Written a while ago, but still serviceable, I think. I don't quite like the characterizations of Obi-Wan and Anakin, but I'm not sure what to do to fix them. Suggestions?

I don't own any of it! It's all Lucas and his amazing mind!

Spirits of the Jedi

A silent shadow flitted across a clouded window, making the weak sunlight shimmer on the marble floor. Dust rose from soundless boots that made imprints in the thick filth that coated the ground. A cloak whispered on the floor, and dust settled in the wake of the lone figure that walked the halls of the empty, desolate Temple. Voices seemed to whisper as he passed, and shadows shifted in their resting places. The man did not pause; he walked slowly and yet with a purpose, as if an unseen guide were leading him through the unfamiliar passages.

He stopped for the first time in front of an unremarkable, standard steel door. He hesitated, and then reached out a gloved hand and activated the door. It screamed in protest, but ground open to admit him. He stepped inside, ignoring the layers of dust on the floor and the rusty appliances inside. He reached up and pulled off his hood, turning in a complete circle to examine his surroundings. His face was pleasant and kind, with startlingly blue eyes and a head of light brown hair. But sadness lingered on the contours of his face, and rested in every movement.

He turned suddenly, as if expecting to see someone behind him, but he was alone. He shook his head and moved on to the next room. A simple bed and a mirror were all that furnished this room; he moved on. The last room had a couch, a light, and a small dresser. He left this room too, and moved back to the kitchen area. He ran a hand over the steel stovetop and the dusty cabinets, rubbing the collected dust between his fingertips until it dropped off in little balls. One last glance around the room, and he left.

He had traveled only a few feet when he stopped again, looking up through the dusty congealed windows at the sunlight outside. Then he glanced down, and stepped back a pace, bending down to examine the floor. He gently brushed away two decades of filth, revealing a dull, faded patch of red. He knelt there a long time, his hand on the red spot, his face now weary and full of pain.

One lone warrior, facing a demon in black. Energy beams pulsing to life and burning the air as they met again and again. Only a brief moment, and the warrior drops, face calm and empty. The other turns away, and continues his march down the hall, leaving the blood to spill onto the marble floor.

The man straightened, looking down at what was the last stand of a Jedi Knight, and moved on. The hall opened into a wide expanse of floor and ceiling. One wall had doors spaced evenly throughout; the other was a railing, over which was another hall, another corridor. The man walked down the hall, stopping every step, his face growing more agonized, more closed with every step. Death screamed at him; voices cried out, turmoil reigned in the silent, still, empty passage. Halfway down the man paused for a few moments, letting another memory, another time, wash over him.

Two beings, dressed in long cloaks and tunics, walking slowly down the hall, which was littered with the bodies of friends and comrades. They reach the center and stop, gazing down at young children, eyes closed in death. The human kneels down and lays a hand gently on the cheek of a boy not more than five-years-old. He then turns to his companion, a small, green-skinned off-worlder, and says in a deathly, hurt whisper, "Who? Who could have done this?"

The other simply shakes his head, and in his eyes is the pain of a thousand worlds. The man looks back at the dead youngling and seems to hold back a sob.

"Killed, not by clones, this youngling," the off-worlder says. "But by a lightsaber."

The man looks back at him, and the pain in the shorter being's face is reflected in his.

The man closed his eyes, shuddering, as the feel of their pain washed over him. It was echoes of the past, and yet he could feel their hurt as if he was standing with them. His steps quickened as he moved away from the shadowed figure's memory. The entire corridor was filled with the same, poignant pain of loss, pain, and fear. Tears fell from the man's cheek and hit the red-stained floor as he left the whispering spirits behind and moved on to another corridor. He jogged down a long flight of stairs and turned a corner, desperate now to get away from the voices all around him.

Footsteps echoed behind him, and he stopped, reaching out with his feelings. The whispers of hundreds of voices reached his ears; he turned, eyes narrowed. No one was there. He stayed very still for a few moments, and then turned and continued his journey through the derelict Temple. Wanting to leave, to rid himself of the images and sorrow he had encountered here, and yet curious, eager to know more, he continued hesitantly. He passed a portal to the outside, and stopped. And the images came.

A young man, with a sad, lonely look on his face, watching an older man walk down the ramp to a waiting ship outside. The young man opens his mouth, and speaks in a hoarse, carrying voice. "Master."

The other man turns, and his face is concerned, but quietly excited.

The young man hesitates, and then seems to lose his nerve. "May the Force be with you, Master."

"And you, Anakin," the older man smiles, and his bearded face lights with brotherly love for this troubled young man. "And you." He turns, and continues down the ramp, his step slower now, but no less deliberate. The younger man's face loosens for just a moment, and he looks happy, but then it darkens again, and his eyes cloud as he turns and walks slowly away.

The man jerked, spun, and spoke for the first time since entering the Temple. "Who's there?"

No one answered, but a ripple of wind passed through the hall, stirring up dust and bringing with it whispering voices. The man's face was unsettled, but unafraid. He turned on his heel and strode away from the open doorway. Somehow this last vision had upset him more than any; he walked hurriedly, letting his senses guide him to the last place he wanted to see before he left the cursed place.

His feet carried him to the very top of the Temple; the Council Spire. The door was lying broken and dusty a few feet away, and so he merely stepped through the open doorway. As his eyes roved around the room, another vision opened before his eyes.

A small boy, scurrying out from behind one of the round seats that lined the room, eyes wide and fearful. A dozen other incredibly young faces appearing from behind respective chairs, looking scared but hopeful at the sight of the man that had appeared. The boy that had elected himself leader spoke, his voice high and quavering.

"Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?"
A whirr as the door closed behind the hooded man. A burst of blue plasma. Echoing screams…

The man wrenched his mind away from the horrible scene, tears staining his cheeks. He felt suddenly weak, and walked directly across the room to sit in the chair opposite the door. He bent over, his face in his hands, containing the sobs within himself. As he sat there, hunched and shaking, another memory began to play.

A dark-skinned stern man in a khaki tunic staring at a young man in the center of the room. Anger and annoyance showed on his face as he extended a hand. "Take a seat, young Skywalker."

The young man's face twitched angrily, but he bowed. "Forgive me, Master." He walked across the room and took a seat, looking down at the floor. Then he turned, and looked over two seats. Another man, this one older, was watching him, looking disappointed. He shook his head very slightly, and the younger man looked away, glaring at nothing in particular.

The man straightened, looking sideways, as if expecting the young man to be looking at him. He felt a chill run down his spine as he caught sight of a ghostly shadow disappear out of the very chair the young Jedi had been sitting in. He glanced around and noticed that he was sitting in the chair the older man had occupied. He recognized the two men as the ones that had appeared by the open doorway down in the lower levels of the Temple, and he was reasonably sure he knew who they were.

"Ben?" his voice was hoarse from misuse, and he closed his eyes, letting go all the emotions that had railed him ever since he had set foot in the abandoned once-beautiful home of the Jedi.

"Here, young one," a familiar, comforting voice said. The man opened his eyes and started with surprise. He stood, and his blue eyes narrowed as he examined the ghostly apparition before him.

It was the older man from the visions. Bearded, light brown hair and intense azure eyes. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, and his long cloak swirled in a light, unseen wind.

"Ben?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the man corrected. His voice echoed off the walls, sounding slightly muted and eerie. It was as if he were speaking through a thick fog or mist. The same slight smile.

"Why don't I see you as the person I know?" the man looked confused, but ready, eager to learn.

"Because I am not the person you know," the shadow said. "I am memory, a spirit of what once was. You have drawn me out of the memories that rest in this very room; this temple. The Force is very strong with you."

"How did I do it? How could I draw someone out of time?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi smiled and shrugged ever so slightly. "The mysteries of the Force are many."

"Could I call others?"

The memory smiled, but even as it began to speak it began to fade. The words were lost as the spirit of the Jedi disappeared. The man stared at the space it had been, and then turned back to the chair. He did not sit down again, however, but moved over two seats where he had last seen the younger man. He sat down gingerly, and closed his eyes, drawing on the currents around him. Whisperings grew louder, but he allowed them to be, paying only enough attention to them that was necessary. Only when he heard a voice speak to him did he open them.

"You called me."

The man stood, and looked upon the memory of the younger Jedi. "Anakin Skywalker?" The Jedi nodded, but did not speak. The man smiled. "I am your son. It's me, father."

Anakin Skywalker frowned at him. "I am only a memory of what has happened, not what will," he said. "I cannot see the future any more than you can."

"Oh." The man looked away, and then back at Anakin. But even as he tried desperately to think of something else to say, the spirit began to fade, and the man was alone again. He looked almost longingly at the place the two apparitions had disappeared, and then sighed and walked from the room. He passed other echoes, other memories, and caught glimpses of other fleeting beings flitting among ruins or shadows, but did not speak with any of them. When he finally reached his ship outside, he paused once more.

"Aren't you coming, Master?" Anakin Skywalker says, looking up at Obi-Wan Kenobi. The older man laughs, leaning against the open doorway of the shuttle transport.

"I'm not brave enough for politics. I need to report to the Council. Besides, someone has to be the Poster Boy."

The man shook himself. Enough memories. He boarded his speeder, looked back once more at the shadowy ruins of what was once the center of the Universe, smiled very slightly, and gunned his engines. His ship roared to life and sped away into the night sky, leaving behind the spirits of the Jedi to roam about their last home, alone and isolated once more.

fin