Inheritance
30.
And it is gone, as suddenly as it appeared.
I release a long breath, my saber's blade sheathed again, contracted into potential within the hilt. There is nothing here – the jabuur-weki did not flee so much as dissolve, its presence reduced to tattered shreds, like mist rent through by a breaking sun.
But the Force whispers to me that it is not destroyed, only temporarily routed.
I turn back to the inner cave, the origin of the explosive power that shattered the monster to nothingness. Kenobi was in there; what in stars' name did that boy do?
"Kenobi."
No answer. I lean into the cramped opening as far as possible, squinting in the subterranean gloom. The inner chamber is deathly still, and I sense a tremendous disturbance. Surely he was not so foolish as to –
"Obi-Wan!"
Blast this narrow crack in the cave's walls. I grasp my weapon's hilt again, briefly calculating how long it will take to carve a chunk out of the solid rock, a slight widening of the natural crevice.
A stir of motion within alleviates the worst of my fears.
"Kenobi!" My eyes slowly adjust to the dimness; the ithyll crystals are for the most part intact, but many have been scored and cracked. In the center of the space there lies a blasted chunk of stone, looking like a volcanic crater rising out of a muddied sea. Fierfek. He was foolish enough. Probably went at the thing with his 'saber.
"…Master Windu?" An unsteady scuffle and a splash tell me that he's at least found his feet. The tremor rippling in the Force tells me that he's on the verge of losing them again.
"You need to get out of there," I order. I know him well enough by now to see what will work best. "Come back through that opening."
More scuffling and splashing. His silhouette appears on the other side, hands grasping at the edges of the gap for support. "Oh," he says, in dismay. "I – ah."
"If you can get in you can get out. Don't make me carve my way in there," I add, sternly. Come on, Kenobi - you are capable, dammit. The Dark is slowly re-forming, the storm-tossed remnants of its power gathering together again, driven on an invisible wind. We need to be out, and soon.
"Coming," he grunts, squeezing his way back through the gap. This time he doesn't bother to keep his imprecations sotto voce – but I overlook the breach of manners. He appears to be stuck halfway through.
"Blast it to the hells," he grimaces. "Ugh."
I seize his arm and pull. There's no time for delicacy. The Dark is rising again, like a vengeful tide. We've no time to waste. "Come on," I order, using the Force to back up the command. He hisses sharply as I yank him through, heedless of scrapes and bruises.
He practically collapses into my arms, but that's fine with me. I reach a hand out, summon his fallen weapon into my grip through the jagged cave opening, and drag the man himself back through the caves. The next opening is a painful exercise, but we make it through somehow. The last threshold is wider- I urge him forward, stumbling or not. A wild ululation is echoing in the Force, the Dark licking its wounds. I thrust an arm beneath Kenobi's shoulders and pull him up onto the surface, beneath a pale dawning sky. Ice slicks the earth as I guide us back to the village.
We've stirred up more trouble, that much is for certain.
And when I manage to haul my young friend past the village boundaries, I find the whole place is in an unprecedented uproar.
The chieftain shakes his ceremonial staff in my face. "Thieves!" he roars. "Those young fiends have stolen our only transport! Robbed their people and run away." His flapping ears droop and his thin arms gesticulate sharply. "Thy boy went with them, too!" he accuses. "Conspirators, lord Jedi! The jabuur-weki will punish all of thee!"
I half expect this pronouncement to be followed by an edict expelling us from the village – but our Feorian friend is not yet accustomed to such bold exercise of his freedom and authority. He subsides into a helpless passivity, scowling at me and muttering his displeasure to the world in general as he retreats into the elders' longhouse.
"Anakin," Kenobi mutters, alarm lancing through the Force between us.
I'm tempted to utter a most unbecoming sentiment. Skywalker seems to have overdone the distraction. And if the chief's story is true, he's long overdue. I sense a disaster, just over the horizon. And the young fool has taken the villagers' only vehicle, robbing us of any means to send out a search party.
"Master - I need to find him."
I don't think so. "You're staying here," I tell my young companion. It's high time Skywalker got himself out of a mess – it might help dissuade him from plunging so recklessly into danger at every turn. Like his master. Yes, I'll be so blunt as to add that observation. I'm sure Kenobi lectures his Padawan to tears of boredom about caution and prudence, but I'll say it once again: example shows what words do not, and often outweighs them.
"But-"
"No," I answer. The stubborn gundark; he's just like Qui-Gon. I'm not about to yield in this matter. Before we can join battle, we are surrounded by a gaggle of solicitous Feorian women, the grandmothers and great-grandmothers of the tribe. A dozen wrinkled hands reach to help me with my sagging burden. Kenobi mutters some inarticulate protest.
"Oh, lord Jedi, what has happened to Pada-Wan?"
"Oh, let us help! We will make a great fire to warm your guest house. We will bring medicines and our best talismans, too."
"Oh, hath thou hunted the jabuur-weki, lord Jedi? Hath thou slain it, perhaps?"
"We've seen it," I inform them. "And fought it."
They jabber in unison, a garbled chorus of exclamations and conflicting advice. I push through, beating a straight line for the shelter of the guest lodging, half-carrying Kenobi as we stagger across the courtyard and into the feeble warmth within. He drops like a stone onto one of the crude palettes. A few of the hospitable and curious old crones try to follow us inside – I banish them with a pointed look.
There is a magnificent woven blanket folded across the mattress' end, a masterpiece of the weaver's craft. I haven't the foggiest notion where this treasure came from, but I throw it over my shivering companion and set to work on the fire, nudging the sluggish embers into hot and flickering life with the Force.
Shadows dance on the hut's inner walls. Some leave of duty this is proving to be: I now have a missing Padawan and an ailing young master on my hands. As Yoda warned me, I might very well learn something from this experience.
And it is not a welcome lesson.
