Chapter 29. Tipping the Fulcrum
"I'll 'crazy' them," Mace muttered to himself as he punched his pillow yet again as he tried to get comfortable that night; now free to fume on Obi-Wan's behalf.
It was only natural to talk, to wonder and speculate, but to gossip in such a hurtful manner was not what one expected of the Jedi. Depa hadn't mentioned anything about this kind of talk. Younglings? Surely that must be it – youngsters who didn't guard their tongues, were careless in their speech, and unheeding of who might overhear their words.
Yoda – he'd speak to Yoda. The old troll would soon put things to right.
Crazy! Mace snorted. Anyone who thought that Obi-Wan Kenobi was crazy was clearly out of his/her or its own mind.
Really! Kenobi?
Such was impossible. Younglings, it had to be younglings. With a grunt, Mace turned over and fell into a peaceful sleep
"Handled our Obi-Wan well you did," Yoda remarked when next the two senior Jedi met. "And perhaps idle words a spur to action this is."
Out of habit, Mace moved his legs well away from Yoda. With gimer stick in hand and talk of a "spur to action" he was not taking any chances. One rap of that stick when young, though gentle enough, stuck with the vast majority of Jedi throughout the rest of his, her or its lifetime. Speak softly and carry a big stick had been Yoda's motto for years; a gratifying successful one. In his more irreverent moments, Mace sometimes thought he could also be considered "the big stick" there at Yoda's side, but he had to reluctantly accept that he and his infamous scowl were no more and no less a deterrent to mischief-making than the gimer stick itself.
"Idle hands lead to idle minds which lead to idle chatter." Yoda scratched his chin with a long finger. "Deal with that I will. As for our youngling, too idle is he as well. Stimulation, yes, yes, not good is it for Obi-Wan to sit and brood – build back his confidence we must. Well you have done, Mace – right I was when I said more than capable you were even if I were the only one to truly believe it at the time."
Yoda cackled; Mace glared, only the glare didn't work on Yoda. Sadly, he realized, it probably never would.
"Impervious I am." With a last mischievous chuckle, Yoda added as he clambered to his feet, "Overuse that face you must not or its effectiveness it will lose." He tipped his head on one side and regarded Mace for a long minute. "Or perhaps not."
Once they'd sorted out insults and veiled compliments, the two Jedi settled into a discussion of "what comes next". In fact, it was the perfect time to discuss his conversation with Garen Muln, Obi-Wan's best friend, earlier that same day as Mace was on his way to Yoda's rooms. Mace crossed his legs and leant back, adding one more piece to the puzzle that was Obi-Wan Kenobi.
"I found out from Garen this morning that Obi-Wan has asked his friends not to try to visit him 'for a while yet.' Garen was rather distressed."
The distress, he was certain, had nothing to do with addressing Council Member Master Mace Windu. It wasn't like padawans and knights avoided speaking to him – they just tended to gulp and shift from foot to foot until assured no Council summons was forthcoming. Garen had, in fact, approached him with only the barest hint of trepidation on his young face.
"Why would Obi-Wan avoid his friends at a time like this? They can be of more comfort to him than I."
"Mmm." Yoda pondered the words as one claw scratched his chin. "More ashamed of his anger than his tears, he is no doubt; does not wish to worry his friends or try to explain to them what he cannot to himself. Easier it is that way – allow this we should but for a short time only. Habit, this must not become."
"So you don't think it's related to what he overheard?"
"Related, yes; the cause, no. Had you pressed Obi-Wan, I'm sure he would have realized that whomever he heard, only a youngling would be so indelicate and unguarded with his or her tongue. Nowhere has he been but the healers and in between."
Of course. Well, at least Yoda would sort it all out and in so doing, teach a lesson as well on the danger of reckless speech. One impetuous word, one careless imprecation, even one incautious inflection could sour a protracted negotiation for a Jedi.
"Worry do not, Mace. Time it will take, but time the Force has."
Just in time, Mace restrained from rolling his eyes. The presence of that damn stick assured that.
"First there were tears and numb silences; that was difficult enough to deal with. Now such seems easy; this anger and frustration cannot be assuaged with a simple, "Release into the Force." Mace glanced at Yoda, who nodded in sympathy. Both knew such emotions were not for Jedi. Obi-Wan knew it himself, thus adding shame and guilt to the already weighty pile of emotions he carried on over-burdened shoulders when anger drained away.
Mace could no more indulge those emotions than discipline the young man for them. All he could do was wait them out, in silence. Wait – for the next stage, and wonder what shape that would take.
For to hope – that the Force would act sooner rather than later to heal the wounds - was fruitless; it followed no man's timetable, only its own.
Expecting and receiving no greeting upon his return to his rooms - still half-startled just to find another within his rooms – Mace paused on the threshold and observed the peaceful scene before him. The subject of his observations had not heard the soft whisper of the door's opening; had not lifted the face seen half in profile to flash either a smile or frown. Obi-Wan was all but oblivious to the Jedi master's presence.
The young man was studying a datapad, chin resting on one hand as the other slowly twisted and twirled his long padawan braid. The Force was calm around him, tinged with – yes, a bit of glee – as well as a subdued sense of regret. At the moment he looked anything other than a brooding padawan, shut away against the painful reality of his circumstances.
Garen's earlier words as much as his somber expression flitted through Mace's mind.
Straightening from his slouch against the jamb, Mace cleared his throat. "Anything exciting?"
Obi-Wan's head lifted and he quirked a smile of greeting. "Mission reports…."
"Ah, looking for something?"
Obi-Wan smiled a bit sheepishly. "Jogging my memory…."
Or perhaps searching for some part of himself? Oh, Obi-Wan, you won't find whatever you're searching for in dry mission reports.
"Find anything?"
"Just more questions, Master Windu." Obi-Wan shrugged, a bit apologetically. "I'm finding a lot of memories, some good memories and reliving some…," suddenly that mischievous grin appeared, "downright exciting and death-defying feats of Jedi valor."
Raising an eyebrow, Mace came and looked over Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Ah, yes, the Tanaris mission – acting upon one of your 'bad feelings' you spectacularly saved not just the minister's life, but your master's. After his initial desire to throttle you for disobeying him, Qui-Gon was later forced to concede you had acted on an 'exceedingly good instinct' and not only salvaged the mission, but extricated Qui-Gon from what might have been a disastrous decision."
Obi-Wan's ears turned pink. "In a way I was following Master Qui-Gon's instructions. Having been chided for not being attentive to my surroundings not long before, I had been seeking to find my proper balance in the Force when its warning jolted through me. Master had his hands full with the minister and her counselors at the time and despite being told not to interfere no matter what; I could hardly stand by when the Force wished me to act."
"Your focus was where it belonged, you listened to the Force and you acted on its promptings. Qui-Gon was quite proud of you and I must admit that the Council was quite pleased with your initiative as well. Had we not been, Qui-Gon, I believe, would still be in that chamber arguing your merits."
Obi-Wan openly stared.
Mace clapped him on the shoulder. "Come now, Obi-Wan, you know the Council rarely shows much more than approval or disapproval during session, especially in the presence of a padawan. See that note, there," he tapped a button and pointed. "That is as effusive as the Council ever is, that little notation there was carried forward into your personal records – approval of a job well done. In fact, that earned you that blue bead for your braid."
"I must have a few notations less savory as well," Obi-Wan deadpanned.
"You're a human, not a droid. Of course you have. I delivered a few of those reprimands myself as I recall. We all have them, but you'll have to sit on the Council before you'll ever get a chance to see mine." He wasn't much for teasing, Force knew, but then, the truth was not teasing. His age mates knew enough not to bandy around Initiate Mace Windu's peccadilloes and demerits. He pursed his lips; then decided magnanimously to share a closely guarded secret. It wasn't his secret, after all.
"Yoda's list is so long I should perhaps start you on those so you can finish before your first padawan makes knighthood. With such a long lifespan, his list of infractions vastly outnumbers any other Jedi's in the Council's archives."
A full-fledged smile lit up the room.
"So do you want to tell me why you're avoiding your friends?"
The smile dimmed and disappeared. "I'm not – I just don't feel up to pretending that I'm okay."
"They don't expect you to pretend. They don't expect anything. They just want to see you."
"Not like this, dealing with inappropriate emotions that take me by surprise, that I have trouble controlling." Obi-Wan shaded an eye with a suddenly trembling hand. "I can't be strong for them."
"Let them be strong for you," Mace countered, but Obi-Wan just shook his head. One of Qui-Gon's least endearing traits: stubbornness. Why had this been the master's legacy to his former padawan?
"Aren't I supposed to go through several emotional stages of ups and downs? Don't fight them, work through them? Well, I've gone through the shock and tears and now I'm fighting through the anger and hurt but I'm still fighting. My friends will only weaken me right now."
In a way, Mace realized, the boy was right. He would spare his friends worry on his behalf, burying his pain behind an illusion of self-sufficiency that would fool no one but stifle discussion in its tracks. He supposed he should feel privileged that he was one of the very few allowed to actually witness this very personal and ongoing struggle.
But, oh, the progress that had been made to date. Where there had been confusion and doubt there was now strength and determination, lurking behind his eyes and in the tone of his voice.
"A few days, Master Windu…I know I can't stay cocooned here forever. But I need to focus on myself and my friends will just be a distraction right now.
How could he say no after that?
Had he done the right thing in acquiescing to Obi-Wan's wishes?
The question continued to vex Mace over the next few days.
This time of emotional turbulence had finally yielded to emotional equilibrium for Obi-Wan, though as yet it had proven insufficient to break through the inertia that kept the young man tied to Mace's rooms.
That state of affairs was about to come to an end, Yoda suddenly announced.
It was not a decision made lightly or without consultation – and the consensus was clear amongst those who looked after Obi-Wan's welfare: they were all determined that he should not stay in self-isolation. This seeming unwillingness to risk tipping the delicate balance he had found had been understandable when Obi-Wan's moods had been in such a state of flux – something any Jedi would find all too disconcerting, even without the handicap of an injury. Isolation could turn into a spiraling cycle of despair and depression; those who cared hoped to forestall or minimize such from happening.
So it was that Obi-Wan became the unwitting focal point of a plot, of well-meaning schemes to reintegrate him into Temple life.
Had he known of them, the young Jedi would have been both gratified and chagrined.
Had he been asked, he might have demurred or sought to delay their plans, so he was not given that chance.
Operation Obi-Wan was set in motion.
Known by not the same title, Operation Obi-Wan was nonetheless well underway elsewhere in the galaxy.
Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, a somewhat unremarkable Jedi in the shadow of his more illustrious master - until Naboo - had managed to become the center in the eye of a brewing hurricane of darkness. The storm clouds shaded the horizon without yet shuttering the light; storm warnings pulsed but were not triggered.
On two different worlds, two different men oversaw their plans. Their goals were different, but overlapping.
As yet, the plans had not clashed. In the end, one would lose – and yet gain something immeasurable. One would win – and find victory a mockery.
On yet a third world, a woman who would eventually find herself a supporting player in a drama that spanned the galaxy rested her weary head upon her arms. Hers was a lonely existence now, her only joys in life absent.
One child had gone long ago, given by her hands; another, more recent, gone as well.
Healer Jorak felt like a spider in the center of an unfamiliar web, disentangling and tracing fine lines made more of vibrations than substance. The Force signature he knew as Obi-Wan's, once as pure as a sea reflecting a pure blue sky, had become a murky blue overshot by a glint of gold as if light struggled fathoms deep to illuminate what lay in the shadowed ocean depths.
Qui-Gon's sapphire blue was chiseled with gray, a crystalline facet of an ageless rock, unassuming unless the light angled just so to reveal sparkling flares and deep crevices, unchangeable to the sight even as slowly demolished by the ravages of erosion.
Young Skywalker was a flare of yellow brushed with red, a young and fiery landscape in its infancy, still malleable and in the midst of transformation.
Be'a'nhyra, E'orfa and Vulchen: Water, Soil and Fire – and something else, something that tickled at the back of Jorak's mind, a whisper of familiarity that as yet had no name, slippery and elusive like a virus that constantly mutated.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he tapped into the Archives yet again.
Over the next few days Operation Obi-Wan continued to evolve: who to involve, what precautions to take, how much to do and how often. All that they did was only after consultation: with the Initiate Masters and with the Council, with healers and with Obi-Wan's friends. None wanted to push Obi-Wan into situations he was not ready to handle, all knew he was too fragile as yet. There would be no interactions with his former master and the master's new padawan or with those so young yet that they were incapable of discretion.
Momentum would build with each step and each success.
It was finally deemed time, sparked by a burst of energy that had Obi-Wan straightening up Mace's quarters, to that Jedi's amusement and surprise.
"Do you hire out – I never get this place quite this clean," Mace complimented him. "Thank you; you didn't need to do this."
Obi-Wan swiped a hand across his sweaty face and shook his head. "I like things clean and tidy, and I, well, it was the least I could do after all you've done for me, Master Windu. You've picked up after me –" his lips quirked in a wry grin, "whenever I've started to fall apart. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you these last few weeks."
"Obi-Wan Kenobi would have managed," Mace returned, pleased that the young man's quirky sense of humor was so often now reasserting itself. He peered at Obi-Wan's weary eyes, noticed the sheen of sweat on his face – hesitated – and implemented Step One. "You need to move about more, son. If even light cleaning works up such a sweat, you need to get back into shape. You need to get out and about – even just go stick your feet in the lake for a change of scenery."
"I know…but – I can't." Obi-Wan sighed, twisting the rag in his hands. "Not yet."
"Won't," Mace said pointedly.
The expected protest died on his lips. Obi-Wan didn't have an answer to that, as with so much else.
"I promise you won't run into Qui-Gon or Anakin."
Brown eyes held his blue-gray: a promise that he had nothing to fear, if he only dared not to fear. In that fierce gaze, in those words spoken so gently, was strength freely offered; strength he could draw on.
Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders and gave Mace a quiet, "Yes, Master," along with a nod and soft sigh, followed by the unexpected: "I trust your judgment."
"Well, that's ah - good, then." He squeezed the young man's shoulder, for some reason inordinately pleased.
Trust was a rare commodity amongst some – and respect for the Jedi unknown.
The Jedi were far from universally liked, and not just amongst the miscreants and criminals. Few, however, hated them. Of those who did, far fewer had the means to indulge their hatred. Fewer yet knew how to bring them down.
One man did. He had been planning just that for a long time. He would use Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan, Kenobi, to destroy Jinn, destroying Kenobi in the process as well. Then he would destroy the Order as well, this Order that would hold two such vipers close to its bosom, these thieves of human dignity who so casually plundered another being's heart while piously preaching compassion and caring. Complicit all were: Jinn, Kenobi and the Order.
Being neither rash nor impatient, he bid his time.
Everything had been set in place, the traps armed, to be nudged into play whenever events properly aligned – and they had when unexpected circumstances conveniently interfered, courtesy of Chancellor Valorum, bids for power, and a disabled Naboo ship.
The subtle beauty of his plan became of necessity sublimated to expediency - the jaws snapped closed; the bait firmly ensconced within the teeth of the prey – only the prey was the hunted and the bait the hunter's weapon.
It had been a satisfying success despite the reality that almost nothing – nothing – had gone as he had foreseen while leading to exactly what he had hoped to accomplish.
It could have – might well have - gone disastrously wrong based on what he later learned. The Jedi should have died, there at the hand of the then as yet unknown third player in the drama. Jinn nearly did.
Only something unexpected had intervened. Kenobi. The Force. Or perhaps, both.
Kenobi: the tool, the pawn – the unexpected player. The surge of power channeled through him had exploded like a nebula through every Force-sensitive being within parsecs – he being one of them. Tuning forks, all of them, each a quiver with the song of the Force…Kenobi the one to give it voice, the melody built on notes of hope, affection, and life.
And Jinn – lived.
And the greatest cosmic joke of all time furthered his plans even as it hastened and changed it, sending a stab of malicious glee through his anger and hate. Jinn and Kenobi, those whom he had meant to destroy instead lived, and now the "Chosen One" was insinuated within the very Order that he despised, in the very care of the man he hated. The Jedi could not afford to leave the poor and oh so powerful child, the "Chosen One" alone in a world that would fight for his power and allegiance.
Alone?
Oh, how he laughed at that. Only he knew to what extent each was bound to the other, and so he allowed what he had never planned. Let the Order shelter, feed and further train its Savior, the savior that would turn to bite the hand that fed it and in so doing, become its destroyer.
Yet, strange to contemplate even now was that the carefully cultivated and oh-so-useful connection had come close to destroying them all.
With his web ensnaring them all, he the spider at the center and so attuned to each strand, each vibration of power, even he had been caught up in the sweeping crescendo of raw and elemental power that bound both predator and prey, weaving the intricate strands ever tighter. In sheer revulsion at the pure – so disgustingly pure light –he had instinctively unleashed the demons of hell into the vulnerable and unguarded minds – and accelerated that estrangement he meant to drive between master and padawan.
And the light retreated into shadows, harmony fractured into discordant screeches – and minds whimpered and were torn asunder, fears and doubts amplified and multiplied by the destructive dark energies.
He had fed on it, gorged and drank on the despair and grief – of Jinn, repudiating his savior and of Kenobi, euphoria fading into anguish - even as he shielded young Skywalker from awareness of all but his own triumphant exultation.
And he exalted in his own triumph even as troubling questions arose.
How to explain Kenobi and the one he had slain?
He had set the game pieces upon the board; Jinn, the dupe, Kenobi, the potential sacrifice, his fate of little concern. The longer the Jedi lived, the more torment he could inflict, but ultimately the padawan's death on Naboo had been neither desirable nor undesirable, as long as it advanced the game. Not to him – but to another it was anathema.
Kenobi lived – and the other was fury incarnate in the Force, a dark stain that sought the young Jedi's very obliteration.
He seemed a pleasant enough young man aside from the fact he was Jinn's apprentice, but likable or not, people were mere tools to be used and discarded as needed. Lives had little inherent value in themselves. Even the Jedi prattled the nonsense of there being no death, only the Force. As an Order they preached and as an Order they believed that a Jedi lived and a Jedi died for the Force.
This one would die just a bit sooner than anyone expected, well before the rest.
It was only a pity that when his life ended, so would one means of tormenting Jinn. Kenobi's life, Kenobi's death – meaningless in so many ways – yet fraught with mysteries. He'd rather the boy live for yet a while longer, a brand to scorch Jinn's soul, a vibroblade to score his heart, a tool to achieve his ends. Someone else was determined to terminate his life post-haste – and why - because he was seen as a threat, even if now neutralized, damaged and shorn of the Force?
Would he return to the Force in death as a Jedi, or a Force-blind boy – ah, well, such was not important.
But he could not help but wonder: why was Kenobi such a threat? And to whom?