My father called them because the la'ik are threatening our
crops again, because we do not wish to kill but we do not wish
to starve. The Jedi, my father said, knew ways of keeping them
away without killing.
Two came, with grave promises to help us. Both are quiet, and
both shimmer with some awesome power.
I am not officially here. Officially, I am helping my younger
brother with the ko'lak harvest; but Dimal can handle it
himself, and I had to see. Had to know.
The older, taller one spends much time talking with my father
in low tones. He seems very peaceful, very sure of himself. His
hands gesture, but otherwise he holds himself very very still,
enough that it looks odd when a breeze stirs his cloak or hair.
The younger one is more restless, full of a repressed energy.
He bounces lightly on his toes, listening intently to the
conversation but interjecting very little. After a time, the
older Jedi holds up a hand to my father, turns his head, and
says something I can't hear. I think he is smiling. The young
Jedi laughs and bows and then walks away, looking curiously
about him as my father resumes the conversation.
After a few paces he stops, smiles a secret little smile, and
looks directly at where I am. "Hello," he says quietly.
I blink at him, too startled to speak for a moment. The golak
tree was perhaps scant protection for me, but I had not
expected to be seen, let alone by one of the Jedi. But his eyes
are friendly and his manner is relaxed, and after a moment I
attempt a smile. "Hello..."
He is about my age, perhaps a little older. Almost he looks
normal, like one of us, not the gods that the Jedi are. "Is it
true what they say about you?" I blurt, and then duck my head,
embarrassed.
The Jedi does not laugh at my question, though his green-blue
eyes look startled and a little amused. "Depends. What do they
say?"
I want to flee, but curiosity outweighs embarrassment. "That
you-- Jedi-- are gods. That you can fly, that you can control
people, that you can see the future. That you can bring things
back to life. That you can control destinies."
The corners of his mouth dimple with a smile. "We aren't gods,
I'm afraid," he says. "I would not want to be. The power would
frighten me."
"But you have power."
"Some. Not much." He shrugs, still smiling, but there is a
trace of sadness under there. "And we cannot control anyone's
destiny. Not even our own." His glance drifts over to the other
Jedi with a wistful expression. "Not even when we wish to," he
murmurs, I think to himself.
I should not ask, I know I should not ask, but I have made
enough of a fool of myself already with the questions, one more
cannot hurt. "Are you two lovers?"
He stares at me, eyes narrowed, but looking more cautious than
angry. "Why do you ask that?"
"Because I do not see two people traveling together if they are
not either child and parent, or lovers. And you do not look
like his son."
"I am not his son, no," he says, and laughs quietly.
He does not deny that they are lovers, but he does not
acknowledge it either. Cautiously I ask the only thing I can.
"What are you, then, that you travel together?
"His Padawan. His apprentice."
An apprentice god, then, and I smile but do not say that.
He kneels, and-- partly, I think, in an attempt to distract me
from more questions-- asks a question of his own. "What is
this?"
"Do you not know?" I say, wondering where I get the temerity to
tease a god. "I thought Jedi knew everything."
"We prize knowledge, but we do not have it all." He smiles. "We
never have it all. If we did, there would be nothing more to
learn, and where would the fun be in that?"
"Application of knowledge?" I suggest.
"Besides," he adds, grinning, "I would likely forget it all."
He holds something, heart-shaped and a shiny red-brown, up for
me to see. "This is...?"
"A golak nut."
"From the tree?" He looks up, rubbing the nut absently. "It is
a beautiful thing."
"It is common," I say, slightly surprised. I am used to
ignoring that which is too common.
"Not to me." He hesitates. "Are they free for the taking?"
"If you want it, no one will deny it to you." I smile, a bit
wryly. "It is common."
He nods at me and slips the nut into one of the pouches on his
belt, then stands. "I should go. My Master will be calling for
me."
"You can see the future," I say, half-statement, half-question.
"No," he says, and laughs, "but my master is terribly
predictable."
"Padawan," the older Jedi calls, distantly.
The younger Jedi and I look at each other and smile. He starts
to leave, but I put a hand on his sleeve. "Wait." I kneel,
searching for another golak nut that is as close as possible to
the one he has already. One that is unbroken and unflawed. Then
my fingers find one, and I hand it up to him.
"For your Master," I say. "A present."
He looks at me for a long moment, and my heart beats quickly in
fear that I have overstepped my bounds. Then he touches my
forehead with two fingers in a ritual parting gesture I hadn't
expected him to know. "Thank you," he says simply, and walks
away.
I watch him go. My forehead tingles where he touched me.
I have been touched by a god.
Smiling, I bend and take another golak nut for myself, slipping
it into my pocket and rubbing the smooth shell with my fingers.
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