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How To Touch The Moon
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I Imposter
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Sometimes Obi-Wan felt like an imposter. The gleaming halls of the Jedi Temple and the vast training grounds were teeming with Jedi and Jedi-to-be, born in every nook and corner of the galaxy, yet one entity, connected through the Force.
As an overly confident Padawan Obi-Wan had passed them as ghosts. He’d only had eyes for his Master, yearning to impress him, and for the legendary Jedi Masters whose names were whispered in the dormitories of the younglings in awed tones. Now he watched the other Jedi, the pairs of Master and disciple. He wondered where they’d walked on while he’d frozen.
There was Sember Yey who placed scrolls in the long fingers of her apprentice, babbling about ancient texts and artefacts with a loving gaze. There was Depa Billaba, always aloof, who could meditate opposite her Padawan for hours. There were Sammo Quid and Tai Uzuma, who bantered and fought, yet listened when their Masters called their names. Every Padawan braid was like a neon light, a voice calling: Look how it should be!
Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin who was at his side, who listened, mostly, and yet was so very unlike the other Padawans. Who could never be like them. Obi-Wan was no more like the other Masters. Could he call himself Anakin’s Master when it should have been Qui-Gon teaching him?
Obi-Wan meditated. He called for his old Master as for a bird flown from an empty cage. He asked for guidance. A sign. But silence was his answer, and so he wandered blindly, led by the Force and scrolls of knowledge and the advice of other Jedi. Still, he felt Anakin sliding away, every day a little more. He orbited Obi-Wan like a moon, duty and responsibility, but the distance between them grew, and who knew what might throw him off his path.
A year had passed since Qui-Gon’s death and Obi-Wan was losing.
~
II Imbalance
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The gardens of the Jedi Temple stretched like oases in the electric storm of Coruscant. Many Jedi fled into the air-conditioned green on hot days and many Masters invited their apprentices to learn from their bountiful nature. In one of the first lessons in the Force a Padawan received they must let pebbles and leaves float.
Obi-Wan often visited the gardens with Anakin. Anakin could do with little effort what others had to put a lot of practice into – and Obi-Wan noticed the envious gazes even if Anakin didn’t – but he was impatient and all too eager. In the beginning Anakin had sent the pebbles raining down on him like a hailstorm. Obi-Wan was lucky the young Padawan Lumas had been able to save himself with a brave jump into the pool. Nowadays Anakin had better control of himself but Obi-Wan brought him here nonetheless, for it was the kind of lesson Anakin needed the most.
Still, maybe it was Obi-Wan who was yearning for the motherly hum of the Force, nowhere as strong as where there were fountains of life. He’d had a bad night. Nightmares had torn him apart, of demonly tattoos and the smell of singed flesh, of Qui-Gon turning away from him. I was wrong about you, Obi-Wan.
Anakin didn’t sleep any better. Obi-Wan knew that, for he jolted awake at night, sensing a familiar presence, and found the thin form of Anakin curled up on the ground. After the loss of Qui-Gon and the abandoning of his mother, who could blame him?
It touched Obi-Wan, yet it scared him as well. He didn’t know how to deal with it. It wasn’t appropriate behavior for a Padawan; it was a sign of Anakin’s far too big heart. Obi-Wan led him back to the dormitories of the students, his hands folded inside the sleeves of his robe, so Anakin wasn’t tempted to reach for them. It happened again and again, until it didn’t happen anymore. But that didn’t mean Anakin’s nights had become peaceful. It only meant he could hide it better. Beneath his eyes Obi-Wan spotted the same shadows that adorned his own.
He invited him to meditate, for fatigue had an advantage: dampening Anakin’s adventurous spirit. They sat down on the soft grass in the shadow of a red-leafed Dbergo tree. Inhaling deeply, Obi-Wan let go of his frustration, of the flashing memories cutting into him like a blade. He hadn’t appreciated meditation as a Padawan. Now he felt more and more drawn to it. If plagued by doubt, it helped to step back, letting the conflict be, and then return to it with a fresh mind.
Obi-Wan had practiced breathing techniques with Anakin, hoping they’d help him relax. His breathing resembled the puffing of a grampus, as though he was trying to prove something. This time it didn’t last.
Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s gaze like a concentrated ray of sun. It didn’t help that Anakin flung the Force into everything he did, willingly or not. Obi-Wan felt as though he was nudging him, over and over again. He shifted his weight and relaxed his shoulders. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me…
“Master?”
Obi-Wan opened an eye. Anakin’s posture resembled a dying frog. “Anakin, what did I tell you about meditating?”
“Meditation, like all forms of training, will only yield an effect through endurance and practice,” Anakin rattled off, before pursing his lips. “I can meditate if I want to. But if I want to save lives, I mustn’t meditate all day.”
“That’s exactly why you should be working on your inner balance,” Obi-Wan said. “Moreover, it’ll be some time until you…”
Anakin’s face fell. “I haven’t left Coruscant once since I arrived here. I thought I could see the galaxy. But all I get is meditation and studying and lightsaber practice. Every day’s the same.”
“You’re talented, Anakin, but there are lessons even you can’t skip. How many years do you think I was trudging through boring exercises?”
Obi-Wan felt a spark of anger. Anakin didn’t grow up in the Temple, this eternal school. Though Obi-Wan enjoyed studying and being a Jedi, he couldn’t help but wonder why Anakin couldn’t appreciate his innate power and how easily he left his peers behind. At the same time he felt guilty, for wouldn’t Qui-Gon have found a different way to teach him? Wouldn’t he have adapted himself to Anakin’s free spirit as Obi-Wan didn’t seem able to?
Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, if you don’t want to meditate, show me how you lift that stone circle.”
“The white stones?”
Obi-Wan nodded.
“No problem.” Anakin raised a hand and curled his fingers. Too quickly. The white stones jumped up, beyond the top of a gnarly tree stump, and – clank – clank – clank – hailed down on a flower bed. The blue blossoms slumped like old women. A single lavender-colored petal floated down.
“Anakin!”
“Oops.” Anakin attempted a bashful smile. “Well, I did lift them…”
With a gentle gesture and a whisper of the Force, Obi-Wan shifted the stones back where they belonged. Last time Anakin didn’t have any difficulties with that exercise. “Why can’t you just focus this once?”
It was unfair but Obi-Wan wasn’t able to hide the edge in his voice. Anakin crossed his arms. His mien had darkened since their first meeting. Just as his blond waves gave way to a warm brown, Anakin too changed deep within. He smiled rarely and laughed even less. Obi-Wan didn’t dare to ponder whether it was due to the incident on Naboo and the goodbye to his mother or due to him. Did Anakin sense that their bond - the bond of Master and apprentice – was brittle?
“I focus every day.” Anakin stomped his foot and kicked against a fallen branch. “Maybe it’s you who’s a bad teacher!”
Obi-Wan’s jaw twitched. It might as well have been him Anakin kicked. Worse, Obi-Wan knew Anakin was right. He ran a hand through his hair, longer now than on Naboo. There was no Padawan braid anymore. He missed it sometimes – and the feeling of safety with Qui-Gon at his side.
“Maybe,” he whispered.
Anakin didn’t seem to have expected that reply. He stared at him as though Obi-Wan must call it a joke any moment now and rebuke Anakin for his insolence. Red blotches appeared on his cheek. Finally, he lowered his gaze, eying his palms, stained with specks of oil from his tinkering. Whatever he saw, it plunged him into thought.
“May I write a letter? Master?”
“A letter?” Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about this.
Anakin didn’t look him in the eye. “Well, it’s been a year now. I – I’ve never been away from my mother for so long. What if she’s worrying about me?”
Oh Anakin.
Obi-Wan felt as though he’d been placed at the foot of a snow-capped mountain and told to climb it. What was Qui-Gon thinking when he separated Anakin from his mother? Him, who was the picture of attachment?
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Anakin went quiet. It was difficult for him, wasn’t it? He didn’t grow up with the other students and butted heads with them over trivialities. It wasn’t always his own fault. The rumors of the Chosen One circulated swiftly. For the others he was a stranger, an outsider, and it was hard to fight those labels when you had your own emotions to fight too. Had he made a single friend?
“The Jedi are our family,” Obi-Wan said, but it felt empty, as though recited by a droid. He leaned back, gazing at the artificial sun floating behind tendrils of mist. Tatooine with its twin suns, brutal and barren and yet home, for some, felt impossibly far away. But Obi-Wan had to agree with Qui-Gon in one thing: Anakin didn’t fit in that desolate no man’s land. His eyes gleamed with determination. How could Obi-Wan give up on him?
“I’m sure your mother can feel you’re all right. Isn’t that what mothers do?”
Anakin nodded absently. Despite his vast power, he was still a boy, barely half Obi-Wan’s age. I worried so much about being a good teacher that I didn’t stop to think he might need something else entirely.
Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped. The Jedi Temple weighed down on him with all the memories of Qui-Gon and what might have been. Maybe they both needed a break. His mind conjured pictures, so old they felt like dreams: blurry lights in the night, Qui-Gon’s hand on his shoulder.
“Anakin, would you like to go on a trip?”
Anakin’s face lit up. “Into space? Can I pilot the ship?”
Obi-Wan laughed, a little nervous. If Anakin flew that ship with the same enthusiasm he applied to everything else, it would be a bumpy ride. Better Obi-Wan took on the task himself. “Maybe on the way back. We must look for a freighter we could use first. We have to fill out some documents. Not every Jedi can claim a ship whenever they want to and, well…”
With every passing moment his idea became more ludicrous. Still, Obi-Wan couldn’t disappoint Anakin’s grin.
“A real mission?”
Rising, Obi-Wan shook his head. He turned toward the grand double doors marking the entrance, waiting for Anakin. “We have to be patient about that. The Jedi High Council will give us an assignment as soon as they feel we’re ready, as a team. It’s good practice, though. I can trust you won’t run off on me, right?”
“Of course!”
Together they made their way to the hangar.
~
III Kirkas
~
Kirkas emerged from space like a violet blossom, framed by thin shreds of cloud. The Great Lake sparkled, miraculously visible from afar. Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh of relief as they approached. He’d had quite a few bad experiences with ships. It wouldn’t have surprised him if his first trip with Anakin beyond Coruscant would have ended in a battle with asteroids. Anakin really didn’t need any more reasons to think poorly of him.
Obi-Wan gently plunged into the atmosphere, one hand on the steering wheel. The other turned and pushed buttons, activating the comm channel and preparing for landing. The channel crackled.
Surprisingly, Anakin had buckled up and endured the flight to the Mid Rim with no complaints. He watched the dark sea brimming with nebulas and distant planets with big eyes. Now and then he rubbed his arms. Late did Obi-Wan recall that the cold of space was unfamiliar to him. Once he’d left Coruscant to build his lightsaber. Before that he’d travelled with them to Naboo and Coruscant, but a standard year was a long time for a child.
Obi-Wan wiped sweat off his forehead as the freighter stuttered to a halt. Beyond the transparisteel windows golden fields and bluish meadows wound across the horizon. Blossomed branches formed a thick net above cobbled pathways leading to Valkoinen. The white spiral towers of the capital towered over the crowns of the trees.
Woosh.
Obi-Wan spun around in time to watch green lighting spill from Anakin’s hand. Anakin swung his lightsaber at the air, barely dodging a cable protruding from the ship. Obi-Wan saw sparks flying in his mind’s eye. “What are you doing? This is no place for a lightsaber!”
Anakin cast him an unimpressed gaze. “Maybe the people of the planet need our help. We should be ready then, right? I’ve gotten really good. Look.”
Anakin inhaled deeply before he – childishly stiffly, yet surprisingly flawlessly – went through a couple of forms of Soresu Obi-Wan had shown him a few days ago. Though he wanted to be angry, he couldn’t help but marvel at him. Pride stirred in him. A shadow of Anakin’s future moved with the boy, agile and graceful and skilled enough to take on the whole galaxy. Was that what Qui-Gon had seen in him?
“One day you’ll be a great Jedi Knight,” Obi-Wan said. It was no empty phrase.
Anakin grinned.
“Still, tuck away the lightsaber now. We’re here as guests, not as warriors, and believe me, the people of the planet are happy when they won’t be needing any help.”
With a hum, lightning withdrew, and Anakin clipped the weapon to his belt. It seemed too large on him. How powerful would he be when he was grown?
Obi-Wan strolled down the ramp after Anakin, who leaped down and ran around as though he’d never seen a more enchanting world and breathed better air. Dust whirled up, carried away with specks of pollen. Obi-Wan sneezed. Still, Kirkas was famous for its beauty. In this season in which the clouds faded from the sky and lanterns illuminated the night all manner of tourists flocked to the spectacle. Glowing butterflies whirred around. Anakin raised his arm to let one rest on his knuckles. Its wings fluttered lazily. “It tickles.”
“Be careful. They bite.”
The warning came too late. Anakin screamed, shaking his hand. A pink mark blossomed on the back of it and he pressed it to his mouth to suck at the wound. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Obi-Wan ruffled his hair, as Qui-Gon had done, back then, when the same had happened to him. “I just did.”
“That’s why I prefer droids,” Anakin grumbled. The setting sun painted the sky a vibrant purple. Kirkas didn’t have many hours of sun, though the hours of twilight lingered on much longer and gave the world its dreamlike energy.
“Better keep away from the woods,” Obi-Wan advised him. “The scarlet snakes of Kirkas are famous for their aggressiveness.”
Anakin flung his hands in the air. “What kind of trip is this?”
“Valkoinen is safe. Probably. Qui-Gon warned me once they’re kidnapping lost travelers to put them in underground fights against nests of snakes, though I’m pretty sure that was a lie meant to keep me from leaving his side. It worked. I clung to his coattails the whole three days.”
Back then the mayor had asked for Jedi support for a special anniversary celebration. Qui-Gon, who’d adored the philosophical scrolls of Kirkas, had volunteered for the mission and dragged along Obi-Wan.
“You were here with Qui-Gon?”
Anakin’s voice held a serious tone, and like a fracture leaking water, the memory burst with sadness. Qui-Gon would never read any philosophical scrolls again. To take Anakin to this of all places… Did Obi-Wan want to do it or did he want to be like Qui-Gon?
Obi-Wan nodded gloomily.
“Hm. I can’t imagine why he had to lie to you to get you to follow rules.”
Obi-Wan smiled to himself. You have no idea. “When I was as old as you - maybe a bit older - I was quite the rebel. Qui-Gon didn’t want to train me at first.”
“No way!” Anakin shook his head. “That would’ve been really stupid of him. You’re one of the greatest Jedi of the Order after all!”
Obi-Wan faltered, almost stumbling over the root of a tree. His face burned. Was Anakin really thinking about him like that? What had Obi-Wan achieved, really? He hadn’t even managed to save his Master. He swallowed hard. Hoarsely, he said, “If you like, I’ll tell you a story of that time.”
“Is there a girl in it?”
Now the fire consumed him up to the tips of his ears. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, in all good stories it’s love that makes you crazy, isn’t that right?”
They talked like that all the way to the gates of the city. Obi-Wan clarified that Jedi and love didn’t go well together – if it wasn’t the love to all kinds of life that made them who they were. Time passed quickly. Obi-Wan recalled his feet hurting back then after all the wandering, though they didn’t do now. Maybe their landing strip was closer to Valkoinen.
~
IV The Flying Lights
~
The gates were already overflowing with people and beings of all kinds of planets. Obi-Wan recognized Rodians with sparkling eyes of ink, Twi’leks hung with shawls, Biths tuning string instruments for a lively jive, and even one or two Wookiees. At every corner merchants were offering their goods beneath colorful tents – for a special tourist’s price. Spicy stews, honeyed fruits, and fried delicacies emanated heavy, exotic scents. Led by Anakin’s curious gaze, Obi-Wan bought them both a candied, fir green mass on a stick the vendor called thistle cake. It tasted of sweet chili and cinnamon.
The sky darkened. The streetlights, their heads shaped like calyxes, flickered to life. Obi-Wan tapped Anakin’s shoulder, pointing at the crowd gathering beneath a sky-blue pavilion on a market square. “That’s why I wanted to come here. Hopefully, they’re not sold out.”
Anakin looked at him quizzically, but Obi-Wan kept his secret. To reach the market square, they crossed a bridge, each of its stone tiles painted with a different animal of Kirkas. The crowd was pressed together as densely as salmon in a fisher’s net.
Obi-Wan gestured for Anakin to rest at the river’s shore, sparkling blue water slithering through the city like a sea snake. “Wait a moment. I’m back in no time.”
It was a battle to get what he wanted. If he needed to employ one or two Jed tricks, the Council would not hear of it from him. When Obi-Wan returned, Anakin was staring at the horizon. Glimmering lampions climbed the sky like stars taking back the place where they belonged. As they floated to new heights, they wove a ring around the city. If a ship had skirted the planet, it would have glimpsed the eye of a giant.
“Wow. What’s that?”
“The Flying Lights of Kirkas. The planet’s famous for them. Here, I got one for you.” Though it wasn’t lit yet, the lantern had an air of ancient grace, made of fine fabric and painted with salamander ink. Each Flying Light carried a rune of the legend of the city’s making. How to craft the lampions was a well-kept secret, passed on only through masters to their apprentices.
“You place the lantern on the river which transports them to the outskirts of the city. The planet’s characteristic geographical conditions and wind currents allow the lights to take flight. Legend says a pair of lovers from rival families used them first to send each other secret messages. They were the founders of Valkoinen. That’s why it’s tradition to send special messages to the people you love through them, so that they may reach their hearts. Some write down their own wishes as well. They might be fulfilled if you strongly believe in it.” Obi-Wan hesitated. “Some use the Flying Lights to say goodbye.”
He took a seat on the ground, crossing his legs, the lampion by his side. From the pouch at his belt he fetched parchment, a golden ribbon, and a charcoal pen. He gave Anakin a smile. “I thought you might want to write to your mother.”
“Oh.” Anakin’s frown dissolved. He glanced from the lantern to the parchment and back to Obi-Wan, a suspicious glint in his eyes. “But the message will burn, won’t it? It’s just a symbol.”
Pretty smart for his age. Obi-Wan rubbed his neck. “Well…”
“Thank you, Master. Thank you.”
Anakin flung himself next to Obi-Wan and grabbed the pen. He held it clumsily and stiffly, as though he’d barely ever written a single word – and his scrawly writing looked the same. Still, his enthusiasm was clear. Obi-Wan exhaled a breath of relief, a warm feeling in his chest. Maybe the journey was worth the struggle after all.
He produced a box of matches, moving to light Anakin’s lampion, so they could lower it onto the waves. But Anakin thrust the parchment and the pen in his direction with an oddly challenging gaze.
Obi-Wan furrowed his brows. “You should roll it up. I gave you a ribbon.”
“Sure.” Anakin grinned. The dancing shadows of the distant Flying Lights gave him an air of maturity, despite his small size, as though he knew more than he should. “I just thought you might want to write a bit as well and we only have one lantern.”
“I?” Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling. Jedi had no wishes and he saw the beings who were his family each day at the Temple. “I don’t know-”
“Qui-Gon would surely be overjoyed to hear about everything you’ve taught me.”
Qui-Gon.
The name cut into Obi-Wan’s chest like a blade. It wasn’t right for a Jedi to differentiate between them, to favor one of them, to feel fury and to grieve for too long a span of time. To Obi-Wan, Anakin’s words carried thorns.
The realization was as painful as it was obvious: he missed Qui-Gon. Though he’d put much effort into letting go, broken shards remained, rattling within him. Maybe it hadn’t been Anakin’s training at all which had led him here, but the shadow of his old Master. Maybe Anakin’s feelings weren’t the only ones tainting the truth.
Qui-Gon would never be able to tell Obi-Wan what he was doing well or badly, right or wrong. He would never be Anakin’s Master. He was as unreachable as Anakin’s mother. Except for this night, maybe.
As though receiving precious porcelain, Obi-Wan accepted the parchment and the pen. His fingers were trembling. But as he turned the paper, so Anakin’s writing was on the back, and set down the pen, he felt calm. Meditating that morning, he hadn’t been calm; he’d worn a mask.
Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan wrote.
The letters blurred before his eyes, whispering in the voice of his Master. Long suppressed feelings welled up. Grief for lost opportunities. Anger that in his last moments Qui-Gon had only thought of Anakin, commanding Obi-Wan in his darkest hour. Respect and admiration for the work that Qui-Gon had made look so easy.
Thank you for your trust in me. This first year wasn’t easy – neither for me nor for Anakin. We’re like oil and water. But you need both to live, right?
Obi-Wan cast a glance at Anakin who was watching the play of lights, so much responsibility on such young shoulders. So much fear and attachment and strength. Anakin might have lost his mother and Obi-Wan Qui-Gon, but they still had each other. If the other Jedi and Padawans distrusted Anakin and begrudged him his abilities, Obi-Wan had to be his family.
Anakin will need a friend.
It might be the only thing Qui-Gon could never have achieved – and maybe that was why it was good that Obi-Wan was Anakin’s Master. They both made mistakes and learned from them. They grew. Together.
Obi-Wan rolled up the parchment and tied it up with the ribbon bevor tucking it in a hidden fold within the lantern. The match spewed sparks. The lampion radiated warmth. Obi-Wan offered it Anakin, and together they watched as the waters carried it away, beyond the horizon, where it started floating up, towards the heavens and the hearts.
~
V Master And Apprentice
~
They sat at the shore in companionable silence, each dwelling on his own thoughts. Stars mingled with the Flying Lights as Obi-Wan felt a warm weight settle against his waist. It was Anakin, curled up, his eyes closed, the Padawan braid fluttering in a breeze. He was snoring quietly.
Obi-Wan waited until the last lanterns burned up before waking Anakin. When they reached the freighter, Obi-Wan hesitated before entering the cockpit. Anakin raised his brows.
“If you want to pilot the ship, grab the steering wheel before I regret my decision. Oh, and it might be better I take over before we arrive at Coruscant. We don’t want Mace Windu catching wind of this, huh?”
Anakin beamed. The engine roared before Obi-Wan could even buckle up. In the end, his unease wasn’t entirely unjustified; he swallowed bile and bursts of nausea and clawed at the armrests. Many times.
Eventually, though, the Master and his apprentice came safely into port.
~