Sparks of Hope (A Star-Wars Advent Calendar)
By Meysun
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12. Never Ending Embers (Vokara Che)
22 BBY.
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The Force had rarely felt so bereft – almost two-hundred signatures vanishing like shooting-stars, becoming one once more with its stream, leaving them all quivering.
Of the two-hundred-twelve Jedi led by Master Windu on Geonosis, thirteen only had returned, most of them wounded in body and soul. The whole Temple was grieving, and Vokara Che had been up for two days in a row now, taking care of the injured and supervising the mind-healers.
It had been a carnage – a carnage orchestrated by one who had once roamed this very Temple, and it added to the terrible feelings of loss and hurt. For the first time ever, Jocasta had closed the Archives, standing tall behind its closed walls yet grieving silently.
The whole Jedi Council was reeling, the young Padawans walking around wide-eyed, staying close to their Masters, and the Initiates were kept into the crèche by their shocked and exhausted crèche-masters.
And Vokara Che burned.
She burned with a fire very few could understand – because it was not rage. Not even indignation. It was the opposite of anger – it was a fierce love for what was living and should be kept whole, what had crumbled and should have stayed hale, what could die and should stay alive.
Destruction was so easy and had nothing to do with power. It was contempt for the Living Force, devastation confused with glory… it was dark and cold and lonely and pitiful, and Vokara called onto that righteous fire, that spark keeping her head tall and her heart warm, and urged herself on.
She changed bandages. She ran hands and lekku against broken body-parts. She talked, gently, to the confused and fevered ones, leading them into healing trances. She supervised the sedation of those needing Bacta, trusting silently in her colleagues and friends in the Halls, the many Healers and their Padawans.
A semblance of calm seemed to have returned, that night. The Force still felt robbed, echoing with losses. But those who had passed were one with the Light now, and the injured ones were stable.
Almost.
Vokara sighed as she stopped in front of the room where Padawan Skywalker was still recovering from the surgery and Bacta. They had managed to clean and salvage the stump of his arm and had done minute work on its nerve-endings to connect a sensitive, mechanic prosthetic limb he would learn to use – hopefully avoiding phantom-pain.
The boy was still groggy, and deeply shocked. Obi-Wan had told her he had endured Force-lightning, but his heart seemed to have suffered no damage, although Anakin still had to wake thoroughly.
She entered the room, determined to check on Anakin's stump and Obi-Wan's injuries, and shook her head when she saw Kenobi's bed still unmade, the Jedi Knight sitting close to his Padawan's head.
Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, and his hand was hovering close to Anakin's face, inches away from his hair, resting on his pillow. The boy was asleep, brow smooth but tear-tracks still clear on his cheeks, and Obi-Wan was plainly struggling to stay conscious.
"And what, exactly, do you think you are doing?", Vokara Che asked him, voice low, placing a hand on his trembling back.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and the forlorn pain she read there for a few seconds was so deep she had to swallow.
"It feels so wrong", he whispered. "He lost his mother, Vokara… He keeps… he keeps waking up and calling for her. He sees her dying in his arms. And… I told him dreams pass in time. But they don't. I should have known."
He looked so young, grey eyes wide and glassy. They had cut his hair to tend to a head-wound and it no longer curled on his shoulder, leaving his neck free, reminding her of the Padawan he had been.
Vokara still remembered the tiny-limbed child Master Yoda had brought here – it hardly seemed believable that thirty years had passed since, yet some things never changed. Obi-Wan was still stubborn, with shields of iron, and she was still determined to tend to him.
"Obi-Wan, if you do not lie down, this is going to end in a Bacta-tank."
"He keeps waking up. He lost… he lost his arm. My Padawan lost his arm."
And the collected, cool-headed Jedi Knight Obi-Wan had become, who had discovered a Clone Army, tracked a bounty hunter to the Petranaki arena on Geonosis and faced his own Grandmaster, lowered his head, curled his hands into fists and wept, silently.
Vokara Che stepped up to him and wrapped a lekku around his shoulders, like so long ago – and she felt his sorrow, his guilt because he had not been fast enough to stop him, not strong enough to resist Dooku, had been forced to watch as his Padawan battled his Grandmaster…
Obi-Wan's skin was hot under her touch and she tentatively probed at his wounds, through the Force, finding his arm and thigh still inflamed.
"He keeps projecting terrible images. But something is wrong. I would have sensed so many deaths. I do not understand."
"You can ask him, Obi-Wan… When he is recovered. For now, you should let him sleep. And get those dressing changed."
"I cannot leave him."
He was already shaking his head, but she gently placed a hand on his brow, checking for the heat raging there.
"No. You cannot. And that is why you have to rest and heal. Dark times are coming, Obi-Wan. You can sense it, and so can I. It is going to be a war, and we will need every spark and light we can gather."
"The Clones… they all look like Jango Fett", Obi-Wan whispered. "Thousands of them, all alike. But not in the Force. So many died… I do not understand."
"Neither do I. But we take care of those who live. We try to protect, shield, and heal. We bridge rifts with care – and let the Force guide us."
"Let the Force guide us", Obi-Wan repeated, hand stroking his Padawan's cheek briefly, before he let Vokara help him up, guiding him towards his bed.
He did not flinch, when she removed his bandages and changed the dressings, applying Bacta gel and clean compresses, before she worked on his shoulder, projecting gentle, healing Force-currents towards the injury. By the time she reached his thigh, he had fallen into a heavy, fever-induced sleep that left him shuddering, but finally resting.
"No Bacta tank yet", Vokara whispered, becoming aware of a faint rustle behind her and turning to watch a bleary-eyed Anakin peer up at her.
"Is he asleep?", the boy asked, voice rough with what could be both sleep and pain. "How is he?"
"His wounds are serious, but there should not be any long-term consequences. He should be on his feet in a few days."
"He feels… upset", Anakin voiced, frowning and distractedly flexing the fingers of his mechanical hand, trying to get used to it.
"He is very worried about you", Vokara answered. "Watching you battle a Sith, being unable to intervene… It has woken some painful memories he will need to face. But your Master is very resilient."
"I know", Anakin said, quietly. "He was afraid, though. To face Dooku. He said he wasn't strong enough."
"Dooku is not just a Sith. He is a Fallen Jedi. He knows the Light, yet chose to turn himself away from it. Were Dooku still a Jedi, you would be surprised to see just how alike they could have been, in the Force. Qui-Gon dreaded it, and Obi-Wan…"
"But Obi-Wan could never be like him! There's nothing alike between them, not even close!"
"No. But it could have been. And those possibilities… Those paths who will never come to be… They are powerful allies of compassion, when you thread the Light, and mighty tools of destruction, when you chose the Dark."
Anakin lowered his gaze, looking at the metallic cogs of his mechanic hand, flexing the fingers rhythmically, eyes filling slowly with tears Vokara Che knew better than to address.
"Come. Let us leave Obi-Wan to his rest, and see how that arm of yours is doing."
Oh, she was burning. Burning for those deaths, those injuries, those wounds that marred souls and disturbed carefully achieved balance. But Vokara did not hate, did not condemn and did not judge – she simply tried to understand. The Dark and the Light. The pain, the fear and the hurt.
For compassion was a mighty spark, a never ending-ember in the night that would not be so easily extinguished – and the way she had chosen to embrace.
A/N: Hello dear ones and happy late December 14th to you! This one was writting directly from my very heart - as a big shoutout for all the healers and patients out there, because there are no stronger embers for me than those wonderful moments where we truly meet. And care. Especially in those times 3.
This one takes place directly after the first battle of Geonosis, and the number of the Jedi squad that came to the rescue was really 212. Just like Obi-Wan's legion. So you can be sure that, in the peri- and post Geonosis fic I *ache* to write in the Still Green Universe, he has chosen this number as a tribute, because... Obi 3.
Take care everyone and thank you so much for all the reviews, nice words, kudos and 'reblogs' on Tumblr I keep getting, you are really wonderful! Stay safe, much love, Meysun.