Here are some bits of Mando'a that I don't translate in the chapter:
ik'aad = young child (toddler, 3y/o)
cyar'ad = sweet child
I wasn't planning on writing anything in Mando'a at the start of this story but I've had too much fun reading up on the language. I hope you enjoy :)
Our focus determines our reality.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
The mandates of Obi Wan's training did not seem to serve him so well anymore, as he watched his son grow from a distance.
Satine seemed to be coping better than she had before Korkie's public debut. She commed Obi Wan as he had asked, sharing each of Korkie's milestones as it arrived without any of the bitterness of the night on which they had first discussed the matter. From Coruscant, Obi Wan watched his precocious son grasp and crawl, walk and swim, talk and sing. And he felt a horrid, forbidden jealousy as he watched Satine scoop the squirming child into her arms and land kisses upon his forehead. She glowed so brightly in those moments.
Obi Wan felt washed out, as blue as the light of the holoprojector by which his son knew him.
There were joys, certainly, in training Anakin. The child was bright and spirited and fiercely protective of his Master in a way that was both amusing and endearing. He was bright and mostly took instruction well – albeit with overexuberance – and accordingly progressed rapidly through his training. But with each of Anakin's victories, of which there came to be more and more, Obi Wan felt a flicker of fear as the boy's pride swelled in the Force. He was a mediocre Jedi training the Chosen One, a boy declared too dangerousfor even an experienced Jedi Master to train.
Too dangerous.
Mostly, Obi Wan held the warning in contempt. Anakin, courtesy of the late commencement to his Jedi training and distinctly underprivileged upbringing, possessed a more genuine kindness and compassion than any of his peers. He helped the cleaners carry their buckets of soapy water and learned to speak to them in their native tongues. He ignored Obi Wan's directive that Jedi did not receive life-day gifts and presented to him at dawn a hand-made card and a tiny droid pieced together from scavenged materials, "To iron our robes so there are never any creases, Master!" Each month, he took his meagre Padawan's allowance – every credit of it – and had the currency converted in one of the lower levels so that he might send it home to his mother. When the Initiates on their class excursions queued to buy sweet-ice-sticks with their pocket-money, Anakin stood off to the side, empty-handed and radiating contentment.
Anakin's care for his mother extended far further than any Jedi compassion, and this was, perhaps, where the danger lay. Obi Wan could concede that he understood the Council's misgivings. Anakin's yearning for his mother, at its rawest and most palpable in the early hours of the morning, was a confronting emotion to detect in a Temple full of trained Jedi with good shielding. It was a gaping hole Obi Wan could never fill and a pain that he could dampen but never erase. He asked himself, night after night, whether they had been wrong to ever take this child from Tatooine.
With this in mind, and the eyes of a sceptical Council fixed closely upon his young bright Padawan, it was almost a year into Anakin's training before Obi Wan conjured the courage to visit Shmi.
"Vaii cuyir buir?"
Where is Mama?
The question came, in her son's angelic voice, as Satine was settling into bed. It was indulgent but his cot still sat in her own sleeping quarters; she liked to be near him. The cheeky ik'aad was supposed to be asleep but often woke briefly as she came to bed before falling asleep once more. The arrangement suited them.
"Buir cuyir olar, Korkie," Satine soothed, as she always did, her voice travelling smoothly in the warm darkness.
Mama is here, Korkie.
"Vaii cuyir buir Dada?" Korkie clarified.
And Satine's heart just about stopped in her chest. The only word of Basic that he knew. Korkie didn't want to know where she was; he was asking after his father.
The ship's cabin was not nearly big enough for sparring or katas which was a real kriffing shame – although Anakin tried not to swear anymore. Obi Wan had always been a strong advocate for a moving meditation when Anakin was anxious, or at least he had been since learning, very early in their time together, that performing a sitting meditation with an agitated Anakin was like trying to wrestle a moon from its orbit.
"Padawan."
Anakin had heard that inflection a thousand times before. Padawan, I am about to warn you of something. Padawan, there is something you must be mindful of. Padawan, stop doing what you're doing.
But this time Obi Wan did not tell Anakin to connect with his breath or feel the Force around him.
"She has loved you since you were born and she will love you forever, Anakin," he said plainly. "You needn't look so worried."
Anakin was supposed to be saving his tears for his mother. His throat began to tighten.
"Come, Padawan," Obi Wan murmured gently. "I have a new meditation for you."
He stood and gestured to the vacated pilot's seat.
"You've waited so patiently for your chance to fly, Anakin."
Satine rose from her bed but did not turn on the lights. She came to lean over Korkie's cot, stroking the child's head. He was sitting upright, entirely disinterested in sleeping.
"Buir Dada cuyir chaaj'yc be'chaaj," Satine managed. "Bat Coruscant. O'r te Ka'ra."
Dada is far away. On Coruscant. In the stars.
She had always known that this day would come, when Korkie would develop some permanence to his memory and his father's visits would come to bring pain as well as joy. And of course, it had come early, well before his second birthday. Blasted Kryze and Kenobi brains. Satine gave up on bedtime and took her son in her arms.
"Ni'm ni ceta, Korkie."
And she was sorry, deeply sorry, for it was surely all her fault. She'd convinced Obi Wan that the arrangement was feasible. That Korkie would not mourn their separation. And she'd done it because she was too selfish to forsake Obi Wan's presence in their lives entirely, and too cowardly to ask him to stay.
Korkie pressed his head firmly against her chest. He was hot and sweaty with his discontent.
"Buir Mama," he cried. "Buir Dada."
Over and over he wailed.
Buir Mama. Buir Dada. Buir Mama. Buir Dada.
He did not yet have the words of the great poets, but this lamentation was no less sorrowful. Satine, too, found that there was only one thing to say. Over and over. Two broken audio loopers, lapping over one another.
"Buir Mama!"
"Ni'm ni ceta, Korkie."
"Buir Dada!"
"Ni'm ni ceta, cyar'ad. Ni'm ni ceta."
Anakin landed the ship with admirable restraint, and walked diligently half a step behind Obi Wan as they descended the ramp onto the sands of Tatooine. It was early evening and the heat still thick enough to smother the travellers – Obi Wan remembered, as he adjusted to the warmth of the air inside his chest, why he had been more than happy to spend most of their last visit to Tatooine sheltering in the ship.
And how long ago that last visit felt, like a decade rather than a single year. Obi Wan had not been a father, he had not been a Knight. He had simply been Obi Wan. But his transformation hardly compared to his Padawan's, from slave to Jedi. The boy's keen eyes scanned the horizon, where the domed houses and vaporator spires of Mos Espa were becoming visible against the blue-grey sky.
"She'll probably be making dinner," Anakin suggested. "Or maybe doing her work with the computers. Did I tell you about her work with the computers? Watto's pretty alright, he lets her make a bit of money by having a job. She cleans memory devices. That way, Watto doesn't have to spend money feeding her and Mum can save a tiny bit of money for herself. It would never be enough money for her to be free, obviously. Watto wouldn't let that happen. He…"
The child rambled nervously on. There had been no way to warn Shmi of their impending visit; a slave was not permitted her own communication devices, and to talk to her owner would put them at risk of exploitation. The two Jedi travelled out of uniform. All they could do was hope that Watto had released her from her duties at a reasonable time and she had returned to her small home.
"I'm pretty sure she's at home. I can feel her. This is the short-cut way," Anakin announced, leading his Master through a maze of dusty laneways. "Do you think that Threepio still works? I hope Mum didn't sell him. I mean, if she needed to I'd understand. But I hope he's still there."
Obi Wan couldn't bring himself to tell his Padawan to stop talking. They rounded another corner.
"I'm just worried that he might have broken down, with his wiring all exposed, if too much sand got in and damaged-"
Anakin's voice failed him. Shmi Skywalker was standing outside her small home, hanging washing on a wire line.
"Mum!"
He'd been speaking at a hundred klicks an hour but the words had left him.
"Mum, I-"
Mother and son rushed to greet each other, Shmi falling to her knees before him.
"Ani, I thought I'd never-"
"Mum!" Anakin cried once more, burying his face in her hair.
The Chosen One wept. Still, through his tears, he choked out, "Mum!" – the only word this bright little boy could say.
Anakin crashed into a deep sleep shortly before midnight, after hours of animated discussion with his mother and Master around Shmi's small kitchen table. There had been a great deal of territory to cover – Master Qui Gon's death, and Obi Wan's promise, and the lessons in the Temple, and the sparring, and the 'freshers that poured a sort of monsoonal rain down onto one's head. Then they had presented their gift to Shmi, a well-powered communicator, bought with two months of Jedi Knight allowance, so that she might contact her son whenever she pleased. Obi Wan had left earlier in the evening to walk the streets for an hour or two while Anakin happily educated his mother on all the features of her new gadget, ostensibly to ensure the safety of their ship. But truly he had known that his Padawan needed some time to talk to his mother alone.
"Anakin speaks very highly of you," Shmi informed him, in low tones so as not to disturb her sleeping child. "I am very grateful he has found such a good teacher in you."
The woman had a unique warmth to her eyes. It was no small wonder Anakin adored her as a flower adores the sun.
"Anakin is the one who has taught me how to be a teacher," Obi Wan divulged. "And I confess that I'm still learning."
"Of course," Shmi agreed.
A brief silence fell.
"I never expected to see him again. I didn't think that Jedi…"
"Most Jedi do not visit their birth families," Obi Wan finished, understanding the half-question. "But most Jedi leave their families in infancy. They do not yearn for their mothers as Anakin does."
Shmi nodded thoughtfully. The Force was solemn around her.
"I don't want to hold him back," she asserted, quietly. "When he left I told him not to look back. To look forward, at this enormous galaxy, and not worry himself with my little life."
Obi Wan shook his head.
"It is your life that has inspired him to do great things in this enormous galaxy, Shmi. He speaks to me often of freeing the slaves."
Obi Wan leaned back in his chair and pushed his lengthening hair back from his face.
"No easy feat, of course, in a galaxy so corrupt as ours. But if anyone can do it…"
He gifted Shmi a small smile.
"He is the Chosen One, after all. No doubt he will sit on the Jedi Council one day. Have the eminence to exert influence over the Senate. Have the skills and training to make a real difference."
Shmi nodded, but Obi Wan could see that her smile did not quite meet her eyes. An unease settled in his own gut.
"Your freedom, Shmi…"
I have wronged you. Every day since I first met you I have wronged you.
"It is a great regret of mine that I was not able to persuade the Council to ensure your freedom a year ago," he professed. "I was unsure of what to do, having so little money myself. But there may be another path. A close friend of mine-"
"The Duchess Kryze has enough poverty on her own planet that she is working to alleviate, I am sure," Shmi intoned calmly.
Obi Wan had to smile meekly.
"Anakin told you of my family."
"He believes it is his story to tell, I'm afraid," Shmi replied, with a smile of her own. "He tells me that the Prince Korkaran is his brother."
Obi Wan chuckled. He couldn't deny the warmth that this sparked in him.
"He is a good brother."
"He always wanted one."
Silence fell between them.
"I appreciate your offer to arrange for my freedom," Shmi managed eventually. "But you must understand, Obi Wan, that I am content so long as Anakin is free and well."
Obi Wan shook his head.
"Shmi, I do not want to abandon-"
"My freedom is coming," Shmi murmured, perfectly calm. "I've met someone I love. A farmer. He is not wealthy but he will be able to save enough, with a little time. My freedom is coming, and in the meantime, I am content. So long as…"
The night was alive with the chirping and buzzing of insects, the shouts and laughter and profanity of those drinking late. Obi Wan waited patiently in Shmi's silence.
"All that matters to me is that my son is free, Obi Wan," Shmi asserted eventually. "I have not lost him in vain, so long as he is free."
There was a sudden sheen of tears in her eyes as she looked at him.
"Are the Jedi free?"
And Obi Wan's head was flooded then by memories of Satine. You are not paid, Obi Wan! He closed his eyes briefly and willed his mind to be clear.
"A Jedi lives their life in service of the Order," Obi Wan conceded. "But the control of the Council is not absolute. In the past year I have refused missions allocated to me by the Council, for instance, so as to spend more time training Anakin. And a Jedi may even leave the Order entirely, if they should choose, with no fear of punishment."
Shmi nodded thoughtfully.
"But in reality, Master Kenobi, is the sense of responsibility not too great?"
Obi Wan sighed. There was no need for Shmi to elaborate.
"The decision for me to stay was my own," Obi Wan intoned heavily. "And supported by Korkie's mother."
"The Duchess Kryze is a remarkably strong woman," Shmi noted.
"That she is."
Obi Wan slumped forward then, leaning on the table, extending a hand towards Shmi.
"Your son will do something great in this galaxy, Shmi. With or without the Jedi Order. I am sure of it. And that is why I have chosen to train him. To give him the skills he needs to make the galaxy brighter."
Shmi nodded, and came to rest her callused hand upon Obi Wan's.
"If Anakin should ever wish to leave the Order, Shmi, for love or any other reason…" Obi Wan vowed. "I will be his staunchest supporter."
At this, Shmi finally smiled.
"You are very welcome to share my new comm-code with the Duchess," she suggested, eyes bright. "I have years' worth of advice when it comes to handling these especially talented little ones."
Obi Wan nodded gratefully.
"I am sure she would be eager to hear it."
He paused in pensive silence.
"It seems a miracle, Shmi, that without training or guidance, you've raised this Force-sensitive child alone…"
His eyes fell upon the sleeping child, his golden Padawan. He shook his head and laughed with quiet disbelief.
"You've done so well, Shmi. I don't know how you did it but you have. And I know you will continue to guide him on the right path."
Shmi gave an easy shrug, and rested back in her chair.
"All it is, dear Jedi," she murmured, "is to love them and love them and love them."
Did I get this chapter right? Maybe not. There are bits I was happy with - the emotion of our sweet little Korkie crying for his father, Shmi's beautiful advice - but I'm not sure about the overall flow. That said, I wanted to bring it to you rather than agonising for ages so we can move onwards and upwards, so hopefully I've done ok.
Next chapter, Satine and Korkie make a political visit to Coruscant.
xx - S.