Inheritance
32.
Half in and half out of a healing trance, the world of sensation appears in an inverse chiaroscuro: the fire burning merrily in the room's center manifests itself as negation, a place where once-living wood is reduced to fluttering ash, crumbling into destruction amid a corona of heat. By contrast, Master Windu's somber and dark figure no longer veils his inner Light; he shines brighter than the mere physical fire by far, a radiance that fills the small shelter to overflowing. Things that are separate in space intertwine within the Force; solidity becomes ephemeral; the invisible renders itself apparent.
In truth, I would rather slip back into deep meditation, but…
"Master." I need to know where Anakin is, what has happened, whether –
"Improved?" he asks, stirring out of his tranquil posture beside the fire. The dancing flames cast his face in motley light and shadow, their liquid echoes sliding golden across his skin.
Who? What? Force, I'm sore. Everywhere. And I have no idea how I came by it. Master Windu's stern features swim into view. He's rather scrutinizing me, I think.
"You don't do anything by halves, do you, son?"
What is that supposed to mean? An idle thought: I did that barve Maul by halves, so really such an accusation is unfounded.
He seems to perceive the unguarded thought, and chuckles darkly. I pull my mental shields tight, all too late.
"Well, your sense of humor is still broken, so you must be all right," he decides.
I see. The Feorian blanket rumples into soft folds as I cautiously sit up. I rub at my sternum, my neck. I believe I must have been run over by a bantha.
"Wait," he advises. "Don't drink that- it's the local wives' remedy." He removes the carafe of suspect liquid and hands me a stone bowl of water instead. There was water in a cave, I think… a dark pool, and …
I don't quite remember… and where is Anakin?
"Easy," Mace Windu advises. "You took quite a blast in there. I thought for a moment I was going to find you in the same condition as the Feorians attacked by the jabuur-weki."
The jabuur-weki. Ah, yes. Now I recall. The jabuur-weki! Stars' end, we actually encountered it in that Sithly cave… and there was a crystal in the center of the inner chamber. I think I may have- "What happened?" I query. I have to admit, the whole incident is a bit blurry.
"The jabuur-weki appeared inside the caves while we were investigating," he sums up, concisely. "You attempted to destroy the source of the vergence, with your saber. The crystal formation shattered, releasing a violent explosion of Force lightning. You're lucky to be alive."
"There's no such thing as luck."
"Well, then, you're Force-blessed, or else destined for a much worse fate." He smiles briefly, a flash of white in the dim lodging's interior.
Or both, I suppose. But this is a distraction. "Anakin," I say. My voice is uncommonly hoarse. I clear my throat. "We need to find –"
"The planetary security is sending a transport to the village now. When it arrives, I'll go hunt him down. In the meanwhile, there's nothing you can do but be patient."
Of course. Exhale. Patience. I am well versed in it, am I not?
"I was going to reprimand you for exceedingly reckless action, but given the circumstances, I find I can't honestly do so. Had you not smashed the focal point, I wonder what might have occurred."
This praise is chilling, for to imagine Master Windu overwhelmed by any opponent is… unthinkable. I cannot hide my frown. "Inside the caves," I tell him – because it must be confessed to somebody… and Qui-Gon is not here….
"Go on." It is strange to hear this man speak with such gentleness, but not unwelcome. And we are not in a Council session, as he has already reminded me.
"It was as though I were in Theed again – battling the Sith assassin. The vision was very intense – like Ilum. It was difficult to resist."
He merely nods, registering neither surprise nor censure. "Yes. I too perceived the jabuur-weki under another guise," he tells me, soberly.
But not the same, I presume. "What did you see?" I wonder aloud.
Master Windu's brows rise, fractionally, and I instantly regret the intrusion. One does not simply ask a senior Council member under what dark form his inmost fear is embodied. I dip my head in apology.
"Forgive me, master – I spoke without thought – "
He waves it aside. "Another time and place, perhaps." And that, too, is wise. In such a place, where the very Force is so disturbed, we would do better to keep our focus centered upon other things. And yet, I cannot help but wonder what this abomination is, in essence and truth.
"Do you think the monster is… real?" a youngling's naïve question, but how else shall I couch it? The jabuur-weki is as palpable as fear itself – at once nothing and everything. There are many who would call such a phenomenon unreal… but such judgments depend greatly on one's point of view.
"From a Jedi perspective?" he muses, gravely. "More than any creature of flesh and blood. It is a projection of the vergence. I've studied such things, though I never thought to encounter one myself." He lapses into a contemplative silence, and I shift about, gingerly stretching my shoulders and back, eliciting a sustained protest. Stars… there must have been a herd of banthas trampling me. Force lightning? That too is a mere scholar's dispute, a rumored possibility, not part of waking and practical reality. Here on Gola, we have wandered into a liminal realm, one situated on the border between the known and the imagined.
It might be easier to take a page from Anakin's book. Never mind the theoretical implications. "What shall we do about it?"
Master Windu approves of this change in tactics. It suits him perfectly. "First," he announces briskly. "I'm going to find that wayward Padawan of yours. Then I'm going to have a talk with him, man to man. And then we'll discuss our friend the jabuur-weki." He rises, his dark cloak flowing upward with him, draping heavily over his wide shoulders like the weight of long decades.
The jabuur-weki has perhaps met its match, but I doubt even Master Windu is fully prepared to deal with Anakin Skywalker. Still, I am content to let him try his hand at it – I will admit to certain smug anticipation of the results, whether for good or for ill, and besides… I am mortally tired.
"You stay here," he orders, with a knowing wag of the finger. "And no argument."
Did I say anything? I didn't say anything.
"Good," he decides, taking my silence for consent. Which, I suppose, it is. Blast it.
A burst of frigid wind slips through the door as he exits, tormenting the fire, whipping it into contorted pillars and sending a cascade of sparks toward the roof. I brush a few away from the Feorian women's blanket, preserving their delicate and pain-staking handiwork from harm, and sink back down against the hard palette. But rest is elusive, and creeping anxiety lurks just outside the walls of my self-control, eager to gain entrance, to find a new and better lair in which to dwell.
Beware the Dark side, Jedi… Beware the jabuur-weki.
