Chapter XII - The Dragon's Tale
Luke deactivated his weapon but held it at his side, wary. "Is this truly the Dragon, then? Or another illusion?"
She gave her liquid chuckle again. "Matter is an illusion, Master Jedi. We are luminous beings, not this crude flesh and blood and bone." She reached out and touched his breastbone. "Just as this body is the illusion you put forth, this is the illusion I wear." She gestured to herself.
"A simple yes or no would have sufficed," he replied.
"When you have seen as much as I have, Skywalker, you will learn that answers are rarely as simple as yes or no." She sat back down. "You are right, however, in saying I am the one the Tuskens like to call the Dragon."
"I'm Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight." He clipped his saber to his belt. "But you knew that already, I suppose."
She nodded. "I have been awaiting your presence, Skywalker. It has been many years since I have had the privilege of meeting a Jedi."
"The Jedi Order was destroyed," Luke explained. "Only two survived..."
"Yes, I know," she said dismissively. "Tatooine may be one parsec beyond nowhere, and Sandpeople have a reputation for being primitive savages, but I know what goes on beyond my valley."
"Then you know of the New Republic?"
"I do."
"And the New Jedi Order?"
"Indeed."
"What of the siege on Tatooine?"
She cocked her head. "Now that is news to me."
"That's why I'm here. Pirates have..."
She raised a hand to silence him. "Master Skywalker has a story to tell, I see. And I am most anxious to hear it. But I also sense you wish to know a little about me, am I wrong?"
He hesitated. "Actually, you're right. There aren't many Force-strong Tuskens wandering this planet, and I was curious as to how one ended up in Madman's Crown."
"And I also sense you are injured and tired, and could use a meal and a good washing," she added. "We shall see to your hunger and wounds first, then we shall exchange information. A story for a story. A deal?"
"Sounds fair."
She stood. "Come with me."
The inside of the Dragon's home reminded him of Obi-wan's house -- few decorations, yet an atmosphere of peace and comfort. It was like Yoda's house, however, in that there seemed to be as many animals inside the house as outside. He had to pluck several small lizards and a brown-banded snake off a chair before he could seat himself.
"It is a welcome respite to have a guest," the Dragon told him, collecting an assortment of jars from a shelf high over the fireplace. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
"Why are there so many herd animals outside?" he asked.
"I have a fondness for the lesser creatures," she replied. "And they, in turn, are fond of me. Oh, they are free to come and go as they please, but most find it safer in the Crown." She bent down and slapped a small rodent away from the cooking pot. "No, not for you, you little thief! Go outside and forage for seeds!"
"Fond of them, eh?" Luke chuckled.
She snorted, depositing the jars roughly on the table and sitting down. "Just because I am fond of them doesn't mean they can poke their noses in the cooking pot." She popped the top off a glass container and looked inside. "Low on chakroot. I'll have to pick some up next time I go to Mos Eisley."
"You go into town?"
"You saw me outside," she replied. "Illusion is a Force art I have mastered. I can enter a human settlement without drawing attention if I wish." She sprinkled ingredients in an earthenware bowl from an assortment of clay, stone, and offworld-made containers, then took a pestle and began grinding the mixture. Occasionally she would pause to add some water from a cistern on the table or a touch more of some needed herb.
"What are you making?"
"Something for that wound of yours." She put her face to the bowl and inhaled. "Done. This may sting when I put it on, but it will cleanse the injury and help it heal. If you will allow me to see it..."
He rolled up his pant leg and peeled off the bacta wrap. She hissed in sympathy when the ugly wounds were revealed. Luke winced himself upon seeing them. In spite of cleaning them and applying a generous amount of bacta, they were beginning to ooze and smell.
"Rats, eh? Nasty. Their claws leave infections that don't abate easily, even with bacta." She wet a cloth and began to carefully clean the gashes.
"You speak Basic very well," he told her. "How did you -- ow! -- learn to speak it?"
"Part of my story, Skywalker," she replied. "But a story for a story was the deal. Tell me yours first, then we shall hear mine."
So he told her about himself as she slathered the salve on his leg and rebandaged it. About how he had grown up on Tatooine before his aunt and uncle's death. How he was the first Jedi of the New Jedi Order. How he and his older students had come to Tatooine to see about the pirate scourge. How the Mandalorians and the son of a murdered Jedi were somehow involved. How a Basic-speaking Tusken Raider had informed them of her and suggested they see her.
"So you are here to ask me to help you."
"We can use all the help we can get, especially since our foe is a dark side user."
She shrugged. "The offworlders are not my people. The Sandpeople consider me a witch and will not have me among them. And I have already repelled a pirate attack on the Crown. Why should I get involved if these invaders aren't a threat to me?"
"Something that threatens the humans and Sandpeople is also a threat to the Crown," Luke replied. "Though you may not think it, you and the creatures in your domain live in symbiosis with the rest of the planet. What happens to one will affect the other. You must understand that."
"I do. But of what use is one Force-using Tusken against an army of technologically superior pirates?"
"A single proton torpedo destroyed the Death Star. A single repentant Sith overthrew the Empire. Just as a single drop of water raises the level in a pitcher, one person can make all the difference between victory and defeat."
"You said this leader wanted revenge," she pointed out. "Why not give him what he wants -- his mother's killer? Once his hunger for retribution is sated, he may depart."
He didn't wish to tell her the identity of the killer. Instead he said "Once the urge to kill is engrained in you, it isn't easily removed. Even if the leader got what he wanted, I doubt it would end the carnage."
She looked at him, and though her face was hidden from view, he could tell there was a knowing expression there.
"You hide something, Skywalker."
He put up a mind shield. "We all hide secrets from others, Dragon. It's called privacy."
"It's called deceit," she corrected. "We all practice it in one form or another. And your mind shield, strong though it is, is too late. I have been watching your thoughts since you arrived in the Crown."
Startled, he bit back a retort.
"How else could I have known what your Aunt Beru looked like?" she pointed out. Folding her hands over her stomach, she continued. "Your father, Anakin Skywalker, was once known as Darth Vader. Formerly a Sith, he is the one who killed the pirate leader's mother. I can understand how reluctant you are to give him over. Not that I fault you."
"What else do you know?" he asked hesitantly.
She shook her head, the golden fringe on her veil dancing in the firelight. "Only those thoughts are foremost. The rest are buried deep."
He relaxed. At least she wouldn't see that his father had... he hurriedly squelched that thought.
"I know your story now," she said at last, going to the cooking fire and spooning out some stew. "Now you shall hear mine."
It was the third moon of the season, not long before the storms, when my family died. I was not yet born, but through Force-meditation I have learned all that transpired then.
My mother could sense the time of my birth was near and alerted my father. As was custom our family -- mother and father, two adult brothers with their mates and children, an adult sister and her mate, three child brothers, and my grandfather -- departed from the tribe so my mother could give birth. The tribal healer and a party of warriors accompanied us to ensure nothing went wrong.
The warriors were supposed to guard my mother, but some of them grew bored when it became clear I would not be born for some time. A few of them wandered off, coming back with an offworlder captive. They were boasting of having beaten off an army of farmers who had chased them to get the woman back, and they wanted to kill her slowly as a lesson to all "starmen," as the Tuskens called them.
My father argued with them for hours, telling them such an action would bring evil upon me and suggesting they simply leave her in the desert somewhere. The men fought back, saying she would only walk back to a settlement and it was best to show the starmen what happened to intruders in the Jundland Wastes. Finally my father gave in, telling them to perform the deed at the edge of camp, away from the birthing tent.
Almost a moon passed. The healer told my mother not to fear, for some babies were born late. But everyone worried for me and wondered if the spirits were invoking punishment on me for the pains of the offworlder. They had not heard her screams for some time and feared vengeance would come upon us in some form.
Finally the day came when the birthing-pains started, and my family rejoiced. I was to enter the world at last! Even the warriors ceased their punishing long enough to await my birth, for a death of any sort on a birthing day can bring a curse on the new child.
Then he came -- the starman from the cliffs, silent as a shadow, deadly as a sand viper. Unseen he slipped through the camp like a predator, past the guards, past the massifs even. It wasn't until he'd beheaded two warriors that anyone realized he was in our midst.
My eldest brother was the first to attack the offworlder, only to fall under his lightsaber. A Jedi -- at least, he had the sword and powers of one. But his anger was like that of the savage winds of the sandstorms, lusting to strip the life from all our bodies.
My father told my mother and the healer to run back to the tribe and sent two warriors to help us back. But the wrath of the Jedi overwhelmed them, killing the healer and warriors and badly wounding my mother. In the end my father and grandfather distracted him, giving their lives to save her, and she escaped.
Wracked in the birth-pain she staggered into the tribal encampment, wounded and crying, waking everyone with her screams. She was able to tell them what had happened before the pain became too much for her. The tribe's women attempted to save her, but the healer was dead, the healer's daughter inexperienced, and in the end she died giving birth to me. With her final breath she named me -- S'kina, she-dragon.
Some in the tribe didn't want me to live among them, saying I was cursed for being born amidst such carnage. But the chief and shaman declared that my birth among the deaths was a good omen, and he adopted me as his own, becoming my almost-father.
After a time the tribe forgot my past, or at least became willing to tolerate it. I was quite unaware of the violent circumstances surrounding my birth and so lived a fairly normal Tusken childhood. I say fairly because, as almost-daughter of the shaman, I was regarded as having power over the desert spirits. And they were right, in a sense.
Even at the tender age of five seasons I could sense things as or before they happened. Soon the others were coming to me rather than the chief for answers -- hunters for the location of the dewback and eopie herds, guards for the probable time of an enemy attack, women for the gender of their unborn babies. Some joked that my almost-father was training me too well and he'd be out of a job soon. But my power only worried the chief, for he had yet to teach me the ways of the spirits. For the first time, he wondered if I was cursed after all.
Then, one night, I awoke screaming from a nightmare that made me wet my pallet with terror. I had dreamt of an army of starmen, wearing shining white armor, carrying weapons that spouted scarlet fire, and led by a huge man in black armor with a voice like summer thunder and a hideous command of powers beyond understanding. My almost- father comforted me, saying that sometimes the spirits brought dreams that had little pertinent meaning or concerned events occurring too far away to touch us. Reassured by his words, I fell asleep in his arms.
We awoke the next day to cries of mourning. A hunting party of twelve of our strongest men had gone out into Beggar's Canyon with hopes of waylaying a landspeeder for supplies. Only two returned, one gravely wounded. They had ambushed a speeder, only to find it full of white-armored starman warriors. They had never seen anything equal to them -- fearless, ruthless, taking orders from their leader without question. And that leader, encased in black from skeletal face to armored boots, carried a sword of red light and had the ability to kill with the flick of a finger.
The tribe was in an uproar, considering this to be somehow my fault, as if it had been I who had wielded that scarlet saber. My almost-father told the tribe that was nonsense, the stuff of baseless rumors. But some of the tribe wanted me killed. They theorized that, as I survived the slaughter the Jedi had unleashed six seasons ago, only my blood could sate the spirits.
That night, my almost-father took me aside and told me of my past. He confided in me that I had a power he couldn't understand, that even the spirits couldn't describe. He also said there was one, a Jedi, who lived in the Jundland Wastes who could probably help me control my power. In the morning, he said, we would go to him. Then he embraced me and put me to bed, telling me all would be set right tomorrow.
Even shamans can be wrong, I suppose. In the morning I went to my almost-father's bed and tried to wake him, only to find him still and cold. His heart had given out in the night.
I knew, even in my grief-torn six-season-old mind, that now I would never be welcome in the tribe. I gathered together some food and water, blankets, my almost-father's gaderffi, any supplies I thought I would need, and set off to find the Jedi. No one stopped me, for they had yet to find the chief's body. Indeed, I suppose they were glad to see me go.
In the end, it was Obi-wan Kenobi who found me, dying of thirst in the Wastes. For several seasons I lived with him, learning that my power was the Force, that the Jedi wielded it too, and that the black-armored one was an evil man who had destroyed almost all of the Jedi. I learned to control my power, use the Force, let it flow through me. I thought of Master Kenobi quite fondly, like an uncle, even though he was a starman.
But I knew my destiny lay along a different path from his. I had my place on Tatooine, while his fate lay in the boy Skywalker. So one day we bid each other goodbye, and I came to Madman's Crown and made my home here. Obi-wan visited me often until the day before he left Tatooine to aid the Rebellion.
Luke stared at the Dragon -- no, it was S'kina -- over his bowl, dumbstruck. He had known her to be a Force-user, but he'd had no idea she was connected not only to Obi- wan, but to his own father! Why hadn't Obi-wan mentioned he'd had a third student? And how would she react when she discovered... that?
S'kina picked up on his thoughts almost immediately. "I loved Master Kenobi, as I suspect you did. He was a good, kind man." She looked away. "When I felt Darth Vader kill him, I wept for days."
"He was a great Jedi," Luke said quietly.
"Yes," she murmured. "Quite." She picked at the fringe of her robe. "He taught me the ways of the Force and the language of the offworlders, but I mastered the art of illusion on my own. It is not a... conventional means of using the Force. A pity, however, that your father killed him before I could learn how to build a lightsaber."
Luke stared into his bowl, stirring the last drops of liquid around with a few chunks of meat and tubers. "My father... Anakin... told me about the Tuskens. He regrets that his encounter with them went... badly."
Her voice was expressionless. "He was the Jedi, then."
He nodded. "He told me that of all the things he's done, that action sickens him the most."
She stood and walked to the fire, staring into the dancing flames, hands behind her back. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
"S'kina," he said softly, "I'm sorry."
After a moment she replied without turning. "You have no reason to be sorry, Skywalker. Children should not have to pay for the sins of their parents." She murmured something under her breath in Tusken. "As for forgiving your father," she added in Basic, "I will need some time."
He stood carefully, wincing at the pain in his leg. "Forgive me for distressing you, S'kina, and thank you for your hospitality. I must go."
"So soon?" she asked, turning to look at him. "When I haven't yet given you an answer?"
"I have a battle to fight," he explained. "The pirates..."
"Did not Master Kenobi teach you patience?"
"Not for want of trying."
She laughed. "It is a long journey back to Mos Eisley, my friend. Why not await my decision? Your leg will be better mended, and if I elect to help your cause we can travel together."
"How long will your consideration take?"
"Patience, Skywalker," she chided, wagging a finger at him. "Your Padawan learners are defending Mos Eisley. Have faith in them."
He sighed. "All right, you win," he grunted, sitting back down. "What do we do in the meantime?"
Even behind her veil S'kina's face seemed to light up like a child's at the prospect of a treat. "Teach me to build a lightsaber, please?"
Luke deactivated his weapon but held it at his side, wary. "Is this truly the Dragon, then? Or another illusion?"
She gave her liquid chuckle again. "Matter is an illusion, Master Jedi. We are luminous beings, not this crude flesh and blood and bone." She reached out and touched his breastbone. "Just as this body is the illusion you put forth, this is the illusion I wear." She gestured to herself.
"A simple yes or no would have sufficed," he replied.
"When you have seen as much as I have, Skywalker, you will learn that answers are rarely as simple as yes or no." She sat back down. "You are right, however, in saying I am the one the Tuskens like to call the Dragon."
"I'm Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight." He clipped his saber to his belt. "But you knew that already, I suppose."
She nodded. "I have been awaiting your presence, Skywalker. It has been many years since I have had the privilege of meeting a Jedi."
"The Jedi Order was destroyed," Luke explained. "Only two survived..."
"Yes, I know," she said dismissively. "Tatooine may be one parsec beyond nowhere, and Sandpeople have a reputation for being primitive savages, but I know what goes on beyond my valley."
"Then you know of the New Republic?"
"I do."
"And the New Jedi Order?"
"Indeed."
"What of the siege on Tatooine?"
She cocked her head. "Now that is news to me."
"That's why I'm here. Pirates have..."
She raised a hand to silence him. "Master Skywalker has a story to tell, I see. And I am most anxious to hear it. But I also sense you wish to know a little about me, am I wrong?"
He hesitated. "Actually, you're right. There aren't many Force-strong Tuskens wandering this planet, and I was curious as to how one ended up in Madman's Crown."
"And I also sense you are injured and tired, and could use a meal and a good washing," she added. "We shall see to your hunger and wounds first, then we shall exchange information. A story for a story. A deal?"
"Sounds fair."
She stood. "Come with me."
The inside of the Dragon's home reminded him of Obi-wan's house -- few decorations, yet an atmosphere of peace and comfort. It was like Yoda's house, however, in that there seemed to be as many animals inside the house as outside. He had to pluck several small lizards and a brown-banded snake off a chair before he could seat himself.
"It is a welcome respite to have a guest," the Dragon told him, collecting an assortment of jars from a shelf high over the fireplace. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
"Why are there so many herd animals outside?" he asked.
"I have a fondness for the lesser creatures," she replied. "And they, in turn, are fond of me. Oh, they are free to come and go as they please, but most find it safer in the Crown." She bent down and slapped a small rodent away from the cooking pot. "No, not for you, you little thief! Go outside and forage for seeds!"
"Fond of them, eh?" Luke chuckled.
She snorted, depositing the jars roughly on the table and sitting down. "Just because I am fond of them doesn't mean they can poke their noses in the cooking pot." She popped the top off a glass container and looked inside. "Low on chakroot. I'll have to pick some up next time I go to Mos Eisley."
"You go into town?"
"You saw me outside," she replied. "Illusion is a Force art I have mastered. I can enter a human settlement without drawing attention if I wish." She sprinkled ingredients in an earthenware bowl from an assortment of clay, stone, and offworld-made containers, then took a pestle and began grinding the mixture. Occasionally she would pause to add some water from a cistern on the table or a touch more of some needed herb.
"What are you making?"
"Something for that wound of yours." She put her face to the bowl and inhaled. "Done. This may sting when I put it on, but it will cleanse the injury and help it heal. If you will allow me to see it..."
He rolled up his pant leg and peeled off the bacta wrap. She hissed in sympathy when the ugly wounds were revealed. Luke winced himself upon seeing them. In spite of cleaning them and applying a generous amount of bacta, they were beginning to ooze and smell.
"Rats, eh? Nasty. Their claws leave infections that don't abate easily, even with bacta." She wet a cloth and began to carefully clean the gashes.
"You speak Basic very well," he told her. "How did you -- ow! -- learn to speak it?"
"Part of my story, Skywalker," she replied. "But a story for a story was the deal. Tell me yours first, then we shall hear mine."
So he told her about himself as she slathered the salve on his leg and rebandaged it. About how he had grown up on Tatooine before his aunt and uncle's death. How he was the first Jedi of the New Jedi Order. How he and his older students had come to Tatooine to see about the pirate scourge. How the Mandalorians and the son of a murdered Jedi were somehow involved. How a Basic-speaking Tusken Raider had informed them of her and suggested they see her.
"So you are here to ask me to help you."
"We can use all the help we can get, especially since our foe is a dark side user."
She shrugged. "The offworlders are not my people. The Sandpeople consider me a witch and will not have me among them. And I have already repelled a pirate attack on the Crown. Why should I get involved if these invaders aren't a threat to me?"
"Something that threatens the humans and Sandpeople is also a threat to the Crown," Luke replied. "Though you may not think it, you and the creatures in your domain live in symbiosis with the rest of the planet. What happens to one will affect the other. You must understand that."
"I do. But of what use is one Force-using Tusken against an army of technologically superior pirates?"
"A single proton torpedo destroyed the Death Star. A single repentant Sith overthrew the Empire. Just as a single drop of water raises the level in a pitcher, one person can make all the difference between victory and defeat."
"You said this leader wanted revenge," she pointed out. "Why not give him what he wants -- his mother's killer? Once his hunger for retribution is sated, he may depart."
He didn't wish to tell her the identity of the killer. Instead he said "Once the urge to kill is engrained in you, it isn't easily removed. Even if the leader got what he wanted, I doubt it would end the carnage."
She looked at him, and though her face was hidden from view, he could tell there was a knowing expression there.
"You hide something, Skywalker."
He put up a mind shield. "We all hide secrets from others, Dragon. It's called privacy."
"It's called deceit," she corrected. "We all practice it in one form or another. And your mind shield, strong though it is, is too late. I have been watching your thoughts since you arrived in the Crown."
Startled, he bit back a retort.
"How else could I have known what your Aunt Beru looked like?" she pointed out. Folding her hands over her stomach, she continued. "Your father, Anakin Skywalker, was once known as Darth Vader. Formerly a Sith, he is the one who killed the pirate leader's mother. I can understand how reluctant you are to give him over. Not that I fault you."
"What else do you know?" he asked hesitantly.
She shook her head, the golden fringe on her veil dancing in the firelight. "Only those thoughts are foremost. The rest are buried deep."
He relaxed. At least she wouldn't see that his father had... he hurriedly squelched that thought.
"I know your story now," she said at last, going to the cooking fire and spooning out some stew. "Now you shall hear mine."
It was the third moon of the season, not long before the storms, when my family died. I was not yet born, but through Force-meditation I have learned all that transpired then.
My mother could sense the time of my birth was near and alerted my father. As was custom our family -- mother and father, two adult brothers with their mates and children, an adult sister and her mate, three child brothers, and my grandfather -- departed from the tribe so my mother could give birth. The tribal healer and a party of warriors accompanied us to ensure nothing went wrong.
The warriors were supposed to guard my mother, but some of them grew bored when it became clear I would not be born for some time. A few of them wandered off, coming back with an offworlder captive. They were boasting of having beaten off an army of farmers who had chased them to get the woman back, and they wanted to kill her slowly as a lesson to all "starmen," as the Tuskens called them.
My father argued with them for hours, telling them such an action would bring evil upon me and suggesting they simply leave her in the desert somewhere. The men fought back, saying she would only walk back to a settlement and it was best to show the starmen what happened to intruders in the Jundland Wastes. Finally my father gave in, telling them to perform the deed at the edge of camp, away from the birthing tent.
Almost a moon passed. The healer told my mother not to fear, for some babies were born late. But everyone worried for me and wondered if the spirits were invoking punishment on me for the pains of the offworlder. They had not heard her screams for some time and feared vengeance would come upon us in some form.
Finally the day came when the birthing-pains started, and my family rejoiced. I was to enter the world at last! Even the warriors ceased their punishing long enough to await my birth, for a death of any sort on a birthing day can bring a curse on the new child.
Then he came -- the starman from the cliffs, silent as a shadow, deadly as a sand viper. Unseen he slipped through the camp like a predator, past the guards, past the massifs even. It wasn't until he'd beheaded two warriors that anyone realized he was in our midst.
My eldest brother was the first to attack the offworlder, only to fall under his lightsaber. A Jedi -- at least, he had the sword and powers of one. But his anger was like that of the savage winds of the sandstorms, lusting to strip the life from all our bodies.
My father told my mother and the healer to run back to the tribe and sent two warriors to help us back. But the wrath of the Jedi overwhelmed them, killing the healer and warriors and badly wounding my mother. In the end my father and grandfather distracted him, giving their lives to save her, and she escaped.
Wracked in the birth-pain she staggered into the tribal encampment, wounded and crying, waking everyone with her screams. She was able to tell them what had happened before the pain became too much for her. The tribe's women attempted to save her, but the healer was dead, the healer's daughter inexperienced, and in the end she died giving birth to me. With her final breath she named me -- S'kina, she-dragon.
Some in the tribe didn't want me to live among them, saying I was cursed for being born amidst such carnage. But the chief and shaman declared that my birth among the deaths was a good omen, and he adopted me as his own, becoming my almost-father.
After a time the tribe forgot my past, or at least became willing to tolerate it. I was quite unaware of the violent circumstances surrounding my birth and so lived a fairly normal Tusken childhood. I say fairly because, as almost-daughter of the shaman, I was regarded as having power over the desert spirits. And they were right, in a sense.
Even at the tender age of five seasons I could sense things as or before they happened. Soon the others were coming to me rather than the chief for answers -- hunters for the location of the dewback and eopie herds, guards for the probable time of an enemy attack, women for the gender of their unborn babies. Some joked that my almost-father was training me too well and he'd be out of a job soon. But my power only worried the chief, for he had yet to teach me the ways of the spirits. For the first time, he wondered if I was cursed after all.
Then, one night, I awoke screaming from a nightmare that made me wet my pallet with terror. I had dreamt of an army of starmen, wearing shining white armor, carrying weapons that spouted scarlet fire, and led by a huge man in black armor with a voice like summer thunder and a hideous command of powers beyond understanding. My almost- father comforted me, saying that sometimes the spirits brought dreams that had little pertinent meaning or concerned events occurring too far away to touch us. Reassured by his words, I fell asleep in his arms.
We awoke the next day to cries of mourning. A hunting party of twelve of our strongest men had gone out into Beggar's Canyon with hopes of waylaying a landspeeder for supplies. Only two returned, one gravely wounded. They had ambushed a speeder, only to find it full of white-armored starman warriors. They had never seen anything equal to them -- fearless, ruthless, taking orders from their leader without question. And that leader, encased in black from skeletal face to armored boots, carried a sword of red light and had the ability to kill with the flick of a finger.
The tribe was in an uproar, considering this to be somehow my fault, as if it had been I who had wielded that scarlet saber. My almost-father told the tribe that was nonsense, the stuff of baseless rumors. But some of the tribe wanted me killed. They theorized that, as I survived the slaughter the Jedi had unleashed six seasons ago, only my blood could sate the spirits.
That night, my almost-father took me aside and told me of my past. He confided in me that I had a power he couldn't understand, that even the spirits couldn't describe. He also said there was one, a Jedi, who lived in the Jundland Wastes who could probably help me control my power. In the morning, he said, we would go to him. Then he embraced me and put me to bed, telling me all would be set right tomorrow.
Even shamans can be wrong, I suppose. In the morning I went to my almost-father's bed and tried to wake him, only to find him still and cold. His heart had given out in the night.
I knew, even in my grief-torn six-season-old mind, that now I would never be welcome in the tribe. I gathered together some food and water, blankets, my almost-father's gaderffi, any supplies I thought I would need, and set off to find the Jedi. No one stopped me, for they had yet to find the chief's body. Indeed, I suppose they were glad to see me go.
In the end, it was Obi-wan Kenobi who found me, dying of thirst in the Wastes. For several seasons I lived with him, learning that my power was the Force, that the Jedi wielded it too, and that the black-armored one was an evil man who had destroyed almost all of the Jedi. I learned to control my power, use the Force, let it flow through me. I thought of Master Kenobi quite fondly, like an uncle, even though he was a starman.
But I knew my destiny lay along a different path from his. I had my place on Tatooine, while his fate lay in the boy Skywalker. So one day we bid each other goodbye, and I came to Madman's Crown and made my home here. Obi-wan visited me often until the day before he left Tatooine to aid the Rebellion.
Luke stared at the Dragon -- no, it was S'kina -- over his bowl, dumbstruck. He had known her to be a Force-user, but he'd had no idea she was connected not only to Obi- wan, but to his own father! Why hadn't Obi-wan mentioned he'd had a third student? And how would she react when she discovered... that?
S'kina picked up on his thoughts almost immediately. "I loved Master Kenobi, as I suspect you did. He was a good, kind man." She looked away. "When I felt Darth Vader kill him, I wept for days."
"He was a great Jedi," Luke said quietly.
"Yes," she murmured. "Quite." She picked at the fringe of her robe. "He taught me the ways of the Force and the language of the offworlders, but I mastered the art of illusion on my own. It is not a... conventional means of using the Force. A pity, however, that your father killed him before I could learn how to build a lightsaber."
Luke stared into his bowl, stirring the last drops of liquid around with a few chunks of meat and tubers. "My father... Anakin... told me about the Tuskens. He regrets that his encounter with them went... badly."
Her voice was expressionless. "He was the Jedi, then."
He nodded. "He told me that of all the things he's done, that action sickens him the most."
She stood and walked to the fire, staring into the dancing flames, hands behind her back. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
"S'kina," he said softly, "I'm sorry."
After a moment she replied without turning. "You have no reason to be sorry, Skywalker. Children should not have to pay for the sins of their parents." She murmured something under her breath in Tusken. "As for forgiving your father," she added in Basic, "I will need some time."
He stood carefully, wincing at the pain in his leg. "Forgive me for distressing you, S'kina, and thank you for your hospitality. I must go."
"So soon?" she asked, turning to look at him. "When I haven't yet given you an answer?"
"I have a battle to fight," he explained. "The pirates..."
"Did not Master Kenobi teach you patience?"
"Not for want of trying."
She laughed. "It is a long journey back to Mos Eisley, my friend. Why not await my decision? Your leg will be better mended, and if I elect to help your cause we can travel together."
"How long will your consideration take?"
"Patience, Skywalker," she chided, wagging a finger at him. "Your Padawan learners are defending Mos Eisley. Have faith in them."
He sighed. "All right, you win," he grunted, sitting back down. "What do we do in the meantime?"
Even behind her veil S'kina's face seemed to light up like a child's at the prospect of a treat. "Teach me to build a lightsaber, please?"