AN: Thank you to those who have left a few comments on this story. I would have replied individually but no-one had been signed in. I do appreciate every comment!
My thanks to Kazlynh for checking over the chapters.
The disclaimer for the story was stated in Part One.
Insidious
Part Two
The Jedi Knight
Obi-Wan paused in his chores, his hand still inside the workings of the vaporator, something was… something wasn't right. Something was happening… the Force felt… cold.
He withdrew his hand, wiped the grease and oil onto his robe as he slowly stood and glanced around. All was as it should be….
The air was hot and still, the suns were almost at noon and the western dune sea stretched across the wastes and disappeared into the shimmering heat waves that rose from the sands. Nothing moved across the scorching landscape and only the occasional vessel left trails across the blue of the sky. All seemed as it should and yet…
… the Force felt cold.
Listen to it, Obi-Wan. Listen to the living Force…
He smiled, hearing his lessons of the past. Hearing the echo of his old Master's voice. He was tempted to lower the barriers he had built these last few years; the buffers and shields that hid his presence in the Force on Tatooine. He rarely dropped them now, rarely allowed himself to be immersed within the Force lest others sense him and find him and the boy.
He missed it. He missed the touch and sense of the Force. He missed the company it gave him, its reassuring embrace… but like an old friend, he knew it was always there; always around him and ready to welcome him at any time.
And it was cold. On the periphery of his senses, it felt cold.
Disturbed, and needing to reassure himself, he closed up the vaporator and cleared away his tools. Before he left his home he opened the large wooden trunk he had bartered off a stall keeper in Anchorhead and withdrew his lightsaber; clipping it to his belt beneath his robe. He rarely carried it, only taking it out for his journeys across the dune sea and…
… a wink of light off something metallic gave him pause and he stared down into his trunk. There lay another lightsaber.
His friend's sword.
His enemy's weapon.
He sighed, wearily… a sound of grief and regret.
He should have killed Vader when he had the chance. He should have finished the duel. He should have listened to Yoda and believed him when he said that there was nothing left of his friend within the shell of the fledgling Sith Lord he had confronted on Mustafar. Instead he had listened to his doubts even when Vader's actions were clear; his attack on Padme, his unrelenting pursuit of Obi-Wan even when the fight turned against him, the sheer hatred and fury that seared through the Force.
"It is the end for you, my master…"
"You were my brother, Anakin…"
Anakin…
That is why he could not kill Vader; because he had once been Anakin and Obi-Wan could no more kill the boy he had raised and trained to manhood and knighthood than he could cool the sands of Tatooine at midday.
He smiled, a little quirk of lips at the irony; he had counselled Anakin against the dangers of attachment, only to become attached himself.
And now look where it had led, look at where his folly and his fallacy had brought the Galaxy.
Ob-wan closed the lid of the trunk, lifted a small pack of essential supplies for the journey and stepped out into the blistering heat. He hesitated as the door cycled shut behind him, gauging the time of day and the hours of sunslight left; a Jedi did not fear, but neither was a Jedi reckless enough to be caught in the Jundland Wastes during the night.
Satisfied that he had enough time, he threw the pack over his shoulder and started his walk toward the Lars farmstead; the Force felt cold and the Force told him that it somehow involved Anakin's son.
ooOOoo
The Pupil
The door to his room sliced shut and Luke breathed a sigh of relief. His aunt had fussed again. She had probed the bruising lump on his jaw and again threatened to take him straight to Fixer's father, but this time he managed to persuade her not too. Beru had also threatened to speak to the educators at school again about the bullying, and again he had asked her not too, had pleaded with her not to make a big deal out it…
"…. It's not as often now and anyway, Fixer says he's not going to be in school much longer. His dad needs him to work…."
He wasn't sure his aunt believed him, but she dropped the subject… didn't even say "wait until your Uncle sees you,"… which was all he wanted. It was a good job she couldn't see his body, couldn't see the grazes and bruises that marked his legs, back and torso from the boots that had battered him. He'd have to make sure to keep his tunic belted tight until his body healed.
Gingerly, carefully, with his right arm bracing his chest, Luke lowered himself to sit on his bed. He winced, bit his lip; sure one of his ribs was cracked. He had lied to his aunt, it was getting worse, much worse and it was getting harder and harder to avoid running into Fixer…
"… you are different, you threaten them, you have something within you that they sense but do not understand…"
"What do I have?"
"Destiny."
Could it be true? Could what the old man in the robes said be right? Did he have a destiny?
Luke screwed up his face with doubt and denial; he was a farm kid on Tatooine just like his uncle, his only destiny was the same as Uncle Owen's; stuck on this baked rock, trying to get water from stone.
He sighed, wiped his palm on the fabric of his pants, remembering the feel of his hand in the man's grip as he was pulled to his feet. Even under the twin suns the man's hand had been cold, but the gnarled, bony fingers had held him tight, not letting him go.
"I will be here tomorrow if you wish to learn more."
He shouldn't do this. His aunt and uncle would not be happy at him meeting with a stranger. The man could be anything, a pirate, a slaver, a…
He shook his head, fisted his hands; torn between a desire to be free from Fixer's beatings and his fear and wariness of the offer the man had given him.
"What do I call you?"
"Why, you call me 'Master."
A twist of Indignation. "I am not a slave!"
A chuckle… "No, young one, you are not. You are my pupil and I am your teacher. That gives me the title of 'Master.'"
"…oh…"
Wincing at the sharp pain in his chest he shifted on his bed, lay down upon the coverlet and sank his head into his pillow. He had chores to do before the evening meal, but at this very moment all he wanted to do was close his eyes and…
"Luke!"
He grimaced at the sound of his aunt calling his name in the tone she usually used when she was going to ask something of him.
"Luke!"
He sighed, gritted his teeth against the pain, and rolled from his bed. He sorted his clothes, tightened his belt around his waist, making sure his bruises were concealed. This was all Fixer's fault… Fixer who never stopped, Fixer who hounded him and found him no matter how hard he tried to hide or run… or pretend that the beatings no longer hurt or bothered him.
Fixer who would never stop until someone stopped him.
"… and only you can do that. Only you can put an end to this, young one… If you allow me to teach you…"
"Luke!"
"I'm coming, Aunt Beru!" He called, trying to hide his pain from his voice and, with new found conviction, he ran from his room before his aunt could call again.
ooOOoo
The Teacher
The boy was a quick study, much like his father before him.
Quick of mind and fleet of foot the twelve year old had absorbed all his teacher offered, followed all instruction and mastered his sword and quarter-staff footwork with only one or two pointers or corrections. He had even witnessed the child moving down the street practising his steps… an event that had resulted in yet another prolonged beating that his master had turned his back upon. After all, pain was an essential part of the boy's training, just as pain had been a part of his own.
"You're dancing now, Sleemo? Hey…. Wormie can dance! Dance for us, Wormie…. Come on! Dance!"
A shove, a trip… a punch… a kick and the pack descended.
Every bruise was a lesson in itself. Every cut and drop of blood was an experience to be learned for without pain, without suffering, hatred had no foundation, ire had no root and fear no base. No… let the boy know this, let the boy endure, for his release and his victory will be all the sweeter for it.
Soon… soon… it would be time to open the boy. To peel back the layers and reveal his true nature and his true power.
But not yet…
He had sensed a Jedi Knight on Tatooine.
Three weeks into Skywalker's training he had become aware of a tentative probe into the Force. A mild, questioning search as though the adept were apprehensive or unsure about their actions. There was a signature, a taste of familiarity, but it was fleeting and difficult to pin down. Someone had been alerted by the subtle changes within the Force and had become curious. It was a danger he had considered; that there may be a Jedi survivor nearby watching the Son of Skywalker and he had already considered his moves should his visits to Tatooine be discovered.
He could just take the boy, call his shuttle down from the orbiting ship and drag the boy off world and back to his seat of power to complete Luke's training. Or, he could bide his time, train the boy here, allow Luke the satisfaction of victory over those who torment him; allow him to feel the pleasure of release, the thrill of true power and truly set his feet on the path to the Dark Side.
Yes, a game.
Twist and train the boy under the watchful gaze of the Jedi. Make the boy his servant, his supplicant, while the Jedi felt nothing more than a chill and chased his elusive feelings only to find nought. Then turn the boy against the Jedi, just as his father had been turned and unleashed against the Order and it was there, just there, that his own satisfaction lay, his own victory; the light and hope of the Jedi twisted to darkness and despair, to Sith, while they watched in blissful ignorance.
ooOOoo
The Pupil
"Hide myself?"
Luke's question, so full of doubt and confusion, hung in the air. He sat crossed legged on the dusty floor of his master's home and at his master's feet. Over the last few weeks it had become so easy to think of the nameless man as "master," that he no longer gave any though to it. He no longer cared, no longer thought it strange and the title, and his deference to it, had become second nature.
"There are some…. The Jedi… who would not understand, Luke," his master was saying, leaning forward on the hand carved, sandstone, chair, "the Jedi will not rest until all of our kind are dead."
"The Jedi," he echoed, knowing that name, that title, having learned about the Jedi attempted coup at the end of the Clone Wars in his state prescribed education and, "….dead?" Luke, at almost thirteen and growing up on Tatooine, had seen death and understood what it meant, but never had he given much thought to his own death. The idea suddenly chilled him, caused a spike of anxiety in his belly. There were people, the Jedi, who would want him dead? There were people who… and something else his master had said occurred to him. "Our kind?"
"Hmmm," and his master moved his heavy cowl back so that Luke got a rare glimpse of his master's features; sharp, pointing nose, pale skin that Luke knew would easily burn under the Tatooine suns and blue eyes that sometimes flashed amber when hit by the light. Whenever he saw the flash of colour he wondered if his master was truly human, or of a species from a distant planet he had never heard of; some sort of shape-shifter. "I'm afraid, young Luke, that there are so few of us… so few of us left that have learned the arts that we have to hide what we are, lest we be hunted down."
Arts? Like painting n' stuff….?
What we are?
We?
What are we?
What am I?
His master chuckled as though hearing his thoughts, as though he could feel his confusion and misunderstanding.
"I hid myself for over two decades, Luke. No-one ever suspected, no-one questioned what I was… until I revealed myself to the young man who was to become my loyal apprentice." Luke shifted his buttocks on the floor, his attention caught by his master's voice, by the power behind it. "I have been training your body and your mind to overcome your enemies. I have been preparing you for the right moment to act against them, but there is one more thing that I need to explain before you do. One more aspect of your talents that I need to open you too, something I need to train you in. Something that has been denied to you your entire life…
…what, you really are."
ooOOoo
The Jedi
Owen Lars had long warned him to keep his distance from the farm and from Luke and so he stood upon a bluff that looked down upon the plain of rock and sand that was the Lars's land and homestead. It wasn't that the farmer had any power to stop him from coming to the farm or from seeing the boy, but Obi-Wan had agreed to keep his distance to allow Luke the freedom of childhood and family. Both concepts were alien to the Jedi Order, but the Order was dead and gone and, although both Luke and his sister represented hope for a new beginning, they both deserved the best start in life that their guardians could give them without the pressures and stresses of the destiny that awaited them.
May await them… Obi-Wan reminded himself. For the future was never still, never set. Too many threads had to come together to lay a fixed path before a being. If predisposed, as Anakin was, snatches and glimpses of a future may be seen, but one had to wonder if seeing those images and following them led to the events taking place, or if ignoring them, leaving them alone, would stop the events and lead in a different direction.
No, neither Luke, nor his sister, Leia's, paths were set. Not yet…
A laugh, caught on the Tatooine breeze, claimed his attention and he lifted the macrobinoculars to his eyes and smiled.
This was his ninth visit to the farm in the same amount of weeks and all for the same reason; the Force was chilled and something told him… warned him... that it somehow involved Luke and yet every time he had stood here, every time he had tentatively opened himself to the Force he had felt nothing unusual from the boy.
That he had a presence in the Force was without doubt, but so did the dark haired youth currently walking beside him; all beings did. Luke's presence was strong though, simmering just below the surface; unrecognised and unrealised. He needed opened to it, he needed to realise it, and Obi-Wan knew that when that time came his power and potential would become a beacon in the night; attracting all manner of dark creatures…
… his father and his master….
… and that is why Obi-Wan had agreed to stay away. Let Luke's presence be mute in the Galaxy, let him be seen as just one more ignorant being with good reflexes and naturally heightened senses living at the edge of the Galaxy so that darkness did not come calling to claim him.
Obi-Wan closed his shields, again sensing nothing untoward from the boy, but he watched as Luke spoke with his friend… Biggs Darklighter, Luke's only friend… with animated arms and hands. He laughed, kicked at the sand and suddenly turned to look in his direction…
…heightened senses indeed…
…and was that a bruise on his face?
Disturbed, concerned, Obi-Wan lowered his binoculars. Perhaps a visit to the farm was called for after all.
ooOOoo
To Be Continued...
