Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary | Adverse Effects
Anakin woke with a start.
His heart was beating wildly. Cold beads of sweat were trickling down his face. Shivers were running down his spine. And worse still, there was a pounding in the back of his skull, like a slave driver's drum. Like a rush of wind, gathering speed. Or like a cacophony of voices, loudly clamoring for his attention, urging him to wake up—
No—no. It was just the wind. Only the wind. Anakin could hear it more clearly now: the beginnings of a sandstorm.
Breathing hard, he lay still and listened as the winds stirred outside the walls of his room. His home. It couldn't have been for more than a few seconds—minutes, maybe—but it felt like a small forever.
Then he got up, made his bed, and headed toward what must be the dining room, where he found his mother—his mother, but how was she—
"There you are, Ani," she said, and she was smiling, brighter than the Tatooine suns. "Set the table, will you? Cliegg and your brother will be here soon."
My brother? An image flickered in his mind, the vestiges of a dream: there had been a man with an unkempt beard and worried eyes, and his voice had broken when he had called Anakin's name, like he was close to tears—
But the memory fell away in a blink, replaced by his brother's face. Owen. His brother's name was Owen. Maybe it had been him, in the dream. His stepbrother. Why did he forget—
There was a stack of plates in his hands. Anakin blinked at it. Stared, for a moment, before setting them on the table like his mother had asked.
Yes. Of course. It was almost time for dinner. They were going to have dinner, him and his mother and his brother and Cliegg. They had gone to Anchorhead that morning, Cliegg and Owen, to get supplies to repair the vaporators.
Anakin remembered now. Strange, that he had forgotten. He must have been asleep for too long, and that was why he felt so slow, so sluggish, like his head was full of cotton. Like his ears were full of cotton, too, and that must be why the winds outside sounded oddly muffled. Yes. That must be it.
Cliegg and Owen would be here soon, any moment now. They would have to be, because the sandstorm was fast approaching. The winds were howling. Beckoning.
"Oh, I can't believe I almost forgot," his mother said, setting another place on the table. "Beru's coming too."
"Beru?" Anakin repeated, and he startled at the sound of his voice. It took him a beat, then another, to place the name.
His mother was still smiling her radiant smile. Something deep in him ached at the sight of it.
"That's everyone in the family," she was saying. "It feels like ages since we were all together, doesn't it?"
Anakin didn't know how to answer her. Didn't know what the answer was supposed to be. How could he not know? How could he have forgotten? How could he forget so many things—
"There's no need to look like that," his mother chided. "She's a lovely girl. Owen hasn't proposed yet, it's true, but she's as good as family already."
Anakin shook his head, and immediately wished he hadn't. There was that pounding in his skull again, harder now. Louder. "She's not—I mean, yes, she is, but that isn't . . . it's not what I—"
More drumbeats. The slave driver's drum. But that didn't make sense, did it? Because it was just the wind—that was what he was hearing. The gathering winds. The approaching sandstorm. And yet—
And yet . . .
For a moment, Anakin could have sworn the wind had sounded like voices. Like something familiar. The man from the dream, with his worried eyes—was that his voice, rising above the din? Anakin tried to hold the image in his mind, but it felt as if he was looking at the man through a misted window, and somehow, inexplicably—
For a moment, he had looked like Anakin's mother.
But that didn't make sense, either. Because his mother was here, and she was looking at him, her brow creased. Worried. She was always worried. Because of the Podraces and Watto's angry threats. Because of Gardulla before him, and the slaves she had whipped when they displeased her, then thrown as meat for the krayt dragon she kept in her pit. Worried, always, because of the fear that they would be next.
"Ani?" his mother said. "Are you all right?"
"I'm sorry," Anakin said, and he wasn't sure why he did.
Her frown deepened, and she reached out to cup his forehead. Her touch was warm. Burning. So achingly alive.
"No fever," she murmured. "But you're looking a little pale, and your eyes . . ." His mother sighed and let her hand fall. Anakin wanted to snatch it back and never let go. "You had a nightmare again last night, didn't you?"
Anakin swallowed. "I don't—I don't remember."
"You must have. You've always had trouble sleeping, especially when a storm is due."
Another sigh, and again his chest ached. All he had ever wanted was to smooth away those lines of exhaustion from his mother's face, to take away her fears, her pain. All these years later, and he had never learned how.
"Let's get you to bed," she said gently, ushering him out of the dining room with a warm hand on his back.
"But what about—"
"Dinner can wait. You need to rest now, Ani."
Anakin wanted to protest. It felt like that was all he had been doing lately: resting. Sleeping. He felt too groggy for more. And how could he sleep, anyway, when there was a sandstorm roaring outside? The winds were so loud, beating against the walls of their home, like drumbeats—
—up, Anakin. Wake up. You have to wake up. You can't—you're not supposed to—
"You work so hard," his mother said, and Anakin realized he was in his room, lying flat on his back, his head cradled on her lap. When did they get here? Why hadn't he noticed? "No wonder you can't sleep, little one. My dear heart. My brave boy. You can't save the whole world."
Not the whole world, Anakin wanted to say. Just the part with you in it. I have to. I should. I must.
But he hadn't, had he? He had been too late. Too slow to act. Always too slow—
"I'm sorry," he said again. He was crying. Why was he crying?
She brushed her thumb under his eye, catching the tears that fell. "There's no need to apologize for that. It's all right. Dreams pass in time."
That was familiar too. Anakin thought again of the man from his dream, but the image was fading fast from his mind. Blurring around the edges, like a shadow in the water. Wake up, the man had said. Wake up, the drums seemed to say. Wake up, the winds echoed.
But here was his mother, smiling, her warm hands carding through his hair.
"Rest your eyes, Ani," she said softly. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake."
Anakin closed his eyes, and the howling winds fell silent at last.
