5/13/23: Edited and chapter order swapped

Chapter 18
Who Looks Inside

He settled onto his knees in a small clear spot directly beneath the great ceiling fissure. Ghermessa was framed between Choiala and Jedahag—Justice and Freedom—the two stars that marked the Great Krayt's feet, and the barest edge of Ghomrassen was beginning to peek into the cavern. Little Chenini as always trailed her sisters and was not yet visible.

By the light of the second Sister, he opened his pack and laid out the hilt components he had prepared that evening. Meditation had always been a struggle for him, no matter his affiliation, but now he sank rapidly into the deepest trance he had ever achieved. Through the Force he examined the crystal, seeking not to dominate it and bend it to his will as the Sith did, but only to know it and allow it to become attuned to him. The meditations with the crystal were the most demanding and important element in constructing a lightsaber; most Jedi spent weeks on the process. Anakin had never taken so much time, primarily because he became frustrated with his attempts to meditate and inevitably gave up as soon as the crystal was functional. But on this night, the Force seemed to be waiting for him and dragged him into its depths the moment he opened himself to it. The crystal immediately began to sing in resonance with his own Force signature.

Awed, he examined its structures, seeking the flaws he would have to compensate for as he fashioned the saber. Jedi doctrine taught that all crystals had flaws, though most Jedi sought to use a crystal in which the flaws were minor and only on the molecular level. Part of the craft of building a lightsaber was incorporating those flaws into the design, so that instead of weakening the blade, they became its strength. The Jedi believed this was a perpetual lesson: that one's greatest flaw could become the foundation of one's greatest strength, if only one developed the patience and discipline to rise above it. Anakin had never agreed with that philosophy and had done the bare minimum necessary to cope with the flaws in previous crystals. And he certainly had never made the effort to face his own flaws.

The Sith did not bother attempting to incorporate a crystal's flaws into the design of their weapons. They merely dominated it, forcing it to conform to their wishes, believing that such domination imparted strength to the blade. He wondered distantly if this neglect was what also gave Sith blades their notorious instability and tendency to bleed power. He abandoned the speculation as irrelevant to his current efforts.

The more deeply he examined the crystal, the greater his awe. It was the most perfect crystal he had ever encountered. Nothing was out of place. There were no fractures or weaknesses in the molecular structure. Vaguely he wondered what color it would be in good light. He pushed that thought away as well. Perhaps the flaw was so obvious, he had simply overlooked it. He worked his way back out of the crystal, patiently examining each element. But it truly was as perfect as it had seemed at first encounter. Already it was attuned to him and he to it.

Only one step remained. The crystal was floating before him. With care he levitated the components for the hilt and began the assembly process. Once the cradle was ready, he reached for the crystal—and it split in two. So, despite the lack of any structural flaws that would have necessitated a dual crystal mechanism, this would be a dual crystal lightsaber. Good. It would be all the more stable for that. Painstakingly, he reexamined the two crystals. They were still perfect. Even deep in meditation he was aware that he took a deep, bracing breath as he prepared to fit them into their cradle. But before he could slide them into place, the visions began.

He stood in the desert, alone, with this lightsaber aloft in a position to strike, though there was no visible enemy. The image shifted, and he was surrounded by four cloaked figures also wielding lightsabers. One he was certain was Obi-Wan with his icy blue blade. The others he did not recognize. Each had a blade of a different color—green, blue, and the final figure with twin white lightsabers.

White?

Before he could consider the anomaly, the vision changed, and he heard the hiss of a respirator. His body was encased in durasteel and a great weight pressed on his head. He was in a cell with dark walls and bright lights. All was tinted red through his lenses. A girl with brown hair, wearing a flowing white gown, sat on the bench in front of him. Leia! "And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base." Beside him an interrogation droid approached her and injected her with drugs. No! he cried, though he made no sound. He would never interrogate his daughter. Even as Vader, he would not have done that! The images dissolved, and he heard Padmé gasping in pain, "There is still good in him." He strained to see her, to catch one glimpse of her face, but he could not. Then a man's voice. Or a boy? "Because…there is good in him. I've felt it. He won't turn me over to the Emperor."

Immediately he was in the desert again, suitless, but Palpatine was there too, malevolent, depraved, a black hole in the Force. Anakin charged at him, but the old man sidestepped and drew a blood-red lightsaber. Anakin tried again, but Sidious parried and struck him down. He lay on the sand, gasping for oxygen that would not come, as the suit assembled around him. Rise, Lord Vader, he heard through the blackness that surrounded him. All was red and cold and it hurt. His entire body was burning, and his lungs ached as air was pumped in and out, against his volition, against his wishes. It was too much. It burned! It ached! What was this? He was free of the suit. But somehow the suit stole away all his will. When the voice commanded again that he rise, he did, though every step pierced him with agony. Yes, my Master, he said.

The desert melted into the black void of space. He was on his knees, his Master howling gleefully above him as the galaxy whirled around them, stars winking out as darkness spread outward like a cloak and his master grew to monstrous proportions. The desiccated flesh seemed to split in two and a great black dragon emerged with a cry of triumph, visible against the inky blackness only because it was darker yet. They were falling through space, accelerating as they plunged toward a point of light. All at once the great dragon was standing on the sands under twin suns, roaring its triumph. It paced in a great circle, staking its claim even to the barren wasteland all around, when from the east appeared another dragon, leaping from dune to dune, approaching with impossible speed. This dragon looked nothing like the other, and with a shock, Anakin realized it was a greater krayt. It was dwarfed by the black dragon above it, and the black dragon pounced. But as it fell upon the krayt, she gave a thunderous cry and grew until she was as large as her opponent. They grappled over the desert, dwarfing the bluffs and the dunes. Now one appeared to prevail, now the other.

In an instant the dragons were gone and he was standing on a bridge over a chasm, battling a young man with a blue lightsaber. The boy's blade struck his shoulder, and his rage fueled a retaliatory strike that removed the boy's sword hand at the wrist. He delighted to the surge of a vicious, grim satisfaction at the boy's cry of despair and agony.

Now he stood in the eye of a sandstorm, free of the suit again. "You shall not pass," he heard himself say. Snap-hiss and a blade the color of the krayt's scales sprouted from his hand. He held it in Soresu guard, though he could see no opponent. Out of the sand emerged other figures until he was in the center of a circle, surrounded by Kenobi, Ahsoka, and Leia; the clones; Kitster and Theec. Even his mother and Padmé were there. A blaster bolt soundlessly erupted from the wall of sand and struck Leia in the shoulder. She fell to her knees. He collapsed beside her, lightsaber forgotten on the sand beside him, feverishly trying to stop the bleeding. "It's not bad," she told him and smiled tightly. The more frantically he treated her wound, the worse it got, and other wounds sprouted all over her body—blaster burns and lightsaber wounds and vibroblade slashes. She began to pant with pain, her Force signature wavering. Over and over she repeated, "It's not bad," smiling at him. He roared with rage when she said, "I swear to respect the natural order of life and death," then went limp as a rag doll.

Kitster was felled by a blaster bolt. Anakin raced to his side, crying, "No, Kit. No!" His friend said, "Will you submit to the will of the desert?"

Before Kitster was cold, Ahsoka collapsed, a lightsaber wound smoking in her gut. "Snips, oh, Snips. You can't die. Please, please, stay with me." She smiled, holding her entrails in with her hands, and gasped, "The will of the Force. Will you obey it, Master?"

He was sobbing and snarling at his impotence when he heard the clank of droids and a hail of blaster bolts cut into Theec. The clones dashed in, firing back, but the barrage mowed them down. Cody choked out, "I swear to defend those who cannot defend themselves," and let out a death rattle.

Why was he always doomed to lose those he loved? Why was it never enough? Why did the universe, the Force, the desert keep taking away those he needed? "No!" he cried. "I need them. Please—You've taken so much. Please let them live. Take me instead."

Kenobi cried out beside him and collapsed. A red blade wielded by a ghostly hand had sliced him in half. "There is no death; there is the Force," he sighed and his body disappeared.

In a frenzy of grief he looked around. Only Padmé and his mother were yet unharmed. He raced to them, igniting his lightsaber again, determined to defend these last two. Shmi touched his elbow. "Ani, my son, my grown up son. Why do you still fight this battle? I have never left you. I am with you still."

Padmé wrapped her arms around his neck, reaching up to kiss him. Before their lips could meet, she said, "Ani, darling Ani, will you do what is right, even when it costs what is most dear?" Tears poured down his face as she began to fade away. "Padmé! Please stay. Please!" Her voice echoed all around him, "Submit, submit, submit."

He fell to his knees amidst the carnage, rocking back and forth in the depths of his grief. Everyone was always taken away from him. Every person who mattered.

The sandstorm stopped. Instantly the air was clear and he was alone, though the twin suns and all three moons were shining overhead. A great voice, vaster and more primordial than that of the Great Mother, spoke. It seemed to come from the rocks and the dunes and the sky itself. "Child of the desert," it said, "you have spent your life fighting the natural way of things. The will of your Force. Even the will of those you loved. Why must it always be your will that prevails?"

He had no answer.

"Tell me, son of the suns, do you cause the wind to blow? Can you govern the dance of the Three Sisters? Do you know where the dewback hatches its young? Where the water springs up from the depths?"

Again Anakin made no answer. Abruptly he was buffeted by the wind. He tried to hold his ground, but it knocked his feet from under him. He could not breathe for the force of the gale. Why was there no sand? He no sooner had the thought than he was engulfed in sand. It tore through him, shredding his clothing, scraping his skin, filling his mouth, clogging his prosthetics. He covered his head with his arms in a vain effort to protect himself. The wind shrieked like a TIE fighter, then died down in an instant.

The air was clear and the suns beat down upon his head. Within moments he was parched, dying of thirst. He clambered, trying to crawl toward water he thought he smelled, but his prosthetics could not bend for the sand in the joints, and his legs could not lift them, they had become so heavy. He fell back to the earth, tongue swelling in his mouth, body temperature rising rapidly. He was helpless. Dying. And he could do nothing to help himself. Help me, he cried out, to whom he did not even know. Perhaps the Great Mother. Perhaps the Three Sisters. Perhaps the desert itself.

The suns winked out, though the Three Sisters continued to shine overhead, centered in the Great Krayt. A spring bubbled up next to his head, and he put his face into the cool water. He had to rinse his mouth three times before it was clear enough for him to drink, and no sensation had ever been as sweet as that first sip of clear water. When he had had his fill, he lay on his back in exhaustion beside the spring, staring at the stars above. But something was wrong. What was it? He watched in concern for a long time. The realization emerged only gradually: the stars were disappearing, first at the horizon, but working their way into the center of the sky. At last only the Three Sisters, still within the Great Krayt, and the Great Krayt itself remained.

"Do you see, child of the Sisters? Do you understand? Even stars burn out. Even you. Even these."

And one by one, the seven stars of the Great Krayt disappeared. Then Ghermessa. Then Ghomrassen. And finally little Chenini winked out. The void above was cold and utterly lifeless. There was nothing up there. No worlds. No suns. No people. He alone was left. It ought to have been pitch black, yet there was a glow all around him.

The great voice spoke again. "Yet even if all is dead, you are not alone. You are not forgotten. There is still light. There is still hope. Will you submit to the will of that which guides your life, or will you continue to thrash in the vain attempt to control the fates of those around you?"

Silence fell across the vast vista. The voice was the only thing left to make a sound. Even the water beside him dried up and fell silent. Uncounted eons passed as he lay in the midst of a measureless wasteland under a dead sky. He became aware that tears were falling down his cheeks in an unending stream. Embarrassed, he tried to stop them, but they continued to fall. In the end, he could not bend even his own body to his will. A wracking sob tore from his throat and the dam burst. Ashamed, he rolled onto his side and buried his face in the crook of his elbow like a small child. He never knew how long he wept, but his throat was raw with sobbing and his eyes were scratchy with tears when he finally quieted. He lay in a stupor a long time. Perhaps he even slept.

The first thing he noticed when awareness returned was a Presence. It was warm, like early summer on Naboo, but that warmth also burned. It was cool like the water in the spring, but it also carried the sting of the chill in the air the hour before dawn. It was waiting for him, but he did not want to face it, ashamed by his tears and his lack of control. Ashamed of his fears that had driven him for so long. The Presence continued to wait. Eventually he realized nothing further would happen until he acknowledged it. He was too weak to rise, but he rolled onto his back again, surprised to see the Great Krayt and the Sisters high above, though the other stars were still missing. But now the wasteland was alive.

"I will submit," he whispered hoarsely.

A wave of approval so ancient and infinite it had been old when Tatooine had had water on its surface swept over him. The burden he had carried all his life fell away, leaving freedom and joy in its wake. He bounded to his feet, laughing, while yet more tears ran down his face. On the ground at his feet, blood-stained chains attached to the collar of a black armorweave cloak lay beside a bubbling spring. Even as he watched, every link shattered, and cloak and chains shriveled into nothingness, leaving a wisp of water vapor that dissipated in the night's chill. He raised his eyes to the moons and stars above, distantly surprised to find that all the stars had returned to their places. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "I am not worthy. But thank you. I will keep my Oath, though it cost even that which is most precious."

Abruptly the vision cut off, and he sagged forward, drenched with sweat and panting heavily. He could not sustain his trance. As it dissipated around him, he caught a glimpse of Padmé, smiling proudly at him as she never had in life. Her lips formed words. I love you, Ani, he felt but did not hear.

The completed hilt of his lightsaber dropped to the floor.

He leaned on his hands for several minutes, head down, disoriented. At last he became aware of his body again. His face was wet, and not all of the moisture was sweat. Numbly, he reached for the hilt, worried the fall had damaged it before it was complete, but even powered down, it hummed in his hand, the crystals within resonating loudly against his Force sense.

Wearily, he clambered to his feet; his thighs ached where they connected to the prosthetics. He felt as though he had run the entire Boonta Eve podrace course at high noon and then been trampled by a herd of hungry banthas. Yet his spirit was lighter than he could ever recall before.

He bowed to the krayt on the opposite side of the cavern. "Great Mother, it is finished. But there is one last step. I must ignite the blade to fuse the many parts into one whole. The weapon is not complete without this step. Will you trust me not to harm you or your children?"

"You have sworn the Oath of the Krayt. I have no fear."

He twisted the hilt in his hand until the switch was under his thumb. Inhaling deeply, he pressed it. With a familiar snap-hiss, a meter of plasma formed. He had been expecting a typical color—blue or green, perhaps even yellow. But the blade was none of those. It matched the one he had seen in his visions, the blade that was the color of a krayt's scales in the light of the suns. Was it silver shot through with desert green and dusty yellow? Was it the grayed olive of a desert succulent, overlaid with an ocher sheen? He could not decide, but it was glorious. Around him the Force hummed with power and rightness. This was the blade he had been born to wield.