out a hand for her, which hung in the air for a moment, before she reluctantly clasped her icy fingers in his.
She took one last look at the blackened pyre, and let go of Han's hand as something deep inside her being snapped.
Ignoring his hoarse protests, she ran over to the edge of the structure and touched the top layer of ash. It was still warm in spite of the cooling winds, but not too warm for her to take a handful of what used to be Anakin, and place it in the jacket pocket.
When she looked back at Han, she saw that he was smiling at her, and also crying for the first time since his son's death.
"Are you ready now?" he asked, holding out his hand again.
This time, she took it instantly, reveling in its comforting warmth. "Yes," she replied. "I'm ready."
Although the hollow feeling was still there, and also the guilt for what had happened, she felt a sense of closure; something she thought she wouldn't feel for some time.
Han squeezed her tiny hand a little tighter as they made their way up the lush gardened path, their physical connection showering her with his love.
Somehow, knowing she had family left would help her through the pain. Somehow, she knew, everything would turn out ok in the end.
Goodbye, Anakin.