Author's Note: I just want to thank my readers. Without you I would have lost interest in this story quite awhile ago! You make me smile, blush, laugh, think, and sometimes make a little gurgling noise in the back of the my throat. Your thoughts and comments keep me thinking and pondering and enjoying this writing. Thanks so much! This is for you!
Candles Against the Sea
Chapter 9: Preparation
Qui-Gon had excused his Padawan from the morning meetings to let him catch up a bit on his studies and katas . . . and to avoid Ambassador Grenik seeing his new bruises. The Jedi Master felt a taut little smile rise as he remembered the ambassador's just-short-of-hysterical reaction when the Padawan appeared that first day with a faint-but-large bruise. Fortunately, most of the Sylelians had seemed to accept the Jedi's attempt to pass it off as a training mishap. President Hindegar had simply grinned broadly and quoted some local saying about boys being boys. But a couple of the councilors had definitely looked at the Master a bit askance, and he had suspected that they were thinking the same as Obi-Wan said his friend at the clinic would.
No, far better to avoid another scene like that. They would finish their observation on Onorda Street today, then heal those bruises and go somewhere else. Qui-Gon lifted his chin, casting his senses out as he entered the park. There, on some play equipment—his Padawan twisted and swung, laughing, using the Force to push his little friend farther and faster. Nibbi's giggles rang high and loud, above the laughter of the other children.
By the Force, they were beautiful.
Obi-Wan sensed his approach and reluctantly let the swinging, twisting apparatus glide to a halt, slowing it telekinetically. Blue-green eyes were a bit dazed—Qui-Gon hoped the thing didn't induce nausea. Nibbi seemed all right, still giggling quietly, dark eyes sparkling. But the Jedi Master was well-aware of how susceptible his apprentice was to anything that had the remotest possibility of causing queasiness. The boy even got motion-sick in hyperspace, sometimes.
"Hi, Quig," Nibbi said, a little sadly. "Is it time to go already?"
"Not quite," Qui-Gon said gently. "I thought I'd join you for a bit, if that's all right?"
Obi-Wan gaped at him, completely blown away. Nothing they had done in the past six months had prepared him for this. "You . . . you want to . . . play with us?"
"I would indeed, if you have no objections."
Nibbi bounced excitedly in his seat. "Yeah! Wow, Quig, you're the bestest uncle I ever met!"
"Thank you, little one." Qui-Gon grinned, but looked to his apprentice. "And do you object?"
Obi-Wan still looked dazed, and the Master supposed he had a right. He'd just tossed the boy for a ride far more unexpected and dizzying than anything legal play equipment could provide. "No, M-my uncle. Wh-what would you like to do?"
Qui-Gon passed a critical glance over the park. Letting a smile spread across his face like widening morning sunshine, he pointed toward the simple obstacle course a dozen meters off. "Think you can beat me getting through that?"
It wasn't quite fair, pitting a Jedi Master against a Padawan and a non-sensitive child, so Qui-Gon and Nibbi teamed up. Something new—but familiar in a lost-and-found sense—bubbled in Qui-Gon as he ran through the course, boosting Nibbi over the low wall, dancing through the foot-entangling part with the child on his shoulders, crawling under and around the soft wires, gently swinging Nibbi on the thick rope he was too tall to use. It took him some time to identify the strange sensation. Joy.
Obi-Wan won, leaping off the twisting balance beam with an entirely unnecessary but very lovely Force-enhanced flip, but it was a near thing. And then the three collapsed in the grass, laughing, mimicking each other's humorous movements and sounds during the race in gestures and ridiculous faces. Qui-Gon leaned on his elbows—grinning, pushing long sweaty hair out his face, and most definitely not panting, because no Jedi Master would be put out of breath by such a simple exercise. He was part of the childish fun this time instead of observing it from the outside, and he felt young for the first time in many, many years.
Too soon, he had to spoil it all. "You know, Nibbi," he began cautiously, gently, "Obi and I are almost finished with our business on Onorda Street now."
The child's face fell immediately, as he had known it would. "You mean . . . you mean you won't be comin' back after today?"
"Actually," Obi-Wan said with exaggerated casualness, drawing a sharp glance from his master, "I will be coming back every day, but only for an hour, and I'll be busy during that time."
Qui-Gon did not remember discussing this with his Padawan. Yes, he had told the boy that they would make time for him to visit with Nibbi, but they had not worked out the particulars yet. He would not be able to condone anything that would interfere with their mission. Obi-Wan's eyes begged him to be silent, to agree with this plan, whatever it was. Qui-Gon nodded almost imperceptibly, and let the apprentice take the lead in this matter. The boy had shown astonishing initiative and insight over the past few days—perhaps whatever he was plotting would be the best route.
"Busy?" Nibbi asked.
Obi-Wan nodded. "You remember that nice lady I told you about, Nilla? I'm going to be helping her at the clinic. Just spending time with the little ones there, mostly—Nilla said they needed someone to read them stories and play with them while their parents are getting treatment. You'd be welcome to visit with me there, though—then I could play with you, too."
Qui-Gon fought the grin that wanted to spread across his face as he understood the Padawan's plan. Nibbi wanted to be with Obi-Wan, but was terrified of the clinic. In this gently manipulative way, Obi-Wan was attempting to use the hero-worship Qui-Gon had almost disdained to overcome the child's fear.
It might backfire. If Nibbi's trust in Obi-Wan was not strong enough to over-ride his terror . . .
The Padawan saw his little friend's hesitation. "You don't have to stay there," he said quickly. "They never make anyone stay. I'll walk in with you, if you want, and I won't leave you alone, and we'll leave together. I promise, no one will make you do anything you don't want to. You don't even have to tell them your name."
Still the little boy was silent, hugging his knees to his chest, his face a silent agony of indecision.
"I'd really love to see you," Obi-Wan said softly. "Uncle Quig and I will be leaving in a week and a half, and we'll be busy until then. This is the only time I have to spare."
At last Nibbi nodded. "All . . . all right. I'll, I'll try it." His eyes sharpened as he stared at the young Jedi. "Keep your promises."
Obi-Wan grinned, and his joy flooded the Force around them so powerfully that Qui-Gon was almost dizzied by it. "I will! You know me, Nibbi. I'd never break a promise."
The child nodded slightly, his eyes on his fingers nervously pulling at the grass. "I know. I know you wouldn't."
The Jedi decided to finish their observations among the vendors on this block. Nibbi tagged along, a constant shadow at Obi-Wan's left side, sometimes attaching himself to the young Jedi's sleeve with a white-knuckled grip for a few paces if someone or something unsettled him. Qui-Gon understood—the little boy was used to hiding, keeping to the walls, avoiding sentients who meant him harm. Walking in the open like this took extraordinary courage, for a seven-year-old street child.
He could see that Obi-Wan understood as well. The Padawan did not try to push Nibbi away or draw attention to these subtle signs of fear, merely laid his hand on the boy's forearm when he grabbed for him. Qui-Gon took a moment to let pride fill him—his apprentice was such a wise young one, and with marvelous depths of compassion the Master had never noticed before in their unintentional griefs and brutal misunderstandings. He felt the pride fully, let it buoy him for a moment, then released it with a brief, regretful sigh.
They spoke to a flower seller, the strong scents of slightly wilted Alderaanian roses and Mimosan violets strong in their nostrils. She had no opinion either way about the Republic. A butcher with a small shop on the corner was vitriolic in his railings against the Sylelian government, causing Nibbi to press against his young protector's side, but knew nothing about the Republic and seemed to feel that any change was for the better. Their next stop was a roasted velinut cart, and the Sullustan who manned it was enthusiastic about Sylelius joining the Republic.
All in all, the people seemed ambivalent or cautiously optimistic about the coming change. This bode well for their mission, if even the inhabitants of the roughest neighborhoods on the planet felt this well about the Republic. Qui-Gon was pleased, though he did not allow himself to believe that all obstacles were now surpassed.
As they began to exit the small marketplace, one last vendor caught Obi-Wan's attention, crying his wares. It was a cart selling last-minute candles for the ceremony this evening. "Honor your lost ones! All colors and accessories! Only a few hours left to make your purchase!"
Obi-Wan looked to his master for permission, and Qui-Gon nodded. The Padawan stepped closer to the cart full of candles and plexiglass globes, Nibbi's hand tucked in his. "Would you explain this to me?" the boy asked softly. "I am a newcomer here."
To Qui-Gon's pleasant surprise, the vendor immediately dropped all the crassness of commercialism, looking at the thirteen-year-old with compassion. "You are grieving a loss, young one?" he asked with the same softness.
Obi-Wan hesitated, the nodded, swallowing hard. His eyes were suddenly too bright, the angle of the late afternoon sun striking them too harshly. Qui-Gon's heart clenched. He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Obi-Wan had said nothing, but the man knew that not all the wounds of the events of past months had been healed. Some, perhaps, would never heal.
The vendor lifted one of the tranparent globes, explaining how it was actually two spheres, lubricated between so that the inner one would remain upright with the weight of the candle fixed to the bottom even as the waves tossed it, thus allowing the flame to burn longer. Small, optional capsules held time-release oxygen, also prolonging the candle's life, as the globe would be sealed. The globes came in a variety of colors, a translucent rainbow, and some had recesses for a small hologram or memento. Mourners could buy plain candles, or ones that burned with colorful flames, or even spat sparks, if the spirit of the lost one was especially fiery or fun-loving.
The boy turned beseeching eyes to his mentor. "Master, may I?"
Qui-Gon did not correct the honorific. They were leaving this area anyway. And he could not deny that sorrowful plea. "How much for a globe and candle?" he asked the vendor.
"Two, please, Master."
He looked back to the boy, surprised. "For Cerasi?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "And for Bruck."
Ah. No, Qui-Gon could not deny this wish to honor the dead. "Two," he said to the vendor.
Obi-Wan chose a green globe, and a clear one, and two plain candles.
Before they left Nibbi to his box, the little one wrapped himself around Obi-Wan's waist in a fierce, empathetic hug. "I'm sorry," he murmured against the Padawan's chest. "I know it hurts."
Obi-Wan simply hugged him back, at a loss for words.