I don't know a lot about Star Wars, but I always thought the Ithorians had a cool design, so I did a bare minimum amount of research to write a story involving them.
I also don't know if it's really acceptable for me to upload a Star Wars story on here that doesn't feature any of the canon characters and is only sort of tangentially related to the series. I'm sure someone will point it out to me if I've done something wrong.
I was only a child when the old man in the brown cloak came to my village.
Back then, I was still young enough to have to beg my father each night before bed to tell me stories of ace pilots and smugglers and bounty hunters going on adventures across the galaxy, and still young enough for my older brothers to often try to scare me whenever we went camping beneath the stars with ghost tales of a wicked horned demon with a red and black face and yellow fangs.
I grew up, as did most of the children in my village and I would imagine every village on every planet in the galaxy, with stories such as these. None did I adore hearing more than those that my mother would sometimes tell me, passed down from generations long since passed.
The legends of Luke Skywalker.
Luke Skywalker, the farm boy who became the savior of the galaxy.
Luke Skywalker, who singlehandedly destroyed the death star.
Luke Skywalker, who faced down and defeated an entire army all on his own, all without having to strike a single blow.
Luke Skywalker, the Jedi Knight.
My father's stories helped me fall asleep. My brothers' stories often kept me awake in terror. My mother's stories, however, did so much more.
They inspired me.
I saw myself in Luke, and not just in the way I would sometimes pretend to be him whenever I played with my friends after I finished with my chores, picking up felled tree branches from the ground and pretending they were my lightsabers. No, I saw myself in Luke for other, deeper reasons. I was raised in a forest rather than a desert, and as an Ithorian I certainly did not physically resemble my hero in any way, but I too dreamed of and longed for adventure beyond my humdrum life, just as he did. Many an evening I would climb to the top of a tree near my home cottage and stare out above the canopy at the sunset and imagine what lay beyond the horizon, just as he did, though Ithor orbited only one sun, rather than the twins of Tatooine.
The only truly significant difference between him and I as far as I could tell was that I had no connection to the force. A tragic shortcoming for any aspiring Jedi, I know, but no matter how hard I would sometimes try to move stones with nothing more than sheer concentration I simply could not. The closest I ever came was by waving my hand whenever a gentle breeze blew through the trees near my hut and pretending that it was I who made the leaves rustle, not the wind. I told myself whenever I felt particularly frustrated that I merely needed the proper training, that the potential was there and just waiting to burst forth, like a sprout from a seed. Such thoughts were sometimes all that kept me from crying in despair.
My mother once ended one of her stories by telling me that the Force was what bound all things together. So why then did I feel so disconnected, like a branch fallen from the bough?
Such anxieties plagued me until the evening came when I saw with my own eyes a real Jedi Knight, the likes of which I had only ever heard about before in stories of long ago.
The elders of my village had organized a large, or at least as large as we could manage, communal celebration to welcome him. Dozens of my people, young and old, all gathered around a bonfire in a clearing in the forest, dancing and playing music on simple percussive and stringed instruments and singing the sorts of deep and guttural songs that only our four throats could produce. After a while, one of the elders motioned for everyone to settle down, and I sat with my family on a hollow log near the fire to listen as he gave a tedious speech about how it was our village's honor to host such a prestigious guest, even if only for a short while. I paid little attention.
Far more interesting to me was when the Knight rose from his seat to say a few words himself. In a voice that was soft and kind, somehow both quiet and yet easily heard over the roaring crackle of the fire, he told us that the honor was all his, and that he was thankful that the Force had seen fit to lead him to such a beautiful planet, where the residents all live in perfect harmony with nature, and thus, the force. A simple speech, yet one I listened to with rapt attention, purely by virtue of the speaker, even if I didn't particularly believe anything he had said. Surely someone who had spent so many years leaping from one exciting adventure to another on many an exotic world would find little genuine interest in a planet as plain as Ithor.
Still, a Jedi had to be polite, I figured.
As he sat back down, my eyes at first lingered upon his face, unlike any I had ever seen before, as dark and thick and tough-looking as tree bark. He must've been quite old, as his skin was wrinkled and tufts of white hair sprouted from his chin and from the brows above his narrow eyes.
A flash of silver in the firelight, and my attention immediately darted to the Knight's waist, where I caught a glimpse of that fabled weapon of the Jedi, slung on a belt tied around his waist, beneath the folds of his robe. Immediately my imagination ran wild with wondering how many evil demons and monsters he had slain with that sword, and how many Sith he had bested in duels.
What I would have given to simply hold that shining hilt in my hand.
My desire was so great that, on the spot, I came up with a plan to make my desire come true.
Long after the music had stopped playing and the bonfire had been slaked and all of the other villagers, along with our honored guest, had retired for the night, I snuck out of my hut and slunk through the darkness to the Elders' cottage at the center of the village, where the Knight had been given a place of honor. Peering through a side window, I saw him sleeping soundly in a bed, his cloak and boots cast onto the floor. I scanned the room for the saber, and there I saw it resting on a wooden table on the opposite wall, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. Careful not to make a sound, I climbed in through the window and tiptoed across the room, stealing glances every few seconds to the sleeping Knight to make sure that he hadn't woken up. Finally I reached my prize, and without sparing even a second further, quickly plucked it from the table and left the hut, fully intending to return the saber before dawn.
I ran far from the cottage, into the trees, not stopping until the village was a long distance at my back. Only when I was certain that I was alone did I hold the silver handle up against the light of the moon to more closely examine its features. Such an ancient weapon, and yet easily the most advanced piece of technology I had ever touched or even seen before in my life, which i took as further evidence of what a backwater planet Ithor was. I ran my fingers from the base to the top of the hilt, feeling at first the black ridges at the grip and then the smooth and cold silver and then, finally, the red ignition button.
My thumb lingered over the switch, and I asked myself if I dared to press it.
"Having fun?"
In my surprise I nearly leapt out of my skin as I spun around, and there I saw the Knight, fully dressed and with his hands hidden within the sleeves of his robe, standing completely still. Either I had been too distracted admiring the saber to notice his approach, or else the Jedi were simply possessors of a near-supernatural power to move without making a single sound. I chose to believe the latter.
Much to my relief, he did not appear so much angry as mildly amused, with a mischievous little twinkle in his eye. Nevertheless, I profusely apologized as I handed the weapon over.
"It's quite alright," the Knight said with a whispery little laugh. He extended a bony hand and accepted the offered hilt, tucking it between the folds of his cloak. "No harm done."
The tension in my body relaxed and I felt more at ease now that I knew I wasn't in any trouble. Still rather embarrassed, I apologized once more, and explained that I had fully intended to return the saber before he had woken up, but that I just wanted to hold it for myself, that I longed to hold some physical piece of evidence that all of the stories I loved were really true.
I left out the part where I had planned on using the blade to perhaps cut down a tree or two while pretending they were ancient battle droids, as I was sure that he wouldn't have appreciated it.
The old Knight looked down upon me, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a tiny and amused sigh as he said, "Hold out your hand, young one. And keep your head back."
Suddenly excited, I did as I was told, and for an instant I even believed that I was in for an impromptu lesson in dueling. The old Knight retrieved the hilt from his robe and placed it gently into my palm, not letting go himself. "On the count of three," he said, and without him explaining further I knew exactly what to do. "One, two…three."
My thumb hovered over the red ignition button, and as soon as the countdown was complete, I pressed it. The blade of white light shot straight up, and together we held the saber.
The faint hum of whatever engine it was that powered the weapon reverberated through the trees like the call of some great insect. I stared into the blade, feeling its warmth upon my face, and I felt as though I could very well have been holding the sun in the palm of my hand.
Even without me having to say a single word, the Knight seemed to sense how awestruck I was, either through the look in my eyes or through using the force to intuit my deepest emotions. "Yes, it's quite pretty, isn't it?" he said, sounding amused, as if he considered the lightsaber to be mostly a trifling thing. I had been so focused on the blade that when he spoke, his voice seemed to call out from a far distance, and suddenly I was cast back down to earth again. He pressed the red button and extinguished the saber, holstering it once again. "Never forget, however, that a Jedi's true power lies not in his weapon. No, a Jedi's true ally is the force."
I nodded and said that I understood, even though I was taken somewhat aback by his casual disdain for the lightsaber, though I supposed that he was right. I figured that a well placed force push or Jedi mind trick would often be a more useful attack than a slash with a blade. At least, that was how I interpreted what he had said at the time.
The Knight smiled at me. "Good," he said. "Come along now. Let's get you back to bed."
He turned to walk away, and I followed him through the wood, at first in silence, watching with curiosity as he run his hand through the leaves that hung near his head, as if he were delighting in their touch. Quickly, however, I realized that this was likely to be the only chance I would ever have to be alone with a real Jedi Knight, and I resolved to make the most of it. Naturally, I asked him only the most pressing questions I could think of, like if he had ever been in a lightsaber duel.
"Only once, long ago, if you could even call it a duel, with someone I now consider to be a dear friend," he said, his voice tinged with sadness and what sounded to me like regret. "We were both very young and foolish. In fact, I can barely remember what we were fighting about in the first place…" He briefly paused, as if to search his memories for the answer to his quandary, before quickly deciding it to be unimportant. "In any case, this is mostly ceremonial these days," he added as he patted his hand against his hip where the lightsaber was holstered. "A few moments ago was the first time I've even drawn the blade in years outside of training."
Admittedly, I was disappointed. Here I had always imagined lightsaber duels to be these epic conflicts between the forces of good and evil, fought in throne rooms and over lava pits, not as petty squabbles. I asked him again hopefully if he had ever been in a real duel, perhaps between a Sith or some other master of the dark side. I'd have even settled for an exciting story about him taking on some battle droids.
"Oh, goodness no," he said with a small laugh. "We are very lucky to be living in an era of relative peace. The Sith haven't even existed for centuries."
I reminded him, only the slightest bit fearfully, that the Jedi had once believed the same thing long ago, just before the dawn of the empire.
"Indeed," the Knight said with a mournful nod. "They were careless, and blind to the evils that surrounded them. All we can do now is try to learn from their mistakes and remain ever vigilant." Briefly, a story came to mind that my mother once told me about Luke Skywalker and his old master, where the moral had something to do with failure being the greatest teacher of all. "But you know, there is more to being a Jedi than fighting. Often, conflicts can be resolved better with words and empathy, rather than with violence."
I absorbed what the Knight had said as we continued to walk. He was most unlike the image of the Jedi that I had carried in my imagination for most of my life up until that point. More a monk than a warrior, and more similar to my mother than I would have predicted, not just in the warm tone with which he spoke, but in the lessons he seemed to wish to impart unto me. I wondered briefly if he were perhaps an outlier in his order, or if most Jedi were more like him than Luke Skywalker of legend.
Eventually, the trees gave way to the wooden huts and cottages that made up my village, and soon enough I was standing near my own front door. Knowing that our time together was nearing its end and feeling a new wave of guilt wash over me, I apologized to the Knight for the third time.
The Knight smiled warmly and handwaved away my apology. "Please, before I fell asleep I was thinking of how much I would have loved to take in more of the sights of this wonderful planet, and to breathe in more of the crisp air in the trees." He stood before me and offered me a deep bow. "Thank you for keeping me company tonight, young one," he said graciously. "May the force be with you."
He turned to walk away, and at first I just stood there with my voice caught in my throats, unable to move or speak. The feeling that I was squandering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity grew ever stronger in my chest, and, feeling bold, I blurted out something that I had always promised myself I would ask a Jedi if ever I were to meet one.
I asked him if he would take me with him when he left our planet and train me as his apprentice.
The Knight stopped in his tracks, but at first did not turn around, and for a moment I was frightened that I had blown my chance. I decided to try to sell him on the idea with what I felt at the time was a harmless white lie. I explained that there were times, however rare, when I felt a certain power flowing through my veins, that sometimes if I tried very hard I could actually move objects with my mind.
The Knight turned his head. "I see," he said, and it was impossible for me to ascertain his tone. "Could you show me?"
Ordinarily I would have panicked, but luckily I remembered a trick that I had once shown to my friends. I told the Knight that I would be right back, and ran into my hut to retrieve a length of woven twine that me and my father sometimes used to catch fish in the river deeper in the wood. I tied one end of the cord to my left index finger and the other to a stick I picked up from the ground, then clasped it between my palms as I ran back outside.
I told the Knight to watch closely, and to his credit, he gave me his rapt attention. I raised my left hand slowly over my right, where the stick rested on my palm, squinting my eyes and making a big show of how hard I was concentrating. The twine pulled taught, and I suppose that if you squinted, the string was thin enough that it looked as though the twig was floating in midair.
Here was my only evidence of my incredible prowess with the force. Looking back, I must have looked like quite a fool, but I was young, and desperate.
"Impressive," the Knight said, and there was no hint of irony, no soft laughter, no indication at all in his voice that he meant otherwise. He knelt down so that he could look me squarely in the eyes, and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Yes, most impressive indeed. You truly are powerful in the ways of the force."
I knew that he was only humoring me, but still I asked him if that meant I could go with him.
"I'm afraid that I already have an apprentice, young one," he said with a sad sort of smile. "Though, between you and I, your powers greatly surpass his own."
My arms fell dejectedly to my side and I dropped the twig, and I could feel my dreams of adventure slip from my fingertips just as did the loop of twine. I felt myself begin to cry as I asked if there was anyone on the Jedi council who was in need of a padawan, or of even a servant, so desperate was I to be a part of that sacred order I had heard stories about throughout my life.
"What about your home?" the Knight asked gently. "What about all your friends and family? Would you really be prepared to say goodbye to all of them?"
I would've said yes in a heartbeat, and that for as long as I could remember I had dreamed of leaving my homeworld behind, but something gave me pause. Images of me and my friends playing together flashed through my mind, as did pictures of my mother and father and brother. I heard their voices too, telling me those stories that inspired me, and I realized perhaps that, equally important to me as the stories themselves, was the fact that my family were the ones to have told them to me. They were moreso my home than my hut and the trees that surrounded it.
After a moment's hesitation, I shook my head in reply to the Knight's questions.
The Knight's eyes glimmered. "The council will no doubt be disappointed, to be deprived of someone of your potential," he said. "But I think you're making the right decision. One day, when you're older and wiser, I am certain that you will leave this planet, if that is what you truly want, but for now you belong here, with those who love you."
Belonging. It felt like such a cruel word, even when spoken so softly. I stared down at the twine and twig laying at my feet in the dirt. Why was it that I had to belong in a place so ordinary? How was it fair that certain beings could do such extraordinary things, while I had to rely on amateurish sleight of hand?
As the first hint of tears began to sting my eyes, I asked the Knight if I could ask him something I had always wondered.
The Knight nodded.
I asked him why it was I felt so apart from the force, if it was what bound all things together? Why was it that I could not do the same amazing things that he or Luke Skywalker could, no matter how hard I tried, and how badly I wanted to?
The Knight looked at me in silence for the longest time, until at last he spoke again in a sombre tone, and he said something that I will never forget. "My child, the force is not a weapon or a power to be wielded by a select few. No, the force is something far greater and wondrous than that. All living beings, yourself included, are connected under its canopy, like a forest of trees whose roots all entwine together under the is a cycle of life and death, of darkness and light, all in perfect balance surrounding us. It lives in you as much as it does in me, and it manifests in many ways. Any time you plant a tree and watch it grow tall over the years from a tiny seed, any time you nurse an injured animal back to health, any time you see a rainbow after a devastating storm. Any time you hear a story from your mother and feel within your heart how loved you are. In any of these moments where you are taking part in something far greater than yourself, you are as strong in the ways of the force as Luke Skywalker of legend."
I considered the words for a moment, and for some strange reason I no longer felt so much like crying. I told the Knight that I didn't quite understand.
The Knight smiled. "Neither do I," he said.
He bid me goodnight once more and at last I set off for bed, thinking of the Jedi's words until I drifted off to sleep.
He left the next day. Apparently, his was a short stay, mostly only to gather fuel for his ship and supplies for the journey ahead of him.
Many years have passed since I met the man in the brown cloak who came to my village. I still stare out at the horizon sometimes, though no longer do I merely picture what lies beyond the sunset, but rather I consider how amazing it is the way the sun goes down when I'm tired, and comes up when I want to be on the move. That's real balance, that's real wonder.
I still feel connected to the Knight, despite not having seen him since I was a child. I feel an even greater connection to the force that binds us all together.
