So great was Anakin's longing, so deep his desire, that for an instant he did see Obi-Wan standing before him. Then, like a slow, drowning wave, Anakin became aware of the fact that this man was taller than Obi-Wan, his hair was dark and tinged with gray, his eyes were farther apart, his features were wider, his face older, his mouth too small.
"Can I help you with something, son?" the man asked.
Oh, Force, what have I done?
Fragile, cherished hope was thrown to the ground and crushed underfoot, and Anakin felt the pain of it like nothing he had ever experienced before. He opened his mouth to scream, but not a sound came out. He waited for the tears to come, but not a one fell. He swayed, expected to faint, but somehow remained standing. His mind had detached itself completely from his body, rising upward to glory in its sorrow, almost as if Anakin had died.
He felt a cold, lifeless emptiness rising within him, seeming to encompass every part of his body and mind, scourging all in its path as it grew. His arms and legs had grown numb—Anakin tried to move them, and looking down saw his fingers twitching, but it was as though someone else moved them for him.
"Son? You all right?" There was concern in the man's voice. Anakin, as though waking up from a long, deathly sleep, tried to speak, but barely a sound escaped his lips before his voice cracked harshly. The man stepped forward and took his arm, a worried frown creased into his forehead.
"You'd better come inside," he said. "You don't look so good."
Anakin obeyed listlessly, moving as directed and hardly acknowledging his surroundings as he was led inside. The room he saw was furnished simply, with only two worn chairs around a dusty old table, covered with the most random objects Anakin could imagine. The man motioned Anakin toward a chair, and the Jedi sat, staring down at his hands unseeing.
"Now, son, I have to ask, what in the blazes are you doing out here?" the man asked, rummaging through the mess on the table until he found whatever it was he was looking for. "After all, not many people have call to come out to the middle of nowhere, searching for a stranger."
He shoved something into Anakin's hand, and Anakin took it automatically, not ever taking his eyes off his lap. He could hardly feel his heart beating at all. The man was waiting for an reply, but Anakin could no more have answered him than he could have jumped from here to the moon.
"All right, then," said the man cheerfully, undaunted. "Let's start simpler. What's your name?"
Anakin blinked slowly. Name. My name.Truth be told, he could barely remember; even the most reflexive responses were now immensely difficult. "Anakin," he whispered. As though for the first time, he saw the rough wooden cup in his hand.
"Drink it," the man ordered. "Go on—it'll make you feel better."
If only, Anakin thought miserably, but again he obeyed without thinking, touching his lips to the hot liquid inside the cup. On any other day he would have been ashamed of his circumstances—being treated like a lost child was hardly proper for a Jedi Padawan of nearly twenty—but it didn't even occur to him to apologize and leave. After standing on false hopes for so long, and then having them suddenly torn out from beneath him, Anakin had to lean on something, or he would fall. He put the cup to his mouth again, and this time actually drank.
"So, Anakin," the man said, "you want to explain to me what you're doing out here? Don't tell me you're lost."
Anakin tried to speak, failed, then cleared his throat and tried again. "No," he managed. "I'm not lost. I—I was looking for someone."
The man's eyebrows raised in interest, and he pulled up the other chair to sit opposite Anakin, leaning forward. "And what makes you think your friend will be out here?"
The liquid in Anakin's cup trembled. "Aiin Nifora," he said at last. "You gave her a crystal—"
"Oh, yes, the little Twi'lek girl," the man said knowingly. "She's very sweet, isn't she? Those ilum crystals aren't so easy to come by, you know—they're worth enough that it was probably foolish of me to let her have it, but she looked so blasted happy with it I just couldn't take it from her." He paused, digesting Anakin's words. "So you think it belonged to your friend? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Anakin, but I got that crystal out of an old lightsaber on Tatooine."
Anakin started visibly. "What?" In his astonishment, his voice was perfectly clear, an abrupt change from the bleary words that had dropped from his lips only seconds ago.
The man nodded. "Sure. You've heard of 'em, right? Jedi swords, very powerful—"
Faster than he would have thought possible a few seconds ago, Anakin grabbed the lightsaber from his belt and slammed it loudly onto the table. "I know what a lightsaber is," he snapped. The man's eyes widened.
"So…I take it you didn't steal this, then," he said quietly. "Your friend—he's a Jedi too?"
Anakin nodded. "Where did you get the lightsaber?"
The man shrugged. "A couple guys approached me with it the night before I was about to leave. Said they'd heard there was a trader in town, and they wanted to know if it was worth anything. Course, they weren't doing it for the money, I could tell. They wanted to get rid of it. I figured they were scared the owner would come looking for it."
Anakin cleared his throat. "Do you remember…what it looked like? The lightsaber, I mean."
With a long, thoughtful sigh, the man sat back in his chair. "Don't recall much of it—just looked like yours, really, or at least it did to me. I remember it had a rounded end, though, with these square little spikes on it. Thought that was pretty unusual."
Anakin jerked so violently that the cup was dashed to the floor, its contents spilling over the dirt. "Oh, Force…" The words came out in an anguished groan. "Force, it was his…it was his…" It made no sense, it was wrong! Every sign, every last little hint, had pointed to Obi-Wan's being alive and here—it was like finding every clue to a mystery, confidently winding up every loose thread, and then finding out that the culprit was someone entirely different from your suspect. It had Obi-Wan's name written all over it, and yet somehow he was missing still.
"I don't understand," Anakin mumbled. "It was supposed to be—everything she said—" He broke off, gasped for breath; he had to get a hold of himself, had to be strong. Anakin forced his chin up, to look into the man's eyes. "When Aiin described you," he said, his voice shaking only the tiniest bit, "I had hoped that—you were my friend." Hope. Hated, cruel, despicable word, lifting his spirits only just enough to cause the inevitable fall to cause him pain. The man shook his head, but there was sadness behind his eyes.
"Oh, son, I'm no Jedi," he said with a small smile.
"She said that you showed her a magic trick—it made me think—"
The man's smile widened slightly, and from the pocket of his trousers he pulled a small sphere, made from some black metal. Placing it on his right palm, he performed exactly the trick Aiin had emulated earlier.
"That?" the man asked. Anakin nodded dumbly, and the man made a regretful noise, holding out his right hand for Anakin to see. Both the palm and fingers were studded with tiny bits of some dark, dull metal embedded under the skin.
"Bad luck," the man explained for Anakin's confused expression. "Some son of a bantha with a grudge against me tucked a bomb made of orophite into my suitcase. Very mild, more intended to give me a good scare than anything, but the blasted thing blew up in my face." He looked down at his palm. "I've only got a few light scars on my cheek—can barely see them—but they couldn't quite get all the pieces out of my hand, so I put some synthflesh over 'em, and I'm as good as new."
Anakin must still have looked bewildered, because the man elaborated further. "Orophite's quite magnetic—very difficult to mine because, in large quantities, it's almost impossible to separate from itself. In smaller quantities, though, like that little ball and what's in my hand, it just makes for good entertainment."
Funny, Anakin thought dimly, it was suddenly very difficult to breathe. He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry to have troubled you," he managed, "I should…" His voice trailed off weakly, and without another word Anakin had left, stepping suddenly into the hot, bright sunlight and making his way toward the forest.
"Son!" the man called from the doorway. Against his better judgment, Anakin turned. The man's face was sympathetic. "I hope you find your friend."
Something almost physical hit Anakin's heart, and he stood stock still—the blood drained from his face. That insane, unnatural laughter was back, rolling up his throat, and Anakin had to fight to keep it down. It was a while before he could answer.
"Thank you," Anakin said, inwardly astounded at how calm his voice sounded. It was as though it came from another's mouth, another who had not just seen their life fall before their eyes. "But there's no chance of that. He's dead, you see."
With that, he turned and strode away, not once looking back over his shoulder.
No sooner had Anakin reached Ere's house than he collapsed onto the bed, his shaking legs unable to hold him any longer—he could not have moved if someone had held a blaster to his head. There was less grief in this helplessness than there was simple, blank astonishment; Anakin felt as though someone had hit him over the head so hard that his brain had completely shut down.
Aiin, quickly bored of waiting near the cliff, had migrated back to her house during Anakin's encounter with the trader-who-was-not-Obi-Wan. When he returned, Aiin could hardly understand his sudden lethargy, and Anakin made no attempt to explain it to her—he had taken one look at the crystal around her neck and turned away, thinking for sure that he would be sick.
As it turned out, this fateful day also happened to be their last on Ryloth. Anakin didn't quite understand the reason, but he had heard Master Windu say something about negotiations being settled peacefully and our help being no longer needed, and that was good enough for him. He had no idea what the solution they had come up with was, but then again, Anakin could not have cared less if the entire population of Twi'eks stayed where they were, moved to Hoth, or got eaten by a rancor. Well, maybe he would care if Aiin got eaten, he admitted grudgingly to himself, but why, oh why had he asked about the necklace?
After an hour or so, sensation returned slowly to Anakin's arms and legs. Sitting by himself, huddled on the bed with his legs tucked under him, he rubbed the fingers of his left hand with his right distractedly. The feeling in his limbs was back, but that frightening coldness in his stomach refused to dissipate. It remained even as Windu entered and told him that the ship was waiting for them, and when Anakin went outdoors to follow Windu back to the meadow where they had landed.
Ere had apologized, saying that while he was very sorry he could not escort them to their ship, more, immediate negotiations with the Bainyeta were necessary, and he wished them a safe journey. Aiin, however, was bound by no such scruples, and she walked beside Anakin the whole way. When they finally reached the ship, its ramp already lowered and its engine started, Anakin started to walk toward it, but Aiin pulled at his arm.
"Are you coming back?" she asked, looking up at him with eyes that pleaded for an affirmative answer. Even now, Anakin couldn't make himself lie to her.
"No," he said finally. "Probably not. I'm sorry."
Aiin's face crumpled in disappointment, but she bravely pulled herself together. Gulping, she quickly pulled the pendant over her head and held it out to Anakin.
"Will you take this, then?" she asked, her voice shaking and small. "So you—so you don't forget me?"
Anakin's heart nearly broke in two. Aiin had no idea what she asked of him, but Anakin would rather have seen that crystal at the bottom of a lake or floating somewhere in space. He wanted nothing to do with it, but he could hardly refuse such a request. Careful not to allow his reluctance to show on his face, Anakin reached out and took the little crystal in his hand. It felt hot, as though it would burn a hole in his palm.
"I won't forget you, okay?" Anakin told Aiin. "I promise."
She nodded, and Anakin turned away, moving quickly toward the ship. Windu was already inside, waiting for him in the cockpit. Anakin came in and closed the door behind him, not saying a word. The pendant he shoved roughly into his pocket—he didn't want to look at it, but he could still feel it bumping against his thigh.
"Ready to go?" Windu asked, not looking at Anakin as he punched in the hyperspace coordinates and began lifting them out of the atmosphere. Anakin nodded.
"Yes," he said softly. "I'm ready, Master."