"I heard you wanted a volunteer for a dangerous mission." The boy stood uncowed in the circle of Masters and turned his candid blue gaze on each in turn. "I'd like to do it."
He was nine, big for his age, with an easy confidence that just stopped short of arrogance. As if he was good, and he knew it.
Despite himself, Yoda was intrigued. He caught the attention of the other masters and they drew out the silence between them - an impromptu test.
The boy stood relaxed in the moment, though his eyes tracked on the desperate motion of a summerfly, which had found its way into the chamber but couldn't find a way out. If he knew he was being tested he didn't show it, merely waited and worried about the small, trapped life with a gentleness which made Yoda's cautious heart contract suddenly.
Over centuries, he had become used to sending out knights on missions from which they would not return. It was curious that it should hurt to do it to this boy. "Your name, initiate?"
The eyes refocused on him, intent and a little awed. "Qui-Gon Jinn, Master."
"Want this, do you? Damage you it will. Return you may not, yet want it, you do?"
A swallow, the face frowned, but the eyes flicked back to the summerfly's struggle. "I don't actually want to. But if I think of not doing it, it doesn't feel right." The gaze returned, serious, composed, "You understand."
Touching, the child's faith is. Touched I do not wish to be.
Yoda twitched an ear towards Master Starthief and the ancient Tatooine Master folded his withered hands, bent forward. "Thankyou, Initiate Jinn. Please return to your quarters while we consider."
A boyish bow - stiff, trying to be perfect - and then young Jinn took two sudden steps, snatched the glossy insect out of the air and bowed again, less formally, with it cradled in his over-large hands.
It was hard to believe the action was not disrespect, Yoda thought, and yet it wasn't - he truly didn't believe he had done anything out of place.
With an easy conscience the boy backed to the door, stood talking a moment with the Hig Jedi, Gafiest - his house mother - and then ran lightly away. Yoda felt disapproval thicken the air around him and was amused.
So few Living force Jedi there are, recognise one they do not.
When had that imbalance begun? Why had he not noticed it earlier?
The Hig woman stood framed in the doorway briefly and then entered, the smile slipping from her delicate blue face like a fading rainbow. "He's returning to quarters via the gardens. I said it would be alright."
"That bug will be dead in a day," Starthief grumbled, rubbing his calloused knuckles.
"He knows that, Master." Gafiest brought out a smile shyer than an Alderaan gazelle, "He said it shouldn't have to spend its whole life stuck in here." Beneath her smile distress flowed, busy as the air-lanes outside the window.
"You like this not, I think."
"No, I don't like it." Something like anger or indignation in her tone. A severe look from Master Tunxano brought her expression and voice back to Jedi calm, but fooled no-one. "Why can't you send a Padawan?"
"Because they cull the children at the age of ten, to prevent them from reaching puberty." Tunxano steepled his many fingers - they were thin as his voice. "And also, to send a Padawan is to risk a proved team. The child may return too damaged to follow the Jedi path. It is an evil place."
Anger blatant now. "Are you suggesting that an initiate is more expendable?"
"An expendable child do you have?"
"NO!"
"Then our best we must send, and hope that is enough."
"This boy, Jinn." Starthief took up a datapad, browsing the files, giving her time to calm. "Not outstanding, academically, but strong in the Force and - for his age - the best warrior we've produced in decades."
He put the pad down, looked, Yoda thought, a little too challengingly at Gafiest. "Not bright, but very capable. An ideal choice."
The centerless azure eyes narrowed. Knows she is being baited, she does. The truth she will bring out as a weapon.
"You centre on the boy's abilities, but not on his character, Master. He is empathic, gentle - it hurts him to see things suffer. A situation like this mining compound, full of hatred and pain - he will feel it acutely."
"You think it will prevent him carrying out his task?"
"No, but it will make him more vulnerable to..." She hesitated to say it, but Yoda was pleased to see she understood exactly what the main risk was, "The Dark side."
"You heard what the boy said." Tunxano - a famous pilot - sometimes became impatient with the slow pace of everything else, "The Force guided him to volunteer."
"Forgive me," she didn't look at all contrite, "But I think he lied."
"He would lie to the Council?!"
"To save one of his friends from being sent? Yes, I think he would."
Indignation like a shared flame, yet still Yoda found himself intrigued. A free spirit, the boy must have if prepared to lie to the Council he is at the age of nine. He thought of Dagobah - the spring winds that hurled across the trees, unstoppable, breaking branches, shaking down the dead wood, letting the light into crowded places, making way for a glory of new growth. If it didn't happen, eventually the swamp would die, choked on itself.
The Force pressed on him; Responsibility. More responsibility. Another apprentice I do not want. Tired I am. Uncertain.
So test him.
"To the Council he would lie, yes. But about the Force? Lie about the Force, would he?"
Gafiest looked down, defeated. "No, Master, he would not."
Qui-Gon saw the control centre - just a glimpse, the blue lights of screens and hand pads down an adjacent corridor. His step faltered as he stared, trying to imprint the vision, memorise the way here. The little girl behind him, head down, slammed into his back, stumbled.
Immediately the guards were on her - the Nikto with a chain, the human with fists and boots. Blood burst from her nose as she fell, silently, still not looking up. A boot hit her forehead with a smack of wet leather.
The sound was like a blow across his own face. I don't understand... "It wasn't her fault!" He threw himself down by the small body - the girl was alive, shaking, huge silent tears mixing in a slime of blood and dirt on her cheeks. "It was my fault! Leave her alone!"
The attack stalled in a breathless instant, and he thought they would listen - he'd never met anyone who wouldn't. He looked up - as he'd been taught to do - with respect and confidence, met the human's eyes.
A broad face, convulsed in hoarse laughter; stubble on the chin broken by the tracks of many scars; the greasy hair flopped into eyes like those of an Ithorian razor-shark. Flat, grey, dead eyes. Qui-Gon met them with innocence, and what he saw made his soul wither.
Instinctively, he reached out to the Force for comfort, and the Force poured every broken mind on the asteroid into his, barraging him with pain, violation, terror. Somewhere on the other side of the base a six-year-old was screaming, as they did something to him that Qui-Gon didn't want to comprehend. He clapped his hands over his ears, as if that could stop the cries, but it only shut him in with them. Force, No! Please!
He crumpled at the same time that the man kicked him hard in chest and throat, but the pain was almost a relief from what he had sensed.
"You're new." The man's voice lingered over the word, savouring it. He reached down and with one large thumb forced Qui-Gon's chin up. Qui-Gon didn't want to meet his eyes again, but he did it, because he was a Jedi and he should not be daunted by any challenge. The eyes were smiling, appreciatively. "Get on with your work, new boy. We'll give you a proper welcome in tonight."
"You're an idiot." As the guards strolled away, the little girl pushed back her wiry black hair, hauled on Qui-Gon's shoulder, struggling to get up.
"I know." He had ruined everything with one glance. There was a new emotion in him now which he had never felt before, and he didn't know what it meant. All he had done was to look up into a man's eyes, and now his hands shook, and he wanted to be sick.
Her face still in shadow, the girl glanced at him; a sideways slide of brown eyes. "You need looking after. Stick with me."
"I'm Anoush," she said, as they wriggled through the tiny mining shaft, "An' you're?"
"Qui-Gon."
"I been here two years. Longer'n anyone."
The jewels could be prised out of the matrix of the walls by fingernails alone. Glossy black and dizzy with specks of gold, the handful he collected in the next half hour more than equalled what the pirates had paid for him and the other orphanage children put together. But he couldn't concentrate on that.
"Anoush? What do they mean by 'welcome in'?"
Her tone was as grey as the inadequate light. "Don't think about it, Qui. Don't think about it before it happens, don't think about it during, don't think about it after. They can't touch your mind."
But she could. Viscous and icy, her desolation poured over him, more eloquent than anything she could say. His heart didn't seem to fit in his chest any more. Something was making it hard to breathe. Is this fear?
The skin of his jaw felt strange where the pirate's hand had touched it, as if there'd been some poison on the fingers which was slowly working inwards. What kind of a Jedi am I? I'm afraid of a look, and some words? Oh, Force! Maybe I'm no good after all. Maybe I'm useless.
He would not accept that. He pushed the fear down until it was compressed like a singularity at the base of his throat. Then he thought about the route to the control centre; rehersed the keystrokes he had been taught. Download the database, let down the shields, and then they'll come for me. They'll come for all of us.
Could it be done tonight? Before the 'welcome'? Or would he have to - he swallowed, the fear blossomed and he pushed it back down again fiercely - would he have to let that happen?
Shift end came in a miasma of exhaustion and terror. He tried to shield himself from the other's emotions but could not. "Anoush? Is there some way I can get out of this?"
Teeth flashed in a smile as humourless as a Hutt's. She grabbed his wrist, pulled him out of the line toward an alcove filled with live power cables. "Tonight, yeah. Not forever. You can't avoid it forever."
She dodged behind the wires. Small and agile it was no big deal for her. But for him - he could feel the buzz and tingle as he squeezed past. When he wiped down his long hair on the other side sparks flew from his fingers.
"This passage goes up to the main hall. The sensors there will record us, so they won't come looking. We have to stay close - you'll see - but we don't get to eat."
The children got one inadequate meal a day. Now he'd starved Anoush of hers. I'm doing this all wrong. "I'm sorry."
That glance of hers again, and the smile, like a small and wary predator. "It's OK. I don' often get ta protect the innocent like this."
The passage ended in a hollow too shallow for the two children to crouch in side by side. Over Anoush's head Qui-Gon could see the scuffed sharp corners of crates stacked against the wall, and a narrow gap that opened out onto the main hall.
Glow-rods sleeked the cavern with a dingy light, greying the faces of the children. They moved with laboured care, bowls clutched protectively to their chests, and even the five-year-olds were utterly silent.
The guards, however, were laughing, drinking, watching the faces go by with hungry intent. He was there, of course, with a bottle in one hand and a length of barbed wire in the other. His smile was fading, and the tattooed fingers flexed as the last few stragglers came trudging in.
"Hobb," Anoush whispered, as if she was awed by the man. "The worst sicko of the bunch. You challenged him - by not being scared - now he's waiting to break you."
But he won't. Qui-Gon thought with a flash of relief so fierce it burnt his throat, Because I won't be there. Non-confrontation. Very Jedi - and finally he saw the point of it. It was good to be hidden here, and know the man couldn't see him.
Hobb's pallid face showed against the gloom as a twisted blur around clenched teeth. He had begun to beat the wire against his own leg, speckling the rough trousers with spots of blood. It was hard not to be fascinated by what he was doing, hard to turn away as Qui-Gon did now, concentrating on the mission.
Qui-Gon ran through the route in his mind, pushed up his sleeve and felt for the bump in the crook of his elbow where the blank data crystal lay just under the skin. Have to find something sharp to get that out with... And the screaming began.
He spun, found Anoush braced in his way; "You don' wanna look."
"Gods!"
The guards had picked a little blond boy out of the crowd, and Hobb had him by the hair, twisting the long strands around his fist; face lowered to the child's, speaking, smiling. The boy's eyes caught the light and glittered like dying stars as he shook his head. A tear flew amidst laughter.
Playfully, the Nikto wrapped barbed wire around the boy's neck, and pulled him forward by the spiked collar until he was bent face down over a crate.
"What? Anoush, what are they doing?"
He couldn't watch; he couldn't stop watching. What! Shame and terror quarrelled over him like two draigons, shaking him, tearing him between them. Ah Sith - they picked him because they couldn't get me. It should have been me.... It still could be. And he revolted at the thought NO! I CAN'T.
But he got to his feet; somehow he had fallen without noticing, tried to get past Anoush. She looked at him as if he were insane, scalded him with sarcasm. "You didn't know this was gonna happen? What - you thought it was you or no one?"
She put her hand on his chest, pressed, "You mad? You think going down there would make a difference? Like they wouldn't just take you both? What universe are you from anyway?"
And she was right. Force help him, she was right. But reason did nothing to take away the shame. I hid here and let them do that to someone else. What kind of slime am I?
Surprisingly an image of Master Yoda came to mind; green against the cool coral of the Council room. He had lifted an ear and he was wondering exactly the same thing. What is this boy - what is he good for?
I'm a Jedi. He struggled with his breathing, brought it down into some kind of calm. I can't change what has happened but I can stop it ever happening again. Time to act.
"Anoush, you might want to go somewhere where you'll look innocent. I'm going back into the mines now."
"You'll trip the sensor - they'll come after you."
"I can't help it. I'll just have to be fast."
The small brown face looked frightened for the first time; as if she'd seen something she just couldn't understand. "What the Sith are you talking about, Qui?"
Was there time to tell her the whole story? Time to tell her how brave and wise she was, and good? No. "If I get it right I can explain after. Please just go and make yourself safe OK?"
The lights were powered down, and his own breathing haunted him through the darkened corridors like a Coruscant ghoul. His heartbeat seemed horribly intrusive in his ears, and he wondered if he would miss the small sounds of someone stealthy following. What was that!
Silence. And he was furious at his own fear.
There was no-one on guard at the com centre; why should there be? What did the pirates have to fear from starved and beaten children? The thought almost made him smile. Well this one will bring you down. Then he remembered that by now they would know he'd left the main hall. By now they would be coming for him.
After so long in darkness the light was an assault, and he didn't understand why it was so difficult to walk into the room like a human being; why he wanted to cringe. If I stand in the light they will see me.
Stacked in a box against one wall were a series of datacards. They were too obvious to contain useful information - he knew that - but the metallic edges could be sharpened by dragging them across the pumice-rough walls.
His fingers felt strange - numb. He fumbled, dropping the card, picked it up again with a lurch of panic. Gingerly, he pressed it to his skin Oh this is going to hurt.
Gingerly didn't work - he had to saw the metal back and forth to open up a big enough wound. Pain is my ally. Pain is a helper. He wasn't sobbing, he told himself, really he wasn't. It was just the tension that made him tremble as he dug the stone out of his flesh and cleaned it in his mouth.
Jamming it into the reader he keyed in the sequence flawlessly - he'd practised this so many times in his mind. It lit, downloading the details of the pirate's operations: the ships involved; their bases; the names of the contacts in orphanages who sold these worthless scum their workforce. The pirate's first priority when they were attacked would be to wipe this information. That's why he had to get it before an attack could happen.
Quicker. Quicker, please! He pleaded with the machinery, Quickly. Because Hobb had looked at every face in the hall. Hobb knew who was missing, and it would be Hobb who would come for him. Hurry up!
The light blinked off. He seized the gem, stuffed it in his mouth, swallowing. Holding in the urge to throw up, the sting from the graze as it went down, he ran to the shield terminal; lowered the planetoid's defence shield. Just one more thing - maybe he was going to get away with this - a coded transmission out to the waiting "Bright Saber".
Thank the Force. It was done. They would be here soon. If he could just keep under cover for a few more minutes... He sagged against the wall. I have to move!
Now it was his legs that wouldn't work. He stumbled into the corridor, turned the corner, heading back to Anoush's secret way.
"Hello, new boy."
It was a small corridor and Hobb filled it; pallid skin sweaty and his dead eyes full of triumph. Terror grabbed for Qui-Gon - he pushed it down with all his strength. You're not a frightened kid - you're a Jedi. Now lead him away from the coms. He mustn't see the shields are down.
He turned, ran down a corridor he had not mapped. He didn't know where he was going; just away. The panicked sound of his own breathing was hateful, grinding his heart in the bitter knowledge that he was scared. Why wasn't Hobb even trying to run? He was strolling!
The corridor ended in a tiny cave, its rough walls prickling with the light of a thousand gems. A boulder in the centre of the floor was useless as a weapon - he couldn't lift it. There was only one exit, of course, the doorway in which Hobb now stood, smiling like a snake.
I will not be intimidated. Qui-Gon struggled for calm. Why was his body so treacherous - why was he shaking? I can take him down. I can! Again he tried to gather the Force, and it filled his mind with screams.
Hobb lifted a hand, licked blood from his fingertips. Then, as Qui-Gon was readying himself for a flying kick, the pirate turned his other hand palm out - showed the hideout blaster concealed in the cage of his fingers. "You should be flattered, new boy. I don't normally need this."
Force! And he had no lightsaber, and he really didn't want to die.
Hobb laughed - a gloating, anticipatory chuckle soft as a secret. A few steps forward and he reached out to stroke Qui-Gon's long hair.
What am I going to do? Please, I don't know what to do...
"Clean new flesh," Hobb breathed in unsteadily. His big calloused hand moved almost gently down inside Qui-Gon's collar. It didn't hurt at all, but - Gods! - he wished it would, because he could bear pain so much better than this.
Stay calm. I can't! Someone make him stop!
The hand spasmed, grabbing. The blaster drove into his ribs. As he was turned, hurled against the stone, Qui-Gon knew that the only Jedi option he had left was acceptance. It was unimportant, even if it happened the mission would still succeed. He should surrender.
Something broke at the thought, filling him with a rage like molten steel. Hobb pushed his face into the wall, death in one hand, the other loosening his belt. The loathing was so strong he couldn't breathe for it. I won't accept this. I CAN'T.
"No!" he screamed, and Hobb's laughter answered him, "No, no, no, no, NO!"
A medical droid like a polished skeleton turned the boy's limp body over, stripped off the crusted, blood-brown clothes and dropped them to the floor. A slaughterhouse smell drifted from them, swamping the med-bay's scent of ozone.
"Serious, is it?" The scrape and thud of Yoda's claws and stick halted behind Gafiest and she fought down the urge to turn on him, slap his withered face. You let this happen. What do you care!
And yet, when he might have stayed in the sunshine and freshness of the council chamber, steering the fortunes of the galaxy, here he was at the bedside of this unimportant child. The ancient eyes seemed older still with concern. So she bowed her head and said "I don't know, Master," when really all she wanted was to scream.
"Closer we will go, Gafiest. Turn us away I think they will not."
Healer Naorn - a soft faced human with long white hair - took their presence calmly. "There's no wound on the body to account for this much blood," he said, the hushed tones like a warning, "In fact the wounds he does have suggest his ...condition... is psychological rather than physical."
Coming closer Gafiest saw with a shock that Qui-Gon's eyes were open, unfocused and emotionless as the droid's. She knew then this was not going to be easy. "What do you mean?"
The healer knelt by the low bed, and his long hands moved the boy's head so they could see the bruised and abraded skin. At no point did Qui-Gon show that he felt this or anything.
"These marks," Naorn touched the long red scores which striped the child's flanks, "Seem to be fingernail scratches. And this..." an ugly infected wound on the neck, "Is unquestionably a human bite."
"Oh gods!" She flinched away from the understanding in his eyes, We sent him out all alone, and he's just a little boy. "He was..." she couldn't say the word; didn't want to make it real, "Someone..."
"Someone tried, certainly." Naorn's smile was not reassuring - proud and afraid together. "But there's no evidence that they succeeded."
Yoda limped forward, poked at the matter-speckled clothes with his stick. "Yet much blood there was." He turned to the towering form which was trying to make itself look small by the door. "Padawan Aka, explain this can you?"
Aka - a young wookie - smoothed down the auburn hair of her forearms nervously. She growled a reply, which her embedded translator repeated in the polished tones of a princess. "We found him in a small cave, beside the body of one of the pirates." Her big hands opened and closed by her sides. "My Master said there might have been a cave-in. The man's head was..." she swallowed, shuddering, "Completely crushed. There was blood...um...everywhere"
Yoda's ears lowered until the fringe of hair touched his shoulders. He reached out a blunt claw and patted Gafiest's hand. As if this was the worst news of all, she thought, and tried not to be furious with him for his lack of understanding.
He stepped up to the bedside. Low enough for the sullustan healers, it was also low enough for him to look down on the boy's face. Perhaps it was Gafiest's imagination, but she thought Qui-Gon's chilled gaze flicked to the Master's and away again, ashamed.
"Gafiest, Aka, Healer Naorn. Trust me, do you?" A ridiculous question. He gathered their answer from their expressions, nodded once, fiercely. "Interfere you will not."
She hardly had time to wonder what he meant before he had swung the stick. The weighted end smacked across the boy's bare shoulder.
Breath went out of her as her gut tightened with sympathetic pain. Another blow, hard on the unflinching back. "Master, don't!" After all he's been through!
Whack Across the face, hard enough to raise a welt. This time Qui-Gon's hands tightened; a spasm of aggression she'd never seen from him before.
Whack, whack, whack! the tempo of blows increased, falling one on top of the other, the last drawing blood.
"Master Yoda?" Naorn fidgeted, self restraint at breaking point.
Smack! And Qui-Gon exploded into action, hurling himself to his feet, seizing the stick in both hands, pulling hard. A tangible connection between them, but less eloquent than the dialogue of their eyes.
"Ah," said Yoda, facing the boy's ferocious scowl sadly, "Want to smash me too, do you?"
Stricken, Qui-Gon fell back, eyes widening and filling with tears. He jammed one dirty hand into his mouth, shook his head in pleading sincerity. "I just...want you to stop hurting me."
"Stop me you can. You know how."
The headshake again, more emphatic this time. Awed, and a little envious, Gafiest saw that there was no-one in the room for these two except each other. Their mutual understanding was so complete it excluded the rest of the universe. What was going on?
"No. I'd rather die."
"Then die you will. Deserve it you do, I think."
The words created their own silence, reinforcing the frozen stillness of the adults, but the boy's face relaxed into something like relief. He bowed his head, laced his fingers together as if to keep tight control of his fists, and lay back down, accepting the death sentence with Jedi calm.
He really thinks he deserves to die. How could that be? Unless...
She had thought, before, that she felt as sick as it was possible to feel, but this feeling eclipsed it. Qui-Gon killed him.
It was inconceivable, but the only explanation, that this nine-year-old had killed his attacker; smashed the man's brains in so brutally that the resultant mess could horrify even a wookie. And now, to pay for it, he was trying to die.
Oh, little one. If only I'd been there. I'd have killed him for you myself.
But surely he didn't have the physical strength to crush an adult's head? And the Force would not allow itself to be used in such a way.
Thwack! Silence. She could feel Naorn holding himself back as the child tried not to flinch.
Warmth drained from her as she made the obvious next step. So he didn't use the Light side. He used the Dark.
"Oh, Force, No. Force, No." Have we lost him forever?
She looked back. Qui-Gon was lying on his hands, face turned to the side, eyes tightly shut. And Yoda - she had never seen him look so distressed; skin almost lime with grief, claws tense on the wood. What he meant to achieve with this barbarity was not clear, but Gafiest knew beyond doubt that he had not intended the strength of his next blow.
A sickening crack. Qui-Gon cried out and clutched his face. Blood bloomed and flowed from between his fingers. Gafiest found she'd moved unconsciously. Her hand - almost a blasphemy - tightened around Yoda's shoulder, feeling it tremble, feeling his relief that at last someone had dared intervene.
Since when did he become so vulnerable? Is this something else Qui-Gon has done?
"That's enough, Master!"
Naorn too had lurched forward, quiet face tight. "I can't believe what I've just seen. This boy is my patient. I won't allow you to continue this savagery a moment longer. How can you..."
"Leave him alone!" Qui-Gon struggled to his knees, tried to sniff back the blood that poured from his broken nose. "Leave..." a sob of pain, "Leave Master Yoda alone. He doesn't want to do it. It hurts him. But he's got to, so...aah...leave him alone."
Such a bizarre situation that it silenced them all. Gafiest felt a current of surprise run through the small form of the Master. Her own heart twisted with painful hope - it was so like the boy she had raised.
"Want to die so much, you do?" Yoda sounded stern, but his ears had raised a fraction. He stumped forward, wadded a corner of the sheet in his claw and offered it to the boy. Qui-Gon took it, blankly, as if he wasn't worthy of it.
"I don't want to...nnh..." his eyes filled, he pressed the cloth to his nose, where it slowly reddened, "Ever do it again. If there's no way back then I mean it." He sniffed, sobbed at the pain, "I mean it. I'd rather die."
Yoda's stick settled gently to the floor, and he leaned over, heavily. "Felt the seductive power of the Dark you have, child. Yearn for it you do now."
"No," said Qui-Gon flatly, in the same tone of absolute certainty he had used to address the council.
The twist in Gafiest's heart eased into a new ache. I haven't lost him. This is the same boy I let them send away. And then a clench of anger, I won't let them hurt him again.
"It was..." Qui-Gon had gathered himself as if for a council report, speaking with all the passion he was capable of. "It was horrible. I hated it. I never, never want to feel it again."
Now the truth was too terrible for him. He dropped his gaze to his hands, tangled into the crimson cloth, and whispered "I killed him."
Yoda patted the boy's arm gently. "Grieve for him I think you should not. Deserved death he did, a hundred times over."
But Qui-Gon didn't look up. "Just like me," he said.
Oh, my baby! Gafiest struggled not to push past Yoda, not to gather the boy up into a protective hug from which she would never release him. It was far too late for that.
Yoda came to her, gazed up thoughtfully. "Possible is this?" She knelt to catch the soft words, "So pure the child's heart is that repelled he could be by such power?"
Put like that it was so easy a question she didn't know why he had to ask. "Out of all my children, I'd believe it only of him."
One ear raised in scepticism, some wry self-possession returned to his wizened face. "Huh! Ulic QelDroma, a handful of other Jedi in our history, this path have trodden. Heroes, all. Ask me to believe it of a child you do?"
"It's very like him." Gafiest found herself thawing in response; "Qui-Gon is an unusual child. Sometimes things which are obvious for his teachers are impossible for him, and sometimes it's the other way round. He has to find his own path." She looked over at the dirtied, ruined boy and returned, with new conviction. "But if you tell me this is a way of heroes, well, that's like him too."
"Hmph." Yoda narrowed his huge green eyes, "Not a comfortable Jedi he will make, on that recommendation."
A flare of outrage she couldn't bite back; "If you wanted comfortable you shouldn't have sent him to that place."
And he allowed himself to be chastened. "Understand I do. Comfort I will not seek from him. Enough it is to know that he is uncompromised."
He stumped back to the bedside. Qui-Gon looked up with perfect Jedi resignation. On him it looked like despair.
"A way back there is, little one, if work hard enough you will."
A mute nod, but the intaken breath whistled sharply with eagerness. Yoda's ears raised as he smiled. "Into my quarters you will not come smelling like that, Padawan."
Qui-Gon went rigid, and Gafiest's spirit went through many tormented shapes before settling on joy.
"What?"
"Shower you will. And that hair! Scissors I must find. A mess you are..."
"Yes," painful swallow and Qui-Gon dared the word, "Master."
Muttering, Yoda limped away, and finally Gafiest could come forward to be with her child.
He was watching the door, thin face bloody and his eyes haunted. He had just been given the greatest prize an initiate could dream of, and there was no happiness in him at all.
"Such an honour!" she said, tentatively, and saw with an aching heart how reluctant he was to focus on her - to meet her gaze.
"No. I'm his burden. Now he thinks he has to protect the Order from me."
So that was his fear; of course. He thought he could never regain the perfection he had lost. No matter how hard he tried, something inside would remain maimed - ugly, twisted, tainted. Forever.
She reached out and gently touched the bent, flattened nose. "It's painful, isn't it Qui?"
He dared to look at her, and when he saw the smile his adult stoicism faltered; aquamarine eyes shimmered with shameful tears. Another stab of understanding - would this day's pain never be over - He thought I'd hate him.
"But it will heal," she said, freighting the words with meaning. "And when it does. When you've healed," Always quick, he'd heard the change and knew she wasn't speaking about his face but about what else had been broken in him. "When you're healed, I think the new shape will be better than the old."
She saw with gladness the way his control slipped - the mouth compressed and the chin trembled. "Really?" His breathing went to rags under the strain of a thought too beautiful to touch. "Really...better?"
So earnest, so serious! My poor baby.
"Yes. If you let it, it could make you more humble, more compassionate; kinder."
She sat down on the edge of the bed, and promised it again - she would go on promising it until he believed. "Better," she said. Then she gathered him into her arms, and let him cry out his lost innocence in a place of new hope.
