The world seemed to shine, shimmering oddly before the eyes, all the way to the distant horizon. The blaze of the twin suns was merciless, from the moment the first crested the curve of the planet to the time when they sank into twilight.
It seemed a wretched, inhospitable place, sand-covered, wind-swept and dead, yet this was not so. Settlements bloomed here and there, as grim and coarse as the planet itself, but populated, inhabited.
One such inhabitant presently walked in the shade of a rocky outcrop, ascending to the top of a canyon, which showed where a deep waterway had once cut a path through the bedrock.
Beneath his feet, shadow-cooled sand ridged and puddled, the traces of his passing brushed away by the soundless sweep of sand-blasted robes. He moved swiftly, light-footed, pausing only briefly at the sound of harsh, shrieking voices.
From beneath a threadbare cowl, he peered around the edge of a vast boulder, one hand making a sharp gesture. The small knot of figures, less than a dozen paces away, whirled around in the opposite direction, uttering wild screams before racing away.
Prompted to hunt, it took little to rouse the blood of the Sand People.
Crossing the narrow gully to an almost sheer rock face, which overlooked the depths of Beggar's Canyon, the robed man glanced around him, wary, before gripping the edge of the stone, weathered hands catching barely visible edges.
Then he started to climb, with a swiftness and grace that seemed unnatural for one resident in the Jungland wastes. Hand over foot, he rose quickly, likely little more than a faint shadow of movement for anyone watching from the canyon far below.
As he rose, the wind whipped about him, dry and biting, ripping his cowl away from his face. Greying hair fluttered wildly against his cheeks, but he paid it no mind, his eyes focused on the edge of the narrow plateau, which he knew lay at the peak of the Devil's Horn.
No other on Tatooine, that he knew of, dared to risk climbing the Devil's Horn. It was a sharp rock formation, the savage point of which stabbed defiantly at the sky, over four hundred feet above the valley of Beggar's Canyon.
Why he continued to do it now, as he had twice yearly, for fifteen years, he could find no sensible argument. It was hardly someone one would do for amusement. Perhaps, he mused, it was to ensure he did not become complacent.
A sharp gust slapped against him and he closed his eyes against the stinging of sand on his cheeks, gritting his teeth. Blindly, he reached out for the Force to balance himself, smiling as it cloaked him, then let it go and started to climb once more, his eyes easing open.
Yes, that must be it.
To keep his focus, to make sure he never lost hold of that which had depended on for so many years, but to do so in such a way that his physical abilities were never called into question.
Even so, he seldom used the Force now, both for his own safety and for the safety of the infant, for whom he now hid in the desert wasteland. With the Emperor as powerful as Yoda had said he was, it would be… unwise to touch the Force as readily as he once had. He would not, could not be found. It was not yet time.
And so, he climbed, only depending on the Force when his balance was distorted, when his eyes had to be closed, when he could not trust his physical form alone to lift him.
Less than a hundred feet from the top of the pinnacle, he eased himself onto a narrow ledge, catching his breath and resting his temple against the reddish stone, untouched by the heat of the twin suns.
It was growing more difficult.
When first he had come to Tatooine, bearing the child of his fallen apprentice, he had still carried the last vestiges of a now-forgotten youth. He had been a Jedi Master, one of the very few left, strong and wise, but as the sand eroded the ragged spikes of stone that littered the desert, so time had eroded him.
Without depending on the Force for to sustain him and refresh him as it once had, he could feel himself growing older. His hair had silvered, his features becoming lined, his body less pliable and more easily tired.
His eyes half-opening, he almost smiled faintly. He could remember an occasion when he watched his own Master fighting, had intervened and helped him, had teased him about getting old, had bragged that he would never get old.
How things had changed.
Drawing a breath, he gathered his strength, then began to climb again. His upper arms burned with the effort, his fingers scraped raw against the stone, his face damp with sweat and dust-grimed from the relentless blast of the wind, but – as he felt every time he climbed the spire of stone – he felt pleased, exhilarated.
Still, he all but spilled upon the narrow plateau at the peak when he pulled himself over the final ledge, the stone hot beneath him, the warm winds ripping around the tower fanning him.
Lying still for moment, he leveled his breathing, closing his eyes, letting the aches ebb from his body, before he started to rise, sitting at the very peak of the tallest solitary formation on the planet.
Ah, yes.
This was why he still climbed.
From this point, he could see for miles, almost as far as some of distant settlements, little more than dark patches on the blazing gold of the planet's surface. Reaching down, he found his binoculars, lifting them to his eyes and surveying all that lay before him.
A train of banthas were trailing across the Dune Sea, distant specks, in orderly file. Tamed, no doubt, bearing Sand People. Perhaps a dozen of them were traveling together, another fascinating fragment of the society that made up Tatooine.
Beyond, faint spots rising from the surface showed him where ships were departing and arriving in the grim port of Mos Eisley, which was hidden beneath the sharp ridge of low mountains.
He continued to scan the surface until a faint sound caught his attention, so faint it was barely audible over the whipping winds. Placing his binoculars aside, he leaned slightly, glanced down into the depths of the gorge that dropped away beneath him.
Far below, small shadowy specks were whizzing through the narrow passage of the canyon, swerving this way and that. Softly, softly, his senses reached out, down into the shadows, and touched the minds of the people down there.
Three teenagers, flying at speeds for amusement. They had left Anchorhead only a short time earlier. One felt a little guilty about something, causing the Jedi to search a little deeper, brows lifting.
Of course, Luke would be chasing after the older children and they would be teasing him mercilessly. He was too small to play on the speeders with them, too young, not in their league yet.
Obi-Wan Kenobi smiled.
What they were unaware of was the person who was on their tails, speeding through the canyon rapidly to catch up with them. He could feel the boy's determination and the bristle of irritation that the teasing had caused him.
Riding on a small skyhopper, young Luke swung round a curve, banking sharply and redistributing his weight with a lean to bring himself into the same straight that the older boys were racing through.
The scream of his skyhopper's engines as he roared along the wall caused some confusion up ahead, the older boys slowing to look around, to see what was causing such a noise, only to have Luke swoop down into the middle of the dried river-bed, thread between them and whiz ahead.
Clasping his hands together, Obi-Wan could not smother a chuckle of amusement.
The three teenagers scattered, yelling, but Luke didn't slow down.
Far above, Obi-Wan could feel the smug glee with which the boy was increasing his speed. The Jedi shook his head fondly. He remembered that kind of mood well, though not from this boy before. From his father.
Anakin had always been prone to reckless and dramatic displays of swiftness and skill, loving to go that little bit further and faster than anyone else, and it certainly appeared that Luke was taking after him in that respect.
Scooping up his binoculars once more, Obi-Wan focused his attention downwards, watching the three older boys restart their speeders, picking up speed, determined to show the youngster that he was playing on their turf now.
Ah, teenage rivalry…
Ahead of them, Luke seemed to be subconsciously aware that they would be tailing him, but he didn't look back, instead hitting his boosters. The skyhopper screamed, the youngster taking a turn and pulling back just in time, the tail of his hopper almost scraping the smooth rock face of the river bend.
As soon as he was out of the turn, he started over the erratic ripples of rock, swerving and ducking under the low over hangs, jerking the nose of the hopper up to practically leap down into an old lake bed.
He dropped six feet, pulled the engines back hard, the afterburner sputtering briefly, then roared onwards. Behind him, there were yells from his not-quite friends, clear worry and panic in their voices and moods.
No doubt they knew exactly where the boy was headed.
There was only one way out of Beggar's Canyon, the other end a sheer rock face and that was where Luke was heading at speeds which suggested he would not have room or time to either brake or pull up.
On the peak of the Devil's Horn, Obi-Wan rose to his feet, watching intently, as Luke swept this way and that, coming towards a vertical column of sandstone which jutted upwards from the middle of the gorge.
The boy suddenly hit the brakes, jerked the skyhopper into a sharp twist, whizzing through the narrow gap in the jagged post of rock known as The Needle. It had been a near miss that time and Obi-Wan felt his heart leap for the first time.
From this distance, there was little the Jedi could physically do, but then, he had the suspicion that if Luke were anything like his father at all, it would be unnecessary.
Obi-Wan could visualize the boy's expression; teeth gritted together, shoulders hunched in intense focus, lips compressed. Anakin had flown like that at first, everything in him focused and coiled tightly, but with experience, he had almost become one with his ship and Obi-Wan had no doubts the son could be the same.
Behind the boy, two of the speeders had slowed, close enough to see what had happened, but one was still on his tail, flying almost as wildly as Luke. The teenager who had felt guilty about taunting Luke was the one giving chase, clearly terrified of what was about to happen.
Up ahead, the sheer wall of what had once been a waterfall loomed.
Obi-Wan felt the briefest of panicked flickers from Luke, overrode by that pride which had made his father so stubborn. He was no longer accelerating, but shifting his weight and balance, then – less than a hundred meters from the wall – he pulled the nose of the hopper up, hard and to one side, wrenching on the brakes.
The hopper spun wildly, almost deceptively out of control, but Obi-Wan had the suspicion that Luke knew exactly what he was doing. He had not, however, noticed a shadowed boulder, barely visible.
Too late, though, the Jedi reached out with a warning.
Luke twitched, as if he had been stung, whipped his head around and tried to balance himself, hitting the motivators. The hopper leapt forwards, but – still spinning – the rear strut glanced off one of the boulders, flipping the hopper sharply.
Luke was tossed clear, but the loss of balance combined with the uncontrolled spin tossed the hopper over onto its side, tumbling down a shallow gully with a sickening series of cracks and muffled bangs.
Behind him, the boy who had been following pulled his hopper to a halt, scrambled off, rushed to Luke's side. Luke was embarrassed, the other boy relieved, grabbed him, hugged him, then backed off, also embarrassed.
Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling faintly, watching as both boys slid down the shallow ditch to the ruins of Luke's SkyHopper. Poking around at it, they were still trying to right it when the last two hoppers pulled to a halt at the top of the gully.
Until he had hit that boulder, Obi-Wan mused, he had been doing very well, but no doubt, the other two boys would strategically forget the remarkable chase Luke had lead them on. They would remember the crash well enough, but wouldn't let the youngest of the group take all the flying glory.
Perhaps it would be better that way, as well. Luke had the potential to be a great pilot, but if the pride that his father had borne could be tempered, he could be all the better for it.
Perhaps, when the time came, he would succeed where Anakin had failed.
Lowering his binocular, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, tilting his face towards the twin suns. It still caused a dull ache to think on Anakin, even now, even years on. A trusted friend was not one to be easily forgotten. Or hated.
Stroking his beard pensively, Obi-Wan drew a breath, exhaling. It would do no one any good to worry about it now. To regret what had happened, what he had been unable to do. He had done what he could then and now, he would continue to do so, watching over Anakin's child until the boy was ready.
Opening his eyes, he nodded at nothing in particular.
Hooking his binoculars back into his belt, he moved to the edge of the plateau and, with a final glance down at the thin spiral of smoke rising from the end of Beggar's Canyon, started his descent once more.