The Approaching Storm (звёздные войны)

by Alan Dean Foster

  "If you like, my friends and I can try to fix those lighting devices. Their internal schematics are fairly simple."

  Mazong expressed confusion. "But there is nothing wrong with them."

  She hesitated. "They should be supplying steady light. Con stant illumination."

  The Yiwa chieftain's response surprised her. He laughed. "Ou, we know that, O wise and observant Jedi. But we remem ber, and honor, the ways of our ancestors, who could hold such gatherings only by torchlight."

  Realization dawned on her. The glowpoles had been deliber ately modified to simulate the flickering of torchlight. Among the Yiwa, it appeared, retrogressive aesthetics took precedence over cutting-edge functionality. She wondered if they would find the same reverence for ritual among the overclan.

  Her thermosensitive robes warded off the evening chill and kept out the ever-present wind as she took her place alongside

  Obi-Wan and the two Padawans. Mazong sat down nearby, his two elderly female advisers close behind him. It seemed as if most of the clan had crowded around the open space. Hundreds of bulging Ansionian eyes glistened in the light from the glow-rods. On the far side of the encampment, torpid dorgum and irritable awiquod grunted and hissed as they jostled for space with the more high-strung sadains. A few deeper hisses, like steam escaping from a sauna, indicated the location of the travelers' suubatars.

  For the second time since their arrival, food and drink had been laid out in copious quantities. Having already consumed samples of Yiwa fare, they found that the individual components of the lavish banquet had lost some of their exoticism. They were delivered straight from the transportable high-tech kitchen by lines of young Yiwa clad in guest-greeting finery. Kyakhta and Bulgan sat like regal potentates, still unable to quite believe their good fortune. Thanks to Barriss's healing and Jedi largesse, for two clanless vagabonds they had come a very long way in an exceedingly short time.

  There was music, of a sort, produced by a quartet of seated Yiwa. Two played traditional handmade instruments, while their younger colleagues opted for free-form electronics. The result was a cross between the sublime and a porgrak in its final death throes. Luminara found her ears simultaneously outraged and captivated.

  Beyond the music, there was no entertainment. That, she knew, was shortly to be provided by the clan's guests. If this was deemed acceptable, they would then hopefully receive useful answers to their questions. If spurned, they would have to find another, more amenable source of information as to the current whereabouts of the overclans.

  At last nearly everyone had eaten their fill. The spiraling squeal from the local band faded away, losing itself in the vastness of the prairie night. Sipping on the needle-thin tube of a bulblike stuicer, Mazong turned expectantly to his company.

  "And now, my friends, the time has come for you to prove to us that Jedi have not just ability, but inner essence, unlike the representatives of the great but soulless Senate."

  "If I may suggest-" Kyakhta began. The chieftain shut him down with a sharp gesture.

  "You may not suggest, clanless vagrant. The Yiwa remain un certain about you." Looking back to the Jedi, he smiled. "Rest assured no matter how badly you do, we will not eat you. We do not keep every tradition."

  "That's nice to know," Obi-Wan murmured. He wasn't concerned about whether or not he and his companions were considered suitable for consumption. He was worried about a dearth of information. If the Yiwa refused to help them, they might waste weeks searching for the Borokii. During that time, the mischief makers and would-be secessionists among the Unity were not likely to be idle.

  It was also important that everything they did not only found favor with their hosts, but did not offend any of their inscrutable and closely held customs. Not knowing the details of these in advance, the Jedi could only proceed as best they could, while watching for any indications that their calculated response might be offending the Yiwa.

  "I'll go first." Barriss rose abruptly to her feet. Moving to the center of the open space, which had been carpeted with a fresh flooring of clean quartz sand taken from the beach that fronted the lake, she turned to face her friends. There was a stir among the watching Yiwa. What would the flat-eyed, many-digited, maneless female visitor do? No one waited with more curiosity than Anakin.

  Luminara gestured encouragingly at her Padawan. Nodding, Barriss reached down and removed the lightsaber from her belt. Immediately, several of the armed Yiwa went for their own weapons. Seeing that the other visitors remained seated and calm, a confident Mazong waved off his agitated sentries.

  In the chill, still air of early night, Barriss's lightsaber blazed. She held it aloft, glowing perpendicularly, its soft hum rising above the approving murmurs of the watching Yiwa. Not exactly a dynamic performance, Anakin reflected, but certainly an arresting image. He wondered if their hosts would consider striking a pose sufficient to satisfy their requirements.

  And then Barriss began to move.

  Slowly at first, darting from left to right and back again, then north to south, her footprints laid out a design in the sand that marked the four points of the compass. The Yiwa saw right away what she was honoring with her movements. As a nomadic people, they were particularly appreciative. The Padawan moved faster and faster, gradually increasing the speed of her jumps until she was bouncing from point to point as if dancing atop a concealed trampoline. All the while she held her flaring lightsaber aloft, the spear of luminance piercing the night. The athleticism of the per formance was a tribute to her conditioning. It went, Anakin decided admiringly, well beyond basic Jedi training.

  Then, just when it seemed she could move no faster, she be gan to twirl the lightsaber. Spectators gasped softly, and there sounded the first hisses and whistles of genuine admiration.

  It was a revelation to Anakin, who until now had never thought of the conventional Jedi lightsaber as anything but a weapon. That outside the fencing arena it could also be a thing of beauty had never occurred to him. But in Barriss's hands it was transformed from a lethal tool into an instrument of effulgent splendor.

  Spinning rapidly now as she continued to skip between the four points of the compass, the beam of spectral energy fooled the eyes into seeing a solid ring of light above her head. She began to swing the lightsaber, creating a lambent disk first on her right side, then on her left. Leaping from north to south, she brought her knees up to her chest and passed the beam beneath her feet, drawing sharp inhalations of surprise and awe from her audience. Several times she repeated the dangerous jump. Looking on as intently as any Yiwa, Anakin knew that if she misjudged height or swing, she could easily cut her feet off at the ankles. A greater miscalculation could result in the loss of an arm, or a leg- or her head.

  The potential deadliness of the dance added greatly to the suspense, and to the brilliance of the performance. Drawing to a conclusion, Barriss jumped straight toward Mazong, executed a double flip with the lightsaber whirling beneath her, and landed on her knees not an arm-length in front of him. To his considerable credit, the Yiwa chieftain did not flinch. But his eyes never left the spinning lightsaber.

  Another bit of Alwari lore was imparted to the visitors as the assembled clan demonstrated their approval not only with hisses and whistles, but with a mass cracking of the knuckles of their lissome, long-fingered hands. Waves of popping swept over the gathering. As for Mazong, he quietly consulted with his advisers.

  Breathing hard, her lightsaber deactivated and refastened to her belt, Barriss resumed her seat alongside her companions. Lu-minara leaned over to whisper to her Padawan.

  "A fine exhibition, Barriss. But that last stunt was truly treacherous. It would make me unhappy to have to return to Cuipernam with you in less than one piece."

  "I've practiced it before, Master." The Padawan was well pleased with herself. "I know it's a dangerous move, but we do want to make as strong an impression as possible on these people so that they'll help us."

  "Striking off your own limb w
ould certainly make an impres sion." Seeing the younger woman's expression fall, Luminara reached out and gave her an encouraging hug. "I don't mean to be overly critical. You did well. I'm proud of you."

  "So am I." Obi-Wan glanced to his right, to the pensive young man seated next to him. "It's your turn, Anakin."

  That snapped Anakin out of his introspection. "Me? But Master Obi-Wan, I can't do anything like that. I haven't been trained for it. I'm a fighter, not an artist. Nothing I could do would begin to approach Barriss's presentation."

  "It doesn't have to approach it." Obi-Wan was patient with his Padawan. "But the chieftain clearly indicated he wanted to ascertain the existence of a soul in all of us. That means you, too, Anakin."

  The younger man chewed his lower lip. "I don't suppose my sworn and witnessed statement to the effect that I have one would be sufficient?"

  "I think not," Obi-Wan replied dryly. "Stand out there, Anakin, and show them some soul. I know that you have one. The Force overflows with beauty. Draw on it."

  With great reluctance, Anakin unfolded his legs and stood. Aware of the many eyes on him, humanoid as well as Ansionian, he strode slowly to the center of the sand-paved clearing. What could he possibly do to convince these people of his inner nature, to show them that he was as much a feeling being as the gravity-defying Barriss? He had to do something. His Master had insisted on it.

  He didn't want to be here, in this circle of light in the middle of a nowhere place on a nowhere world. He wanted to be on Coruscant, or home, or…

  The one memory that overrode all others jarred something loose. Something from his childhood. It possessed the virtues of simplicity: a song; slow, sad, and melancholic, but full of affection for the one who was listening. His mother had sung it to him frequently, when money was scarce and when desert winds howled outside their simple dwelling. She would appreciate the words of that song, which he had struggled to sing back to her on numerous occasions. That opportunity had not presented itself for many years now, ever since he had left her and the world of his birth.

  Now he imagined that she was here, standing before him, her comforting and reassuring face smiling warmly back at him. Since she was not here to sing along with him, to remind him of the words, he was forced to draw entirely on his memories.

  As he imagined his mother standing there before him, every thing else faded away: the expectant Mazong, the onlooking Yiwa, his companions, even Master Obi-Wan. Only she re mained, and himself. The two of them, trading stanzas, singing back and forth to each other as they had when he was a child. He sang with increasing strength and confidence, his voice rising above the steady breeze that swept fitfully through the camp.

  Chapter 9

  The simple but soaring melody from his youth rolled out across the attentive assembly, silencing the children and causing sadains and suubatars alike to turn their dozy ears in the direction of the central compound. It floated free and strong across the lake and among the reeds, to finally lose itself in the vastness of the northern prairie. None of the watchful Yiwa understood any of the words, but the strength of the young human's voice and the ardor with which he sang more than succeeded in conveying his loneliness. Even this was unnecessary. While the human's song was utterly different from their own edgier harmonies, like so much music it succeeded in reaching across the boundary between species.

  It took Anakin a moment to realize that he had finished. Blinking, he scrutinized his diverse audience. Then the whistling began, and the hissing, and the coordinated knuckle cracking. He ought to have been pleased. Instead, he hurried to resume his place alongside his Master; head down, face flushed, trying and failing to hide his discomfiture. Someone was patting him approvingly on the back. It was Bulgan, bent and contorted, his face alight with pleasure.

  "Good sounds, Master Anakin, good sounds!" He put one hand to an aural opening. "You please every Alwari."

  "Was it all right?" Anakin asked hesitantly of the man seated next to him. To his surprise, he saw that his Master was eyeing him with uncommon approval.

  "Just when I think I have you figured out, Anakin, you un leash another surprise on me. I had no idea you could sing like that."

  "Neither did I, really," the Padawan replied shyly. "I man aged to find some inspiration in an old memory."

  "Sometimes that's the best source." Obi-Wan started to rise. It was his turn. "Something else interesting you yourself might not have noticed. When you sing, your voice drops considerably."

  "I did notice that, Master." Anakin smiled and shrugged dif fidently. "I guess it's still changing."

  He watched while his teacher strode confidently to the cen ter of the sands. What was Obi-Wan Kenobi going to do to reveal to the Yiwa his inner self? Anakin was as curious as any spectator. He had never seen Obi-Wan sing or dance, paint or sculpt. In point of fact, he felt, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, was something of a dry personality. This in no way limited his skill as a teacher, Anakin knew.

  Obi-Wan spent a moment mentally reviewing his knowledge of the local vernacular, making certain he could handle the Yiwa dialect. Then he folded his hands in front of him, cleared his throat, and began to speak. That was all. No acrobatic leaps a la the buoyant Padawan Barriss. No full- throated euphonious declamation of emotion like Anakin. He just-spoke.

  But it was music nonetheless.

  Like Barriss's gymnastic performance with the lightsaber, it was all new to Anakin. At first he, and many of the Yiwa, were restless, expecting something more expansive, more grandiose of gesture. If all the Jedi was going to do was talk, they might as well be doing something else. And in fact, some in the crowd did indeed start to drift away. But as Obi-Wan continued to declaim, his voice rising and falling in a sturdy, mellifluous tone that was somehow as entrancing as it was steady, they came back, reclaimed their places, and watched, and listened, as if the voice itself was as mesmerizing as the most powerful hypnotic drug.

  Obi-Wan wove a tale that, like all great stories, began simply enough. Unpromisingly, even. But as details began to emerge, as profound truths could be discerned through the lens of adventure, it became impossible for anyone to leave. Try as they might, Yiwa young and old could not tear themselves away from the tale the Jedi told.

  There was a hero, of course. And a heroine. And where both are present, there invariably arises a love story poignant and true. Greater issues than the feelings of the two lovers were at stake. The fate of millions lay in the balance, their very lives and the lives of their children dependent on the making of correct decisions, on choosing to fight for truth and justice. There was sacrifice and war, betrayal and revelation, greed and revenge, and in the end, as the fate of the two lovers hung suspended like a small weight from a thread, redemption. Beyond that, the humble storyteller could not see, could not say, a confession that provoked cries of unsatisfied frustration from his audience.

  With a soft smile, Obi-Wan asked if they really wanted to hear how it all turned out. The chorus of concurrence that followed woke half the beasts in the corrals. Even Mazong, Anakin noted, had been sucked into the tale, and required closure.

  Raising his hands, Obi-Wan requested and received a silence so complete that the small furry scratchers on the far side of the lake could be heard rubbing their abdomens against the rocks there. In a voice deliberately hushed, he resumed the story, his voice never rising but the words coming faster and faster, until his audience, leaning forward the better to hear and not miss a single word, threatened to collapse en masse onto the sand.

  When he delivered the final surprise, there were shouts of joy and much appreciative laughter from the onlookers, followed by intense discussions of the tale just told. Ignoring these, Obi-Wan walked quietly back to his place and took his seat. So overcome were the Yiwa by the telling that they forgot to hiss or whistle or crack a single knuckle in appreciation. It didn't matter. There was no need for applause. Obi-Wan's saga had passed beyond the need for simple approval into the realm of complete acceptance.
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br />   "You enchanted everyone entirely, Master." Anakin hardly knew what to say. "Myself included."

  Picking at the sand by his feet, the Jedi shrugged disarmingly. "Such is the power of story, my young Padawan."

  Anakin considered this carefully, as he was learning to do with everything Obi-Wan Kenobi said. "You kept everyone in complete suspense. Suspension might be a better description. I never saw the happy ending coming and didn't expect it. Do all your stories have happy endings?"

  Flicking a few grains of sand aside, Obi-Wan looked up at him sharply enough to give his apprentice an unexpected start. "Only time will tell that, Anakin Skywalker. In storytelling, nothing is a given, the astonishing becomes commonplace, and one learns to expect the unexpected. But when people of understanding and goodwill come together, a happy ending is usually assured."

  The Padawan frowned uncertainly. "I was speaking of story- telling, Master. Not reality."

  "One is but a reflection of the other, and sometimes it's difficult to tell which is the original and which the mirror image. There is much to be learned from stories that can't be taught by history." Obi-Wan smiled. "It's like making a cake. Much lies in the choosing of ingredients before the baking has even begun." Before Anakin could comment again, Obi-Wan had turned back to the center of the gathering. "We'll talk more about it later, if you like. For now, we need to show courtesy by giving our colleague Luminara the same kind of close attention as the Yiwa."