Chapter 36: Descent of Cold

Yoda laid his gimer stick on the floor and backed up a few steps, sitting on the knee-high table in the middle of the common room as he watched the former initiate sleep. (It was knee-high to a human, anyway. Yoda's legs dangled off the edge.) Perhaps it had not been fair of him to push Qui-Gon Jinn into leaving like that, and he might have laid it on a bit thick—most sentients did not realize that they what they took for almost supernatural knowledge on his part was little more than observation and logical deduction. He had seen the garden and recognized the Living Force connection Master Jinn had, and during the comm call he had noticed the boy's dependence on his father, so he had concluded that the garden was being neglected. He hadn't sensed Mistress Jinn in the house, so she must be out, but he doubted that she could make herself stay away long. Very simple, really.

Unlike many things. Yoda folded his hands in his lap as he watched the youngster sleep. The boy had been hurt a great deal, that much was obvious. And if he hadn't reacted in the best way, who could have asked or expected him to do otherwise? He was young and in need of guidance, and he had done the best he could.

Each behavior that might be called a "problem" now was simply a coping mechanism that had helped him survive. That they continued now was no mark of weakness, only a measure of his youth, and the depth of the pain he had suffered. Even the wisest Jedi of them all would do well to tread carefully in this situation. It would not do to push the lad farther away, but neither could they allow him to remain lost in his fear.

There would be a time to command and a time to comfort, and Yoda could only hope that he would know the difference. The boy's parents apparently had not been able to bring themselves to do the former, but he could not blame them for that. And they had called him, asked for his help. No more could be asked of them—indeed, it took great faith for them to place their beloved child in the hands of a sentient they had never met in person. It did his heart good to see the child surrounded by such warmth and light. Love filled this house like a bright color beyond the shade of visible light, lightening everything it touched.

It had done Obi-Wan much good already, he could see. Wounded and exhausted, used far beyond his strength, the boy had still known the right place to come. He had begun to heal here, though the process had stalled. But this denial, this negation of the Force that surrounded the boy in cold emptiness—Yoda had never encountered such in all his days. He did not understand how it had been accomplished, and it worried him greatly.

Already Yoda was sure that he would have to keep his promise, and summon Qui-Gon before the hour was over.

The boy stilled, his breath pausing, body frozen in anticipation under the afghan. Yoda leaned forward, waiting. After a moment the young eyes drifted open, blue-gray and confused, and then Obi-Wan bolted upright, looking wildly about the room. His breath began to rush in and out, his thin hands clutched the blanket to his chest.

"Good morning, Obi-Wan." Yoda leaped lightly from the table to sit next to the boy on the couch. He took one rigid hand in both of his and squeezed it tightly, pouring calm into the Force around them even though he doubted the youngster could feel it.

Obi-Wan responded to the touch, though, turning toward the Jedi as his knees drew reflexively up to his chest. His hand flexed within Yoda's two small ones, but he did not try to draw it away. Slowly his breathing began to ease, though it still came too hard and fast. "Wh-where is Qui-Gon? Where's my papa?"

"In the garden he is, completing work long left undone. His presence, can you not feel?"

It was a sly question—he knew well that the boy could not. Obi-Wan shook his head, craning his neck to see through the windows on the opposite side of the room. Fortunately Qui-Gon was near the house, at the moment, stooping to fill a container in a small fishpond near the back veranda. Obi-Wan watched him avidly, pupils flickering minutely back and forth, and leaned his head back against the couch as his breath slowly calmed.

"Leave you he will not, youngling," Yoda said gently. "Only giving us room to talk, he is."

Obi-Wan turned shakily to his old teacher, shivering violently under the disarranged afghan. His eyes were dilated and unfocused, staring through the Jedi. Without letting go of his hand, Yoda pulled the afghan up, tucking it around his shoulders, adding a gentle wave of Force-heat. The child was far too thin—no wonder he chilled easily.

"M-Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan finally noticed who was holding his hand. He blinked, and gaped at the little Jedi in amazement. "Am—am I dreaming?"

"No, dreaming you are not. Here, I am, come from the Temple to guard and protect you. Wanted to see for myself, I did, what has become of my old student. Found a good life, you have, here with the Jinn family, but in doing so let go of your old life, things that you ought not to have lost."

Obi-Wan shivered, though not with cold now. "No, Master. I . . . I lost things that I needed to lose. I needed to leave them behind." He looked back to the window, and his breath started to quicken again as Qui-Gon walked away from the house. "Master, please . . . Call him back."

Yoda felt his eyebrows bend in grave disapproval. The boy felt he ought not to touch the Force, not even to call his father, but why? Too many questions, and a boy too frightened to answer them. "Why do you wish to have your father near at all times?" he asked obliquely. "Safe with me, do you not feel?"

The boy gulped, his eyes widening. "I . . . well . . . yes, Master Yoda. I mean . . . no. Not really. I don't. I'm . . ."

He lowered his head as if confessing a grave sin, his hand limp and resigned in the Jedi's little claws. "I'm afraid," he whispered. "I'm afraid all the time."

"No shame is there in such fear, after the ordeal you have suffered." Yoda nodded gravely, trying to catch the boy's gaze with no success. "How deal with fear, does a Jedi?"

Obi-Wan shook. "But I'm not a Jedi!" he cried. "And I'll never be one!" It was the first time this morning Yoda had seen something besides fear or panic. This was despair, cold and overwhelming, and he had to bolster his own spirit to prevent himself from being pulled into its thick, suffocating folds.

"Wrong you are," he said sternly, holding the boy's hand so tightly that the fingers overlapped. He knew it was probably the causing the child a little pain, but he did not let up. "A Jedi you always were, and a Jedi you always will be. Titles matter not. Who you are, it is, deep inside you." He poked a claw at the youngster's chest, and finally caught a corner of that blue-gray gaze as Obi-Wan's eyes flashed up momentarily in shock. "Now tell me you must—how deal with fear, does a Jedi?"

Obi-Wan's chin sunk to his chest, and he leaned heavily against the back cushion of the couch. His response was a whisper, faint and embarrassed. "He releases it."

"Forgotten, have you, all of your old lessons? Forgotten how to release fear? Teach you I will again, if it is needed."

The bright, tangled head shook jerkily from side to side. "Not forgotten," he whispered. "Can't. Just . . . can't."

Yoda leaned forward, softening his touch on the rigid hand within both of his. Now they were reaching the crux of the matter. His voice, too, he made much gentler, the tones he used when teaching the smallest of the children in the Temple. "Afraid you are to touch the Force, my youngling. I am wondering, why is this?"

Obi-Wan shook, turning his face to hide against the cushion. He tried to pull his hand away, but Yoda didn't let him, still holding tightly. He kept his voice soft and gentle, coaxing.

"Needful it is to share this burden. Tell me, can you?"

"I can't, I can't, I can't . . ." It was a whispered wail, all the more despairing for its deep quiet.

"You can," Yoda contradicted firmly. "If not me, another will you talk to? Hide this you cannot. Destroy you it will."

"Please, no." Obi-Wan shook his head convulsively, his eyes squeezed shut to disallow the tears, though they escaped despite his best efforts. "Please, Master Yoda, I can't . . . the darkness . . . I'm afraid! I can't, I can't. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I can't. It touched . . . I touched . . . I can't!"

Yoda sat carefully still. "Afraid you are of the darkness," he said slowly, understanding. "Afraid that touched you it did. Or that touched it, you did."

Obi-Wan nodded shakily against the cushion, then froze in horror as he realized what he had given away, his entire body tense and quivering.

The small Master bobbed his head gently, and softened his voice to the most tender of whispered commands, leaning closer to the boy's ear. "If afraid of this you are, then understand you must that even more important it is to tell us what happened. Refuse you do to touch the Force, but destroy the taint of the darkness, that will not. Only the Light can do this. Wish to destroy the taint, do you, if taint there is?"

For a long moment the boy only trembled so violently that the afghan would have fallen from his shoulders without Yoda's careful touch of the Force holding it there. Then he nodded, and relaxed against the cushions, exhausted, his face hidden. Yoda sat back, already reaching out with his mind.

"Very well. Summoned your father, I have. No doubt there is that he will be here before we finish speaking. Then, tell us you must all that happened to you, all that causes you fear. Agree to this, do you?"

Obi-Wan rolled his head over on the cushion enough to reveal one red-rimmed, swollen eye, and nodded. "I will tell you everything," he whispered, voice rough and cracked. "But only with my papa here."

The Jedi Master nodded, well-satisfied with this condition. "Acceptable, that is."

And sure enough, Qui-Gon was in the common room before he finished speaking. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were wide, darting briefly around the room before resting anxiously on the boy. His trouser knees were dusty and his hands were moist, apparently from a hasty rinsing just before he rushed in, but he didn't appear to notice. Everything he had was focused on his sad young son, waiting for an indication of what he ought to do.

Obi-Wan had heard him clatter into the room, of course. He lifted his head from the cushion and stared at his father for a moment, his face revealing everything. Then he raised one arm with a wordless sob, like a small child waking from a nightmare. Qui-Gon responded the only way he could—by falling to his knees beside the couch and taking the boy in his arms, holding him close, stroking his hair with gentle fingers as he murmured in his ear.

"I'm here, I'm here. Everything's going to be all right, my sweet son, my brave boy. Everything's going to be all right."

It probably wasn't true, and both knew it. But it didn't matter. Obi-Wan clung to his father without shame, desperately needing what the man offered, and Qui-Gon rocked the boy gently, his noble face deeply lined with sorrow and love.

After a time, when it became clear the Obi-Wan wasn't anywhere near letting go, Qui-Gon half-stood and insinuated himself onto the couch between his boy and the thick, soft arm, bundling the youngster into his lap. He rearranged the hopelessly crumpled afghan with one hand, and grabbed another, eager to ease the endless shivering. His gaze flicked anxiously to Yoda as he settled himself and Obi-Wan, wordlessly asking what had happened even as he continued to murmur soothing phrases.

"Shh, my little one. It's all right. Don't be afraid." Suddenly he paused, looking down at the smaller head pressed against his shoulder. Quickly, as if taking advantage of a momentary weakness in himself before he thought better of it, the big man bent his head and laid a fervent kiss on the smooth, flushed cheek. "Oh, Obi-Wan. I love you, son. I love you so much. I don't . . ." He paused, then went on. "I don't have words to tell you just how much. Please, sweetheart, can you tell me what's wrong?"

Yoda settled back, waiting, as the boy went absolutely still. And then Obi-Wan nodded, and Qui-Gon's face revealed what a miracle that tiny gesture was.

"Yes," the boy whispered, his voice a raw croak. "I can. I can tell you what's wrong."

Qui-Gon looked at Yoda again, and this time his eyes were steady. He understood.

They waited, while Obi-Wan gathered his courage, and then began to speak.