"Biggs, I don't think this is a good idea." Luke looked back over his shoulder at the rapidly retreating Darklighter homestead.
"Aww, c'mon Luke. We'll be fine." The dark-haired boy sat in the driver's seat of his family's landspeeder, peering out the small windshield as he drove across Tatooine's open desert. Though the boys were only twelve, Biggs's mother was far less strict than Uncle Owen was and allowed her son to wander the sands without supervision. "I've driven this thing a thousand times," Biggs had assured Luke when he proposed the idea.
"Why do you wanna go visit some abandoned Tusken camp anyways?" the other, smaller boy asked, tearing his eyes away from the speck that was his friend's house.
"They say it's haunted." Biggs took his eyes off the scenery in front of them to glance at his friend. Luke could see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Why are you so scared? You agreed to come along."
"Only 'cause you dared me," Luke muttered, sliding lower in his seat. He didn't tell Biggs that he wanted to prove he's not some coward; that he wanted to prove he doesn't deserve to be called Wormie by those other kids in Anchorhead.
Silence. Then, "How come your mom lets you go out at night and stuff?"
Biggs shrugged. "She taught me how to use a blaster. Said she figured if I can't handle myself then I'll never make it on my own." Biggs patted his hip, where he had strapped a blaster pistol before leaving the house. "I never go out alone without one, though."
"Oh." Luke's family had taught him how to use a blaster too, but… "Uncle Owen says the Tuskens are moving around a lot more lately. Trying to steal from the settlers."
"We can handle 'em, though. They're just a buncha Sand People," Biggs replied confidently, his childish bravado peeking through.
Luke nodded and watched the suns sink lower, worriedly noting that they were likely to soon fall beneath the horizon. "It'll be dark by the time we get there," he observed.
Biggs sighed. "That's the point, Luke."
"Oh."
For a twelve year old boy, Luke had never been one to show off in order to impress the others his age. He could shoot a blaster, could ride a dewback, knew how to drive a landspeeder, and was a wizard with mechanics. But he had always felt different, as if he didn't really fit in with the others. Add on the fact that Uncle Owen was insanely protective of him, never letting Luke too far out of sight and restricting privileges his friends always seemed to have, and no one his age would give him a chance.
The one thing Owen did let Luke do was fly. The wide-eyed boy had been interested in starships from the time he could understand what they were, and had always longed to go higher than the planet's atmosphere. But Uncle Owen's old T-16 was all he had, and he made sure to take care of it. If his uncle decided he wasn't allowed to fly anymore… life would lose a whole lot of meaning.
An hour passed before Biggs slowed the speeder and turned off the engine. "There's a valley not too far from here. The camp's at the bottom."
Luke shivered. A chill had begun to creep into the air, and he pulled his poncho tighter around his shoulders. Biggs had refused to bring his, insisting he would look dorky, but Luke hadn't cared. Who was going to see them anyways? Ghosts?
He shivered again and ran to catch up to his friend, who had already begun walking away.
"Up there," Biggs said after a few minutes, breaking the silence. "You see it?"
Luke squinted at the horizon, where the sun was just sinking. A large black gash tore through the sands ahead. "Yeah," he replied.
"C'mon," Biggs said, looking over at Luke. "Race ya to the edge."
The boys ran, the harmlessness of a race momentarily letting them forget their fear. Laughing and occasionally tripping over the loose sand, they reached the precipice out of breath with large smiles on their faces. Luke turned his head to see what was below them.
"Look," he gasped. The last rays of sunlight momentarily illuminated what looked to be, indeed, the remains of a Tusken camp. Old, dilapidated huts were scattered around the floor of the valley, their sides caved in on themselves or sporting ominous black scorch marks. The whole place had an air of loneliness.
Biggs stared into the chasm and breathed out a soft "Wow." The two boys were still for a moment, neither daring to move, until Biggs swallowed. "Guess we should head down there."
"Guess so."
Luke noticed that his friend's bravery had dwindled since his cocky statements earlier. But after seeing the village firsthand, he was nervous about actually going down there too.
The duo picked their way down a small trail in the side of the cliff, left over from ages ago when the Sand People must have used it. Luke shuddered again as a cold breeze blew over him. He glanced ahead at Biggs, who hadn't seemed to notice it.
"Are you sure we should be doing this?" the sandy-haired boy asked, not for the first time.
"Luke, we'll be fine. Look, we're here already."
Indeed, the two had reached the bottom of the gulley. The old Tusken settlement spread out before them, eerie in the early dusk. The only sound was their breath as they took in the sight— Luke with apprehension, Biggs with cautious excitement.
"Come on, Luke!" Biggs whispered, running off into the dark.
"Biggs, wait!" But his friend was already out of sight, leaving him alone.
He carefully made his way forward, keeping a constant watch on his surroundings as if zombified Tuskens might leap out from behind a tent at any moment. "Get a grip, Luke," he muttered to himself, but he still grabbed his poncho tighter.
"Biggs? Where are you?" Luke called softly.
There was no answer.
Luke was starting to get truly worried. "Okay, c'mon. Where are you?" The darkness seemed to be deepening, the cold pressing in around him. He looked around for Biggs, searching, wide-eyed—
And then someone, somewhere, screamed.
Luke jumped and spun around. Though his heart was racing, he half expected to see a pleased Biggs behind him, doubled over in laughter at his reaction.
Yet Luke was still alone.
"Biggs, where are you?" Luke called, voice breaking as he frantically called for his friend. "Biggs!"
A low humming noise sprang up from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, sharp pains cutting into his consciousness as the echoes of the scream still rang through his mind. He fell to his knees, pressing the palms of his hands against his face, screwing his eyes shut, trying to make the voices go away as he willed them to just stop.
But what was scarier than the echoes was that something about all of this seemed… familiar.
"Luke! Luke! What's wrong? Luke!"
Luke pried his eyes open to find himself lying on his side on the cooling sand. Biggs was kneeling over him, hands on his friend's shoulders, forehead creased in concern.
"I'm okay," Luke mumbled shakily, rubbing his eyes and wiping away a tear before Biggs could see. He sat up, taking deep breaths. The voices had faded, leaving Luke's mind preciously clear.
"Dude, you were not okay. You were just lying there groaning when I found you."
Luke dragged a finger through the sand, hoping Biggs couldn't see the tears beginning to leak out of his eyes. "I'm fine. Can we just go now?" Luke asked, immensely relieved when Biggs nodded, standing up to leave, even though his heart broke at his friend's next words.
"I never would've brought you if I'd known you couldn't handle it."
The boys walked towards the abandoned path towards their landspeeder, but Luke's mind repeated Biggs's words. Couldn't handle it.
How was I supposed to handle it? He thought angrily. It's not my fault that… that….
That you heard voices in your head? That you heard people screaming? A tiny part of him whispered back.
He paled at the thought. I'm not crazy.
After what felt like an eternity, the two were seated in the landspeeder, safely away from the haunted village. Biggs drummed his fingers on the dash, thinking, before starting the engine.
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. Luke didn't answer. "For saying you were a wimp."
Luke shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his poncho. "I wasn't faking," he replied softly.
Biggs nodded. "I know." Another moment of awkward silence passed. "Are we good?"
Luke took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. He paused, thinking, before answering. "Yeah, we're good," he replied finally, giving his friend a small smile. "You're my best friend, right? It's your job to scare me every now and then."
Biggs smiled back, and Luke could tell he was relieved that Luke didn't blame him. "Just part of the job description," he joked.
Biggs started the engine and roared away from the chasm. Luke turned around in his seat, crossing his arms and resting his head on them as he watched the site become swallowed up in the darkness.
Luke and his family sat at his family's worn table, eating a meal consisting of whatever Beru had found in the cabinets.
Though the food was good— everything Aunt Beru made was— he pushed his food around on his plate. His mind was still busy replaying the events of last night.
"Is everything all right, Luke?" Beru asked, setting her fork down and lacing her fingers together with a concerned look in his direction. "You've been quiet all day."
He shrugged, not wanting to answer. In truth, the screams of the Tuskens had echoed in his mind the night before and kept him awake long after he and Biggs had crawled into their sleeping bags on the Darklighter's floor. Once he finally had drifted off, nightmares of a cloaked man with a blazing blue sword dominated his dreams.
"Just tired, I guess," he replied finally. After shoveling a few bites of food into his mouth in an attempt to reassure Aunt Beru that all was well, he asked, "What happened at that old Tusken camp a ways from here? The one that the Tuskens won't go near?"
For a split second, Luke's aunt and uncle froze. Aunt Beru coughed quietly behind her napkin, and Uncle Owen frowned at Luke.
"Why are you asking?" he demanded.
Luke cursed himself. He just had to ask. "Well, I went there the other night, and—"
"You've been there?" Owen asked angrily, raising his eyebrows. "And at night? How many times have I told you, the Tuskens are moving around more! What if you'd been taken— or worse, killed?"
"Biggs said we'd be fine; he had his blaster—"
"So it was your friend's idea?" Owen was practically yelling now, and Luke shrank back in his seat. "If he told you to jump off of Beggar's Canyon, told you it'd be fine, would you do that, too?"
"Owen," Beru chided, her forehead creased in concern. "You're scaring the boy."
Uncle Owen glanced at Luke for the first time since his rant began and sat back down in his seat, sighing. He looked old, Luke noticed; too old for his age.
"I'm sorry," Luke said meekly. "I didn't think—"
"No, you didn't." Owen cut his nephew off. Beru frowned at her husband but let him continue. "What you did was rash and foolhardy. Go to your room."
Luke gaped. He'd asked a simple question, why was his uncle so upset? "But Uncle Owen—"
"Now!" Owen replied sternly. Luke stood up, slamming his fork onto his plate, and stormed up the stairs to his room.
Hours passed. He heard his aunt and uncle finish their dinner, heard them cleaning the plates, heard them get into bed after a long stretch of murmured whispers that he couldn't quite hear.
The entire time, Luke sat fuming in his room. The mantra I'm not a coward ran through his mind until it blocked out all rational thought.
Which was why, after he was sure Owen and Beru were fast asleep, he snuck out to the garage and climbed into Uncle Owen's landspeeder.
He fell into the driver's seat and reached for the ignition, but hesitated before sliding the key in.
I'm not a coward, came the whisper from the back of his mind. Luke frowned and turned the key.
He roared out of the garage as quickly as he could, hoping to get far away before he woke up Uncle Owen and was sent back to bed. Though he hadn't really been paying attention yesterday when Biggs drove, Luke found that he seemed to know exactly where he was going.
When he finally pulled up to the canyon, Luke simply stared at the awesome gash in the sand. Did he really want to do this? Maybe he should just go back home and pretend nothing had ever happened. He and Biggs were back on good terms; he had nothing to prove.
So why did he still feel like he had to prove it to himself?
Luke climbed out of the speeder, taking a small step toward the canyon. Stupid, he told himself as he gazed into its depths. Stupid, he thought as he once again walked the weathered path down the slopes. Stupid, he thought angrily as he stood in the center of the ruined village, wind and dust swirling around him.
He was somewhat reassured by the fact that he had made it all the way here without hearing any voices. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to center himself and quell the remaining fear resulting from being alone in the desert.
Murmurs and voices began to invade his mind. They were quiet, almost peaceful… until an ominous snap-hiss sprang into existence. The screams were back again, less intense than the night before but still overwhelming. Bright lights flashed behind his eyes as the low humming changed pitch.
But in the midst of it all, a soft voice drifted through the cries pounding at his mind. I'm so proud of you, it said. I missed you… I love….
Though the voice faded away into nothing, Luke clung to it, desperately trying to remain grounded in the real world. It was warm and loving and familiar.
He clenched his teeth, pushing the screams and the agony away with all his might.
Luke became aware of cool sand under his palms, grasping it as if it could anchor him to the planet below. Propping himself up and breathing heavily from some unknown exertion, he allowed himself a moment to put his head in his hands and sobbed.
"I am a coward," he whimpered sorrowfully.
"I would say quite the opposite, in fact," a man's voice called softly from behind.
Luke shot up, surprised and somewhat frightened to hear someone else in the abandoned camp. He unclipped the blaster he had snatched from the wall of the garage and held it up as he looked around. "Who are you?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
A man melted out of the shadows, pulling his cloak from his face. Luke recognized the man and lowered his blaster. "It's just you," he said, relieved.
Ben smiled. "Just me," he nodded.
Luke's adrenaline ebbed away, leaving him tired and drained. "You probably saw what happened," he muttered, embarrassed.
Ben nodded, bringing an embarrassed blush to Luke's cheeks. "I thought you were quite brave, in fact."
"Really?" Luke's head shot up. "But I…." and he trailed off, unsure of how to explain.
"I understand," the old man said with a rueful smile. He sat down, motioning for Luke to do the same. He did so hesitantly.
"You do? Luke asked skeptically.
"You and I are different from others." Ben said it so matter-of-factly that the young boy wondered why he was so sure. He barely even knew Luke.
But as he thought of the way his friends called him "Wormie," for no apparent reason, he realized that Ben was a hermit who lived alone in the desert. He probably didn't have many friends either. "I guess so," he replied, fidgeting with the toe of his shoe.
The old man just smiled. "Would you like to tell me about what happened?"
The offer made Luke pause. He didn't know why Ben was asking, but it might feel good to get it off his chest. It wasn't like he was going to tell Luke's friends, anyways.
Luke began the story, mentioning how Biggs had brought them to the Tusken camp and how it had triggered a hallucination— that's what Luke had decided to call it— and why he had come back. "I just don't know why it happened again," he mentioned. "And…" he almost decided not to tell this part. It was personal, and he knew it would sound crazy. But the way Ben had sat and listened, truly listened to his story, without criticizing, made Luke feel like he could trust the old man. "It all felt familiar," he finished softly.
Ben sat for a moment, taking in Luke's account. The boy had seen flickers of grief pass over the man's face from time to time, and once he almost thought he could feel the old man's sorrow. But that was just in my mind, he told himself.
Finally, Ben turned his attention upon Luke again. "I think I can explain that last part— the familiarity," he said, giving the boy a sad smile. "You see, your father—" Ben's voice broke on the word, but he cleared his throat and continued— "visited here long ago. That must be what you feel."
Luke's eyes widened at the mention of his father as the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a smile. He latched onto the explanation, using it to replace the fear that had been clawing its way inside of him.
The fear that maybe he had been hearing these things because they were a part of him.
Ben smiled sadly, even as Luke began feeling better. The cloaked man rose to his feet, saying, "I think it's best if we leave. Far too many bad memories for the two of us."
Luke stood up and followed the old hermit up towards Uncle Owen's landspeeder. The night was beginning to wear on him, and he yawned, ready to fall into bed.
Ben must have noticed his weariness. "Perhaps I should drive you home."
Luke hesitated, but he didn't see why it would be a problem. He nodded, curling up in the passenger seat as the low hum of the engine rumbled underneath him. He gazed up at the starry night sky, wondering. He yawned again.
"Do all of those stars have planets around them?" he murmured, but he was asleep before Ben could answer.
Ben glanced over at the small, slumbering form in the seat next to him as the clicks flew by. He was impressed that the boy had made it all the way to the canyon from the Lars' farm; it was an impressive distance and the boy had only made the journey once.
The Skywalker talent lives on, he thought dryly. The boy's father had once had quite the knack for getting himself into trouble, and Kenobi had often had to keep him from sneaking away from the Temple at night. It had been Anakin's sense of curiosity more than anything that had never ceased to amaze Kenobi.
As it was anytime Obi-Wan thought of his former padawan, a pang of sorrow cut through him like a knife. It's been twelve years, he thought. Surely I should be over this by now.
But he knew he never would be.
It hurt to see how much Luke wanted his father back. Kenobi knew the exact incident that had caused Luke's Force-induced attacks; Ben had meditated enough to draw out the past and unravel the mystery. Luke must have been sensing his father's presence from long ago, and the unusual existence of the Dark Side there must have been just enough to stir Luke's Force-sensitivity.
And Ben just hadn't been able to tell Luke that he was sensing the murder of innocents— by his father's hand, no less. He had decided on a fraction of the truth, and watched as Luke clung to it as if it was the sole point on which his sanity hung. Luke had been so hungry for an explanation, for something of his father, that he hadn't even questioned it.
Or else he has already unconsciously used the Force so many times that he does not need to question it.
The boy was powerful, no doubt.
He took after his father.
By this time, Ben had reached the Lars's farm. He pulled up near the door and cut the engine, plunging them into silence. Luke shifted in his seat but did not wake. Ben sighed, knowing the blowup that was about to come.
He took the boy carefully into his arms so as to not wake him and climbed from the vehicle. Halfway to the door, a lone figure blocked the light emanating from the entryway.
Owen watched as Ben handed Luke off to Beru, who was waiting to whisk the boy away to bed.
"He'll be exhausted tomorrow," Ben mentioned.
"He still needs to be punished," Owen remarked with a frown.
Ben lowered his head, not willing to agree, and a tense silence reigned. Though the Jedi Master could face down Sith and Separatists, he could not seem to win against Luke's protective uncle.
"He's learning it on his own, you know." Ben surprised even himself with his statement.
Owen's frown deepened. "We've been over this. Too many times."
"Owen, if you would just allow me to train the boy! He needs to be taught the proper use of… it, before he does something rash." He didn't dare to even use the Force's name, for fear of Owen's wrath.
"Yeah? And where'd that get his father?" Owen snapped back.
Ben was silent. Owen rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I don't want Luke dragged into some galactic war all because some old has-been wanted to teach him some mystical religion. He's my nephew, for goodness' sake."
"I understand," Ben replied softly. "But you have to know that he will find it on his own someday."
Owen just shook his head, whether from stubbornness or worry. "Beru and I will deal with that, if it happens."
Ben didn't reply. He knew Owen's character. He also knew that the conversation was finished. "I'll be seeing you, then."
"Don't come near my farm or my nephew," Owen warned. "I might mistake you for a Tusken."
Kenobi didn't answer, just turned away and began the long walk back to his hut. Owen watched him go.
"Good riddance," he muttered into the night.