Vignette 1

The Path to Forgiveness

Ossus

62 ABY

I stand facing the east and watch as the sun, Adega I, rises over the horizon of Ossus. Taking a deep breath, I look down and unclip the ligthsaber at my side. As I lift and measure its comforting weight in the palm of my hand, I feel the love that went into building this weapon. I didn't build this saber, but it is the one which I carry. Its hilt is smaller in diameter than the one I built when I was becoming an Apprentice, as if it was for a far more dainty hand than mine. It almost looks feminine, with the bronze inlay in the steel-grey hilt. And, well, I guess it should. It had belonged to a woman—my mother.

Suddenly, I hear the call of the bird which I was hoping to see this morning. I glance up from the lightsaber to watch the large bird swoop into the backyard as if it was coming out of the orange sun. The ancient Ysanna thought that the beautiful bird brought luck, and maybe it did, because it and its main food source the vuli tree were two of the very few things which survived the destruction caused to Ossus when a supernova destroyed the Cron Cluster four thousand years ago. The vul flew over my grandfather's small flower garden to feed on the large orange and scarlet blossoms of the twisted vuli tree planted in the center. I watch the large, colorful orange and green bird gracefully flit from one flower to the next, gathering nectar and small insects, and wish again that I could be that bird.

My life would have been easier. Again, I feel the weight of the lightsaber and all that it represents in my right hand.

Especially on days like today I wish I could escape my legacy. Today marks the anniversary of my mother's death. Today marks the day my father disappeared to be presumed dead. Tomorrow is, or rather, would have been my father's thirty-sixth birthday.

My own birthday has never been a happy occasion for me. And today, eighteen years after my birth, is no different. I hope the vul brings me luck to make it through today's festivities. And maybe, just maybe, after today I'll have something to be happy about this day. Today I am to be knighted into the Jedi Order.

I've completed my trials with the effortless skill expected of someone from my fa mily—expected of me. I've been told, by both my grandfather and my Master, that I have enormous potential. I suppose that should be a complement, but I sometimes find it as a burden. My father had tremendous abilities as well, where did that get him? By the age of seventeen he had become a Sith Lord who tried to murder his pregnant wife. Eventually, she did die after giving me life, but only her incredible strength of will kept her alive for that long. She died only minutes after my birth from wounds my father inflected, some emotional, some physical.

Am I afraid that by bearing the name Skywalker, I too am doomed to the Dark Side? I don't know. I pray not. However, I never really considered myself much of a Skywalker. I'm more Horn than anything else. I was raised by my maternal grandparents after the death of my mother, Jysella Horn Skywalker. My father, Ben Skywalker, was young when they married. They both were too young, in fact, but that didn't stop them. And in the end, their naivety destroyed them.

The bird called out again and I s mile as it flies away. Yes, I wish I could be that bird.

"Zane? Bird watching already this morning?"

I look over my shoulder and s mile at my grandfather, Jedi Master Corran Horn. He is old, eighty this year, and is the co-Grand Master of the Order. His friend and my Master, Kyp Durron, is the other Grand Master. They were elected into that position fifteen years ago, and surprisingly they hadn't killed each other over the years. They rarely agree on much, but I know there are no two truer friends, or staunchest supporters of the Jedi Order.

"Granddad." I return his greeting with a nod and realize just how old he looks. Today isn't easy on him or my grandmother either.

He comes to stand beside me at the railing of the back porch. I grew up in this small house and some of my fondest memories were made here. This porch had always been my favorite part of the house.

He lays his hand on my shoulder and says, "I see the vuls have been at my tree again."

I smirk as I say, "Oh, I know you enjoy those birds as much as I do."

"Well, I don't like them destroying my vuli blooms. They're some of my favorites and that tree is finally reaching maturity." I shake my head and look back out over the garden. If someone would have told Corran Horn twenty years ago that he would take up gardening in his old age, he'd have laughed them into the next week. But when I was a boy, Granddad received a package from one of my great-grandfather Horn's many associates. In it were seeds and preserved cuttings from some of Rostek Horn's prized flowers. Not wanting them to go unappreciated, or for the information about the Jedi that he knew was hidden within their genetics to disappear, Granddad set out to figure out what to do with them, eventually deciding to plant them in the back yard of our cottage. Within five years, Corran Horn was well on his way of becoming a master gardener.

I know, though, my habit of bird watching or his fondness for gardening was not what he sought me out to discuss. I meet his gaze and he inquires, "Are you ready for today?"

I think for a moment and then slowly nod, smirking, "Yeah, I think so. I've passed my trails, didn't I?"

He looks away and watches as another vul comes into feed at the tree, this one is more scarlet and the green is almost a teal. This bird is the male mate of the bird from before. Finally, he says, "You may have passed the trials the Order requires of you, but you haven't passed your personal ones yet."

I really hate it when he and Kyp begin to talk like some ancient Master from the past. I somehow could imagine Yoda talking to Grandfather Skywalker like this when he was training on Dagobah.

"Granddad…" I begin, not bothering to cover the disdain in my voice. I knew precisely where this was going.

He cuts me off with, "Zane, I know you better than you know yourself. I see it in your eyes. You have to let go of the hate you feel for your father."

I turn and face him, with anger in my heart and tone as I declare, "Let go? How can I let go? He left me an orphan! Yes, I should be over that, but I'm not!" I calm myself when I see the flash of pain in his green eyes. "Granddad, I remember her."

"Who?" he asks as he lays his hand on my shoulder again, already forgiving my seemingly ungratefulness for what he and Grandma have done for me.

I watch the vul as I softly say, "My mother. I remember her."

I feel his surprise and I turn again to look at him, and then I go on, "I remember her love for me. I remember her fear for me and her regret that she endangered me. I remember her pain and sorrow at losing my father and for not being there for me. Don't ask me how I know these feelings or remember these things, I don't know, but I know that my mother considered my father lost. If she lost faith in him, how can I find forgiveness? Isn't that really what you want me to do? Forgive him for falling to the Dark Side and choosing power over us?"

"Yes, Zane, that is what you must do, if you are ever to find true peace within yourself." He moves away and sits on his favorite old chair within the shadows of the porch. Pinning me with a no-nonsense gaze, he goes on, "But it isn't just inner peace that you deny yourself, this hatred and anger are the seeds that could lead you down the same path as your father and your great-grandfather—falling to the Dark Side."

I stare at him for a long time; this was not a new lecture for me either. I've heard these si milar words several times from my own Master. However, as hard as I try, I couldn't bring myself to let go of the resentment I felt toward the fact that my father wanted to kill, not only my mother, but me as well, while I was still within her womb.

However, I also knew that they were right.

I look back over at the garden and lean heavily on the white railing of the porch. It's a long time before I finally speak. "Granddad, do you really think Ben Skywalker is dead?"

When he doesn't answer, I glance back over at him. I instantly wonder if he is thinking the same thing as me. "You don't, do you?" I ask as I stand up and face him again.

"Yes, I do," he finally states, his own voice betraying none of his own bitterness.

"Well, I don't. I know he's out there somewhere," I say as I look out over the landscape far into the east. "I know that he's out there, waiting for the right time to come back. He will strike when we least expect it, just as every Sith in history has."

Granddad stands again and comes over to me. I meet his gaze and he says, "Zane, your father is as dead as your mother. I believe that. If he wasn't, he would have come back years ago. He would have come after you, if for no other reason than to take you for his apprentice."

I stare at him for a moment, not believing him, but not wanting to argue either. "We better get going over to the Temple."

I turn to go, but am stopped by his gentle hand on my arm. I turn back to him to watch him pull a lightsaber from under his robe. I openly glare at it as if it was a snake. I know that saber.

"Zane, I think you should have this," Granddad's voice is soft.

"No. I don't want anything to do with that thing."

He takes a deep breath, as if calming himself, before saying, "Your mother wanted me to give you this, Zane. It was her dying wish. She never wanted you to forget where you came from."

I snort derisively, "Forget? How can I ever forget that I'm the son of a Sith Lord, that my father's cousin was a Sith Lord, or that my great-grandfather was Darth Vader?"

"Zane, that isn't what she meant." He leans against the railing, and I could tell, as he looks down at the weapon in his hand, that he is remembering the past. "She didn't want you to forget the boy your father was. The boy who created this weapon." He lifts the lightsaber and I startle when he hits the stud. I have never seen it ignited. I half expected the blade to be red, a Sith's blade, not a beautiful blue, the same blue as my eyes.

"Your father was misguided, Zane. He was feed lies and half-truths by his Master—a man, I myself believed in," he glances at me and I meet his eyes with surprise. "Ahhh…yes, I too believed in what Jacen Solo wanted for the GA, and for the Jedi. He used my own belief that we had to serve a government, not just the people or only the Force. Jacen was a manipulator and many of us fell for his silver tongue and half-truths. Ben was no different. He believed Jacen's teachings."

"That may be true, but if he loved my mother…"

He shakes his head and cuts me off. "Ben loved your mother, Zane. He loved her too much." He then takes a deep breath and turns away from me. He closes down the lightsaber and stares at it for a long time before quietly saying, "I've never told you this, and maybe by not telling you, I failed your mother. I failed you." He looks at me, and before I could disagree with him, he goes on, "Your father had visions, dreams."

"You never told me this."

He slowly nods as he moves back to his chair in the shadows. "No, I haven't. But I think it is time that I do. Come, sit." He pats the bench beside his chair and I follow his command. After I sit, he holds up the lightsaber in his hand and studies it as he says, "I don't know all of the details, but I know that whatever your father saw in his dreams scared him. He thought that he had to save your mother from something terrible. Jacen Solo, of course as his Master, had all the answers. He used your father's love and his fear to turn him to the Dark Side." He met my gaze and finishes by saying, "It's not that much different from what Palpatine did to Anakin Skywalker. Sadly, your father had all that was good in him squashed by his Master. By the time your mother went to try to redeem him, there was nothing left of the boy she had fallen in love with. Nothing but you," he added softly.

I look at him puzzled and he s miles, a real s mile that makes him almost look younger by decades. He ruffles my long, shaggy hair as he used to when I was a boy, saying, "You look so much like Ben Skywalker that it's uncanny. The only difference is your hair is a darker red than Ben's or your grandma Mara's had been." Then he becomes serious again, pulls his hand back and lifts the lightsaber, drawing my attention to it. "But you are not your father, Zane. However, if you don't learn forgiveness, your appearance may not be the only resemblance to Ben Skywalker. And that would truly break my heart, and make all that your mother fought for and gave up worthless."

I stare at the lightsaber. I know that it was the one that took my mother's life. I'm not sure how I know this, but I do. Then oddly, I feel a kinship with the black and grey hilt. I see a boy sitting on the floor cross-legged in a sparse room, this lightsaber laying in his hand as he's deep in meditation. At first I thought I'm remembering the building of my own lightsaber, but quickly realize that the boy isn't me. But he could be me. He has the same hopes, the same fears, the same dreams. This boy is my father.

As I reach for the lightsaber in Granddad's hand, the vision fades and I realize that maybe, even if I could never forgive the Sith Lord who killed my mother, I could possibly make peace with the boy who became my father

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading...