The Book of Grim Realities
Obi-Wan walked through the stacks in quiet contemplation. The conversation with Mace was poisonous leaving him feeling worse than the Sith lightning attack had. And that was a monumental task in itself.
He tugged miserably at the edge of his cloak wishing it could do more to protect him from the cold. After days of struggling, Obi-Wan finally conceded that the icy chill that had clutched hold of his being had been compounded by the Sith master's attack. He was tired and cold and feared it would never improve. This knowledge did not bother him as much as it should have, because he could feel Bali's warm presence. In the end, that was all that mattered.
The Jedi master straightened slightly, unwrapping himself from the tightly pulled cloak. It would do no good to walk around shivering. More than anything he just wanted to sit down for a little while and rest. He could do that while Bali happily explored Ben'al Houk's life.
Finding Bali's familiar signature, he followed it through the vast resources to a couple empty rows of research stations.
To his surprise, he found Bali just sitting there, staring at the passive display. The Jedi master drew close and noticed the blank screen. "Padawan?"
Bali looked up and smiled sadly.
All too quickly, Obi-Wan became aware of Bali's blocking. "You could have started without me, Padawan." He sat down on the gently curving bench next to the thirteen-year-old.
"I'm not really interested anymore," Bali said softly. "I'm really tired. I think I just want to go back to my room and sleep. Big day tomorrow." He stood up pausing at the edge of the bench as bright green eyes studied his master. "Sorry to drag you all the way to the archives for no reason."
Obi-Wan silently watched the apprentice. Leaning back slightly, he folded his arms tight across his chest. "Talk to me."
"I am tired, Master," Bali said softly as he took a few steps away from the station.
"Bali?" He reached for the boy, but the apprentice pulled free and ran. Padawan!
There was no response.
Bali!
Every instinct told him to chase after the apprentice but he knew Bali would hold in whatever it was that upset him. No amount of prying would loosen the information.
The master turned to face the closed down station that Bali had been using. Slowly he brought his fingers up and brushed over the panel activating it. As Bali's master, he had authority to open up an index of whatever files Bali had accessed. He had never exercised it. Never had the need to blatantly invade Bali's privacy.
There was only a moment of hesitation before Obi-Wan used his master's prerogative and called up the most recently accessed files.
Obi-Wan had not planned to get caught up in the corridor by Mace. He had planned to be there and guide Bali through the research and information. The boy had surprised him, the Jedi thought as he scanned the information. Bali had attained it faster and more in depth than he expected.
The first file he pulled up was the floating, two-dimensional recording of Ben'al Houk's sparring match. He watched the recording play out, as amazed at that moment as he was when he was thirteen and discovered his familial relationship with the great warrior. A small part of him was disturbed by the sensation of seeing his own face in the ancient recording. Beyond that and more than anything he understood Bali's excitement. He had just hoped to be there when Bali learned the difference between legend and painful reality.
All Jedi die.
Very few live to their twilight years, having lived the Jedi life and finding peace in their sleep. Many—too many—were cut down in their prime. Often for no reason other than being the unfortunate pawn in some political struggle.
It was never a secret that a Jedi will give their life in the course of duty, but a thirteen-year-old does not understand that. At least not until cold, hard reality arrives on silent wings.
Without hesitation, he drew up the last image file Bali had accessed. The same recording that had frightened him away from further research at the same tender age as his padawan. The image crackled and broke up intermittently. A damaged security cam had captured for all of eternity Ben'al Houk's last battle.
Slaughtered at the hands of the Sith.
Within the grainy image, a knight struggled through a debris-strewn room. One hand still clutching his lightsaber, the other holding desperately to a chest wound. The edges of the image blurred and lost focus as black shrouded figures melted from the darkness of the room.
They moved quickly. Blue against three red lightsabers. The knight killed one before a red blade jabbed into his right thigh sending the already injured Jedi to his knees. A vicious flash of red sliced deep into the knight's abdomen. The Sith watched and although their faces were unseen, Obi-Wan knew they enjoyed Ben'al's slow death.
Another flash of red as the beast's lightsaber was driven through the Jedi just below his right collarbone. Ben'al Houk's expression reflected the Jedi serenity that had always been a part of his life as calm acceptance overrode any pain he might be suffering. A swift jerk of the weapon and the crimson blade ripped through the knight's chest and severing his arm in a single, fluid motion. Ben'al Houk was dead before his body hit the ground. As quickly as the shrouded forms appeared, they vanished, returning to the darkness from which they came.
The image fluctuated into static before clearing slightly. In the center of the grainy image lay Ben'al Houk, the greatest Sith killer to ever walk the Temple corridors. Dead at thirty-seven.
Obi-Wan silently studied the image for a time. He remembered the horror of learning what it meant to die in service to the Order and yet, be unwilling to turn his back on his duty. Without question, he understood the terror that was flowing behind his padawan's shielded mind.
_________________
The Book of Games
"Help me," a shaky voice called out. "Please." Taka Gola, a lobbyist for the Ozo Tamite Mining Company went looking for a few good friends in high political stations found something else. She stumbled over the narrow catwalk that curved above the false dome of the Senate Chamber. One of her black high heels was broken. She struggled, limping slowly toward a light. "Help me," her voice wavered and echoed all around. Her black, well-tailored suit shined where blood had run down over the material. Her right cheek had been slashed open and warm blood oozed freely from the wound. "Help me," she kept repeating as she hobbled toward the light cross section.
Her dark brown hair had been tied up into intricate knots, revealing the creamy flesh of her neck and the deep gash that marred it.
"Help me," she sobbed. She did not have the credentials to get into the Senate Office building so she decided to leave a few gifts of appreciation from the mining company at their offices in the Senate.
There was a shadow and the next she knew she was laying on the catwalk. The light was just a head but the broken heel made her stumble and fall against the durasteel rail. "Someone, please help me."
"You cannot escape me," Vengier hissed appearing from the shadows.
"No!" Taka cried out as she struggled to regain her footing.
The shrouded figure moved silently toward the struggling woman. A clawed hand lashed out from the layers of black, tearing through the finely woven material. Taka shrieked as she stumbled and fell.
"Fear is such a powerful emotion." Vengier hovered menacingly over the frightened, wounded woman. "It emanates from you like a thick miasma. You think you are afraid of dying, but I think you are more afraid of the pain."
"No, no, don't hurt me," Taka begged and started sobbing as she clutched her bleeding arm.
"You would prefer a quick, painless death?"
"Don't kill me," Taka said so softly that she was barely heard within the massive dome.
"Oh, don't worry," Vengier mocked Sidious' cruel yet playful tone. "I promise it will be swift in the end." Hissing softly. "But not yet."
Taka screamed as she was ripped from the cool catwalk. Her hair pulling as both Sith and victim dropped off the edge of the walkway into the dark shadows below. They landed near a panel and Vengier easily kicked it free.
Far below was the vast, empty senate chamber. Representative's platforms remained parked and darkened in the low lighting.
Reaching out with the Force, Vengier called to the Naboo delegation's platform. The carriage hummed to life and swept out and hovered in the center of the chamber.
Taka was still sobbing when Vengier tossed her through the opening. With little interest, Vengier watched the woman struggle as she fell through the chamber, crashing into the side of the Naboo platform. A sickening snap echoed through the empty room as Taka's limp form dangled over the platform's side.
"Almost missed," Vengier laughed before leaping through the opening. The black shroud fluttered like dark wings before the Sith landed gracefully on the edge opposite Taka's broken form. Black boots stomped over the cushioned seating, and a clawed hand grabbed a fist full of Taka's hair again.
The lobbyist groaned softly as she was drug to the center of the platform. "Please," Taka begged.
"Please?" Wicked laughter tore from the expressionless black mask. Vengier twisted Taka's head around to stare into the young woman's dull green eyes. "You remind me of someone I used to know."
"Have mercy," Taka pleaded as her body slumped to one side.
"You ask for mercy? You don't deserve mercy."
"Stop!" A deep voice rang out through the chamber.
Vengier twisted to see a tall Jedi knight with a long shock of white hair enter the vast chamber. "An audience," the Sith cheered.
"Help me," Taka whispered even as her eyes drooped closed.
The Sith wrapped dark tendrils of the Force around the dying woman. Feasting on the slowing of blood through her veins as internal bleeding took its toll. "It will be over soon," the dark lord whispered.
The young knight sprang from platform to platform, quickly approaching the Naboo pod. Just as he was about to make the leap, Vengier turned to face him.
"Release her!" The Jedi demanded.
"As you wish." Vengier pulled Taka's head back and brought clawed fingers over the dark haired woman's exposed throat. Taka fell limply to the floor of the platform, quickly becoming the center of a red pool.
The Sith's attention fell to the shocked Jedi's face. "Your turn." Drawing on the tainted Force, Vengier was propelled from the Naboo platform to the one the Jedi stood on. "Pretty Jedi meat," Vengier crooned, revealing a crimson lightsaber blade.
"I demand you surrender," the knight demanded.
"Foolish pup," Vengier growled, lashing out with a violent Force push that threw the Jedi from the platform. Leaning over the edge, the Sith watched as the white haired Jedi crashed into a lower level platform. Before the young man had come to a stop, Vengier leapt. Showing a rare sense of mercy, the Sith beheaded the Jedi.
Bringing a black boot out, Vengier kicked the body over the ledge listening until the dull thud echoed through the chamber. Then the dark lord sank to the curved seat in the platform. Addressing the bodiless head that lay in the floor, the Sith spoke rather jovially. "I think Senator Organa could use your help protecting his platform."
The blood stained gloves snapped up the Jedi's head and Vengier bounded through the chamber to the Alderaan delegation's platform. At the podium, Vengier propped the white haired Jedi's head up on it. "Perfect." Poking a talon tipped finger to the dead Jedi's nose Vengier laughed. "I hope the Senator appreciates his protection."
Delight danced through the Sith at the thought of the impending encounter with Obi-Wan.
"Soon, I shall finish what I should have years ago."
_________________________
Book of Flesh and Bone Part VII
A cool breeze had settled in, wrapping itself around the research colony. Soft whistles blew through the white buildings that rose above the red Xim soil. Golden pebbles glinted in Aura Masa's dying light as day began to fade. Soft footsteps crushed the shimmering pebbles underfoot. "Stop!" Halla called out. The pebbles dug into her feet, as the moccasins she wore were not made for running over the winding paths; they belonged on the cool marble of the grand house. She felt as if she were running on sand as she trudged toward the figure staring out over the horizon.
The golden light of Aura Masa silhouetted the heavily cloaked figure. The purifying light seemed to burn away the edges of his calm expression. "You cannot be leaving yet," she half cried out as she slowed her approach. "It has only been a few days. The negotiations are still going on."
"They failed," was the dull reply.
"No." Halla carefully stepped to the ledge that Obi-Wan stood precariously close to. "They have to try again."
"No more tries." The knight stared out over the Xim village below silently studying it.
"You just got here. You have been so busy with the mission that we have barely had a chance to speak." A wealth of illness bubbled up in her at the thought of her weakness. Halla had promised herself she would be strong. This Jedi's arrival meant nothing to her. At least, that was what she wanted to believe and now after only a few days, nothing of what she wanted to say had been said. The very small part of her that had quietly taken the Jedi Council's decree was as outraged by the knight's silence then as she was now. "Do not ignore me, Obi-Wan."
In a well-worn action, Obi-Wan carefully pulled his cloak tight in protection against the chilling air. Then the Jedi turned sharply. The warm light of the Xim sun did little to take the chill from his pale blue eyes.
As if reacting to a wild beast, Halla withdrew carefully.
"You should return to the main house, Milady," Obi-Wan said evenly.
Incensed, Halla lashed out, striking Obi-Wan's cheek. The snap of flesh against flesh echoed through the crisp air. "You and your damned formality!" Maybe it should have been his damned stubbornness. "What is my name?" she demanded. "Tell me. For once, call me by my name or do you hate me that much?"
"I do not have time for this," Obi-Wan replied as he started to turn away. "I have a mission to complete." He shrugged deeper into his cloak.
Halla's anger quickly subsided as she again noted the simple action of seeking warmth. In the last few days, she had seen him wrap his cloak tight fighting against some internal chill. The sight always left her feeling helpless. He would not allow her the chance to understand why and it bothered her terribly. Upset that her anger had gained the best of her she reached out, gently clutching his wrist. "Take me with you," Halla begged softly.
Shaking his head slightly, Obi-Wan whispered. "No." Although the word was spoken softly, the resolution never wavered.
Refusing to let go Halla tightened her grip on his wrist. "You are going to the lower end of the colony." She ignored the sharp look Obi-Wan shot her. A delicate finger pointed to the sun. "Altiro is sinking behind the horizon." There was a desperate need in her voice when she whispered the true name of the planet's sun. "They do not speak Basic there. You will need a translator."
"I will not require such assistance." Obi-Wan tried to pull free of her but the young woman held on tight.
"You have to take me."
"I work alone."
"You can't speak Ximi."
"I don't need to," Obi-Wan growled as he freed himself of the tight grip and began to walk away.
Halla just stood there, shocked. How could he be so unfeeling toward her aftereverything? "Obi-Wan." Again she reached for him but he shrugged away from her touch. "You act like I am a complete stranger to you."
At the remark, Obi-Wan paused and gazed tiredly at her. "Not complete, but close enough."
"I guess I deserved that."
Ignoring her, Obi-Wan took time to check his gear before glancing back at Halla.
"You will thank your husband for me for his hospitality."
All of the reasons she had hated him before came rushing back to her. The young woman was rocked by the knowledge she had willed herself to forget the moment she met the knight just days ago. She straightened suddenly afraid of feeling weak in front of him. Yet, in those cold blue eyes, framed by gentle waves of ginger hair that she had so longed to brush her fingers through, she knew he could read her weakness.
"You will stay here and be the grand lady you are supposed to be," a touch of bitterness floated in his voice, "not trotting through the colony's lower quarters."
"I am not fragile, after all I was a Jedi once."
"Once," Obi-Wan sighed and stared dully at Halla. "I am grateful that you are well and alive. I wish you well in this life." Finished with the conversation, the Jedi turned away.
"So this is it?" Halla reached out again and clasped his wrist to stop the preparations. The happy little zing of the Force moving between them shortly shook her before she re-gained her composure. The realization of what it had once represented made her sad.
"Halla, please, I need to focus on the mission."
The dark haired woman withdrew slightly. "It's always about the mission, isn't it? I had forgotten that you always put being a Jedi above everything and everyone else." In anger she pulled away as her anger bloomed. "Fine. Go on your mission. Do whatever it is you are supposed to do. Earn the appreciation of the high and mighty Jedi Council. Do you think they really appreciate what you do for them? They will run you into the ground and when you are dead, they will replace you with the next naïve fool that comes along." The rage she had spent years keeping in check laced her voice. "You are expendable, don't you get it?" Fits flew through the air and she mercilessly brought them down against the knight's chest. "Qin Luc is nothing. My husband will hire a team to go in and kill those rebels to get her back. There are always other ways than a peaceful, bloodless resolution."
Obi-Wan clutched her wrists, relieving himself of the battering Halla was providing. Shocked, hurt eyes studied the sobbing woman.
The anger inspired strength was quickly sapped and Halla sank to the ground. "There is always blood," she wept. Her hands still tight in Obi-Wan's grip as watery green eyes stared up. "Don't go. Please. She isn't worth it. Dying isn't worth it. Leave while you still can."
_________________________
The Book of the Old Age
A bowl of warm gruel in front of him, Yoda sat down to a leisurely meal after another trying day. The ancient master's mind began to consider the events but quickly stifled such a frustrating thought. It would do little good to ruin his meal with things he obviously had no control over. Besides, the little master was expecting company.
A message had been sent to him warning of a certain historical record had been accessed. Twice.
The only question that remained was which one would show up at his door first.
Just a few bites into his meal and Yoda stopped, sensing an overwhelming feeling of grief. He reached out sending a simple command through the Force and opened the door.
A very startled Bali Tiro stood there. His cheeks glistened where tears had made their path. The apprentice frowned and started to retreat.
"Come, young one," Yoda prompted as he motioned toward the slump shoulder figure. "Come. Late it is," the little master said softly, "for young padawan's to be wondering about."
Tear rimmed green eyes studied Yoda for a moment before Bali stepped into the apartment. The apprentice looked like a giant next to the small furnishings. Frowning, Bali folded his arms across his chest in a manner that reminded Yoda so much of Obi-Wan.
Yoda hopped down from his chair and hobbled over to the uncomfortable figure in the middle of the apartment. He grabbed Bali's sleeve and pulled him over to a collection of floor pillows and motioned him to sit.
Without question, Bali obeyed but his bright green eyes held a question in them that Yoda could not ignore.
"Speak, you will. Nothing you will learn if you keep it bottled up inside."
Worry fluttered over the young apprentice's brow as he wiggled himself into a more comfortable position. "How old are you, Master?"
Yoda leaned against his gimer stick considering the question and how to answer it. It was not the first time he had been put into the same position. This time he did not feel it could be answered the same way. A small, clawed finger pointed out the wrinkles of a long life around his large yellow eyes. "Old, I am."
Bali seemed to consider the evasive answer for a moment before continuing with his questioning. "Did you know Ben'al Houk?"
The little master laughed as a green hand pressed to Bali's shoulder. "Not that old, am I." Yoda could sense the struggle behind the boy's eyes. "Died long before I was born."
"Oh."
The ancient master's ears twitched slightly as he studied the forlorn figure. "Where is your master?"
"At the archives, I think. Maybe. I ran off." Bali buried his face in the sleeves of his tunic.
"Hmm, saw something you did."
The apprentice did not answer, only silently rocked.
Strange, the little master thought, he remembered another thirteen-year-old padawan suffering from a similar shock and the mistakes that had been made before. "Should not have run. Share your concerns with your master, you should have."
"No." Bali's voice was muffled.
Yoda was about to respond when he stopped. His attention turned toward the door, a gentle wave of a small clawed hand sent the door sliding open revealing a very concerned Obi-Wan.
"Master," Obi-Wan said softly as he bowed but his head remained tilted to see the curled up form of his apprentice.
"Not difficult finding the boy?" Yoda waved Obi-Wan into the apartment.
"I figured he would come here."
"Much like you, the boy reminds me of."
With Yoda's silent permission, Obi-Wan quickly moved to the center of the floor pillows and knelt next to the huddled apprentice.
"I should have waited," sounded Bali's muffled voice. "I got help and then I got excited about the record. I did not know what was on it. I am sorry."
Obi-Wan gently wrapped an arm around Bali's slumped shoulders. "Since when do you apologize for learning something?"
"Shocking it is to witness our own mortality," Yoda said as he continued to study the concerned master's gentle reaction to the upset child.
Obi-Wan reached into the folds of Bali's tunic sleeves and found the buried face. Gently he caught hold of the boy's chin and tipped the sad face up into the warm yellow light of the apartment. "Hiding your face isn't going to change facts."
"You know?" Bali asked softly as he fell against his master's side seeking comfort and protection. "It doesn't bother you?" he asked in a small voice.
"Of course it does. We both know there would be something wrong with me if it didn't."
Bali giggled as a smile leapt to his formerly sad features. Then a solemnity found him as he asked, "Is that going to happen to us?"
The young master brushed his fingers through Bali's short brown spikes. "Few Jedi die like that."
Bright green eyes looked to Yoda for confirmation.
The little master nodded.
