EPILOG

Excerpt from the journal of Qui-Gon Jinn. 

Valuri Outpost 6 - Academy Base

 12th cycle, 6th rotation of Julei'dalk

Five years.  How can it possibly be five years since that final day - the day when he was finally persuaded to give up his long struggle, and surrender to the Force?  Strange that none of us wanted to let him go, but neither did we want to watch him endure another day of suffering.  Sentient spirits are frequently conflicted, I think.

I have never written about that time - those days; I suppose I was never willing to dwell on what happened.  But the time is right now, I think.  Some things should not be forgotten, and life is too uncertain in these perilous times to risk the loss of such memories.

Obi-Wan managed to hold on - to fight the deterioration taking place within his body - for more than two years after that fateful afternoon by the river, and, with the help of the tiny Bimar healer who loved him as if he had been a child of her loins, he remained strong and bright and functional until just two lunar cycles before the end.  Though his symptoms continued to multiply and intensify, he battled through them and somehow managed to offer solace to those who could only stand and watch.  Despite living with growing pain and weakness, he never lost his laughter or the sparkle in his eye.  Somehow, his presence in the Force grew ever more radiant, burning with almost ferocious intensity, in the same manner that a star will flare to almost painful brightness in the last moments before it consumes itself in cataclysmic implosion. He grew frailer with each day, until his skin seemed almost translucent, but he lost nothing of his beauty, becoming almost transcendent with the Light he exuded as the end approached.  He was, until that final day, my Obi-Wan - my greatest joy and my greatest sadness. 

I came to accept it in the end - the truth of his bond to Xanatos, the rightness of it - but I never learned how to give up grieving over what I had lost.  But the vision of the two of them together - riding, laughing, sharing quiet moments with their daughter, sparring, chatting with friends, preparing a meal, or simply gazing into each other's eyes - provided ample proof of the accuracy of Obi-Wan's claim; they truly were meant to be together.  And it became ever more obvious as Obi-Wan began to lose the battle to cling to his strength and his independence.  When he was, at last, rendered physically helpless, it was Xan who saw to his every need, who fed him, and bathed him, and dressed him, who held him when the pain grew intolerable, and soothed him to sleep.

I have never witnessed a more touching testament to the power of love.

Obi-Wan was right, of course, about the reaction of his bond-mate.  Xanatos was devastated when he learned that he would lose the only true love of his life, and that it was a result of the pregnancy that had produced his daughter; devastated and furious and then overwhelmed with guilt, because the object of his fury was the very person who was also the other half of his soul.  It was not a pleasant period, and I don't think Xan ever managed to completely forgive himself for wasting some of the precious time they had remaining while he struggled to find his way through his rage.

It was, I think, a near thing - the prospect of losing himself in Darkness, in his search for vengeance.  But ultimately, he found the strength to resist; I would like to think that I had some small role in holding him to the path of Light, but honesty compels me to admit that it was more his fidelity to the promise he made to his lost mate and the love he held for his beautiful daughter that enabled him to overcome terrible temptations, than anything anyone else might have done.  He came to me occasionally - for guidance, or so he said - but I think it was really only to share his pain.  That was, in the end, the only thing that held the two of us together; that, and promises made to a stubborn young spirit that would not be denied.

He lived long enough to hold his daughter on his lap as she blew out six candles on a birthday cake, but not long enough to show her how to build her own lightsaber, which happened when she was nine; he survived to stand as witness to the bonding of Garen Muln and Rhimbo R' Equé - a joyful celebration that saw the handsome blond member of the wedding party signal a halt to the proceedings just prior to the ceremony in order to sweep a startled, laughing Obi-Wan into his arms in order to steal one deep, extremely thorough kiss, as a type of final fling prior to entering into the bond that would last a lifetime - but he did not live long enough to see Garen fall in battle during the first engagement between the fledgling Rebel Alliance and Imperial Storm Troopers on Ord Binur, and I am thankful that he was not forced to face that.  He survived long enough to dance with Luminara Unduli at the celebration of her wedding to General Ph'rell Torampp, leader of the Agamarian resistance movement, but he did not live to welcome the baby boy that was born a year later.  And he hung on long enough to be intimately involved in creating a new kind of Code, for a new kind of Jedi Order - a Code that rejected all forms of political alliance and emphasized the exercise of compassion and intimate connections between all members of the Jedi community and the people they were sworn to serve, but he did not live to see the formation of this academy, where the new philosophy was brought to life. And he lived long enough to foresee the love that would dominate his daughter's future - the love of the son of Anakin Skywalker.  Even today, I am unsure of how he felt about that, as he elected to keep those emotions to himself.

It was winter when he died - the day of the first snowfall of the season - and he was surrounded by those who loved him.  He wakened slowly that morning, and I think he knew immediately what the day would bring.  He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for several days, as his Force presence fluctuated, but there was only clarity in his eyes as he struggled to consciousness that morning.  Though his bedroom was crowded with an astonishing assortment of medical equipment, he was unencumbered by tubes or needles or IV lines or breathing masks, having refused all such measures to extend his life.

Obi-Wan was tired - tired enough to accept the fact that it was time to release his grip on life and allow the Force to claim him.

One by one, those who had been intimately involved in the final years of his existence stepped forward, each knowing that he had finally exhausted all his tomorrows.  Xan hovered nearby, fighting to maintain his serenity and refrain from howling his frustration and rage at the callous brutality of fate, and Ciara was nestled against Obi-Wan's side, tucked close and safe in his embrace.

I stood in the shadows, watching the people he loved trying to find the right words to tell him what he had meant to them; no one seemed to succeed, most confining themselves to a simple declaration of love and the sharing of tears.

Finally, there were only the two bond-mates and their daughter and me.  It was time to let him go - to say good-bye - and I have come to realize that nothing will ever be as painful as that moment.

I sat on the edge of his bed, and clasped his hand - the hand that I had trained to build and wield a lightsaber, to become a lethal weapon in unarmed combat - the hand that had given me comfort, and healing, and pleasure, and so much more - the hand that was now only a slender ghost of its former strength.  Reverently, humbly, I kissed his palm before cradling his fingers against my chest.

I reached out then and traced his features one last time with a gentle finger, and he smiled at me, and let me see, in that smile, that, in spite of everything, he loved me still, and I was astonished to discover that coming in second in the ‘Kenobi Sweepstakes' was apparently enough for me, after all.

"I love you, Padawan," I whispered, "and I won't forget that I have promises to keep."

I gathered him up in my arms and was stricken anew by the frailty of his body, but he was able to turn his head and place a final kiss on my cheek.  I managed, somehow, not to sob as I laid him down again and quickly made my way out of the room, leaving him to say his last good-byes privately.

But that was not quite the end.  Moments later, Xanatos emerged from the bedroom and whispered something to Healer Soljan which roused her from the semi-fugue state in which she had been sitting since administering to her patient for the last time.  She hurried out to the broad porch that looked out on the river, and started to drag furniture from an outdoor storage compartment.  I hurried to help her, and, together, we put together a nest of lounge chairs and pillows and thick fluffy blankets.  Then she went back inside and, a few minutes later, I heard the heartbroken sobs of a tiny child as she was soothed and carried upstairs by Garen Muln and his bond-mate.

Later, Mira told me about the circumstances of the first bonding of Obi-Wan and Xanatos.  She called it ‘the night of magic', because that's what the two of them called it.  And it seemed appropriate that this day, this night, should reproduce the setting of those magic moments.  Xanatos carried his bond-mate, cocooned in downy drifts of coverlets, to the comfortable nest arranged for them on the porch, and settled in, holding Obi-Wan in his lap.

The silence of the snowfall was soft and perfect, as the prince rocked the two of them in time with some silent cadence.  They spoke little, having no need for words, occasionally exchanging tiny kisses and gentle smiles, and nuzzling against each other, as if to share the same skin.

The day wore on, and the silence deepened, and, just as the light began to fade from a sky of polished silver, a delicate chiming rose on a faint stirring in the air, and there was suddenly a glow of warmth, the gentle rainbow radiance of a cloud of ice fyries as they swarmed through the lavender twilight and serenaded the silent lovers with their tender melody.  At the same moment, in the shadows of the surrounding forest, tiny creatures of the night, and of the winter, crept forward, unable to understand the meaning of the soft summons that called to them within the resonance of the Force, but perceiving that it was important that they answer. I closed my eyes, and somehow knew what spoke to them, and knew the history they shared with the principle figures in this drama. They had come forward on such a night many years before and shared the creation of a miracle.  They must now come forth again and witness its passing, as a deep violet strand of light, invisible to many - but not all - symbolic of a joining that transcended boundaries of reality, pulsed brightly once, twice, before fading into a web of pale strands that slowly dispersed into the night, no longer visible in the physical spectrum at all.

He died in the arms of his beloved, tasting a final, lingering kiss, and whispering his last words with his last breath.  "Love. . . you." And Xanatos sat through the long vigil of the night, cradling the body that breathed no more.

We built the pyre - Xan and Garen and I, each of us distracted enough by our grief to enable us to put aside our differences  - on the tiny platform that overlooked the river, in the place that he had come to love above all others, dressed him in the fawn-colored suede and creamy silk that suited him so well, and, with the sinking of the sun the next day, performed the simple age-old ritual of farewell. The flames consumed his wasted body quickly, and we allowed the wind to take the ashes, as he would have wanted.

Except for one small handful.  Xanatos seemed embarrassed when he disclosed what he wished to do, but I knew at once that it would be a comfort for all of us, and I didn't think our beloved Obi-Wan would object to that.

Life went on from that point, as the universe continued to turn.  Storms raged; stars were born and died; civilizations waxed and waned, and the filthy tumor that was the Empire metastasized and spread its darkness through most of the galaxy, crushing any race or culture that tried to stand against it.  The Deep Core was first to succumb, of course; Borleias and Kuat were in no position to offer resistance, having been the scene of prolonged fighting between factions of the clone armies and the so-called Separatist guerillas, who, of course, turned out to be no such thing.  What gullible fools we all were - and how easily duped - and what a terrible price we, the Jedi, paid for our short-sightedness.  Kashyyyk is now enslaved, after successfully repelling invaders for almost two years; I am told it was an act of treachery that finally brought them down.  Corellia continues to be a source of irritation for both Palpatine and his puppet; the world and the individuals it spawns are a stubborn breed; though technically conquered, the Resistance movement there is alive and well and, if not thriving, certainly robust enough to throw a spanner into the workings of the Imperial machine on a regular basis.  Some worlds, like lovely Alderaan, elected to adopt co-operative postures, pretending full allegiance to Palpatine and his minions, while actually providing massive support to the Rebel Alliance. Of Commenor, little is known; it has been ominously silent behind a blockade of droid control ships for many cycles now, but long-range sensors suggest a massive biological/chemical contamination of that once lovely world. Other worlds have suffered similar fates - enough of them to convince most of the remaining unaligned planets to give up any notions of repelling the Empire's advances or retaining their independence, counting the cost as too dear.

Most have accepted Palpatine's yoke of bondage without a single shot being fired, as the Imperials have demonstrated neither reluctance nor remorse over the use of weapons of mass destruction.

And we, the remnants of the Jedi and the subjects of Xanatos Aji, prince of Telos, stood quietly on our secluded little sanctuary world and watched it happen and thought we finally understood the dimensions of the evil that stood back and watched us in turn and bided its time.

We were wrong.

Great care had been taken by all involved to make certain that no hint of the presence of former Jedi or other Force sensitives or, in particular, the enormously gifted children of Anakin Skywalker was ever whispered beyond the boundaries of Arbory, and, although it is impossible to be completely sure, I am still convinced that the effort to restrict that knowledge was successful.  But the story of the love affair between the prince of Telos and his ex-Jedi consort was something else entirely.  The tale had taken on mythical proportions, and the depth of the love between the two was spoken of with great reverence, on a galactic scale, proving, I suppose, that even the hardest of hearts can be touched by a romantic epic of star-crossed lovers.

Obi-Wan had always expected that, sooner or later, Anakin would come for him, harboring old grudges that could only be satisfied with copious amounts of blood.

He was right, of course, but none of us realized at the time just how right he would prove to be.  When he died, after much painful discussion, we decided that the fact of his death must be publicized, believing that the news of his passing would satisfy Anakin's dark cravings.  Unfortunately, we all underestimated the depth of Lord Vader's thirst for revenge; we made the mistake of expecting rational behavior from one who was consumed with irrational passions.  It was not enough, we learned, that Obi-Wan was dead; it would only be enough - maybe - if everything and everyone he loved were destroyed with him, with one particular prize being preserved as a gift for the Emperor.

Anakin - who had never discovered the existence of his own children - had learned that Obi-Wan had a daughter, and the discovery had renewed the dark fire in the Sith Lord's black heart.  He would exterminate all those who had been loyal to Kenobi, and he would possess the child of the usurper's loins, bending her to his will and to the service of darkness.  Thus his revenge would be complete, when the moment was right.

It was almost three years after that unforgettable winter afternoon, when we bade final farewell to our beloved Obi-Wan, when Xanatos and I received a communiqué from the co-ordinator of his clandestine intelligence network, advising that Vader's fleet had departed from the massive Imperial base on Obroa-Skai two days earlier, amid confusing rumors and conflicting clues about its destination, but data collected from formerly trustworthy deep-cover agents indicated that the official word about a mission to investigate rumors of a newly-constructed shipyard on the fringe of the Cron Drift was nothing more than deliberate misdirection.

The fleet was actually on its way to Arbory and would arrive in eleven days.

There was no real evidence to corroborate that conclusion, but the risk was too great.  We dared not ignore the possibility that our information was correct.

The time had come to deal with the consequences of the past.

Fortunately, we were not completely unprepared, thanks largely to Obi-Wan's precognitive visions, and the determination and logistic genius of the prince of Telos.  Xanatos, ever mindful of his duty to his subjects and - even more important - the legacy left to him by the love of his life, had prepared an alternative site for our little colony, smaller, more remote, and not quite so lovely, but ideal in other ways.  He had expended enormous sums of energy and effort and large portions of his personal fortune in constructing shelters and stockpiling supplies and building passive defenses including shielding that was virtually undetectable, even on a planetary scale.

It was located on one of a cluster of small moons in a system so remote and so unpopulated that it had no name, only a numeric designation - CX5477 - just light minutes away from the vast darkness of the Unknown Regions.

During the next four days, I had good cause to remember all the characteristics I had so admired in the young boy who had been my second apprentice.  Xanatos was a dynamo, organizing, planning, guiding, cajoling when necessary and browbeating when cajoling didn't work.  He eased fears, and soothed frayed tempers, and bolstered flagging spirits, solved problems and found solutions, and, in the end, he accomplished what he set out to do.  So efficient were his methods, and so exacting his blueprints for progress, that the entire colony was ready for transport in record time, early enough to evade even the speediest of long-range imperial scouts.  Even most of the fruits of the recent harvests were secured in the bins of two massive cargo carriers, which would be tethered to the transport ships.

On the sixth day, the two of us - with Princess Ciara - stood on the platform built over the river as the first slice of liquid sun eased its way over the eastern horizon, painting the water below with a patina of shimmering copper that always reminded me of the color of my beloved's hair.  Xan's eyes were dark with memory, so I was fairly sure that he noticed the similarity as well. His daughter stood close against him, his hands on her shoulders, and none of us seemed to find appropriate words to fill the moment.

Before us, in the exact center of the platform, a tiny geodesic framework was affixed to a stone pediment, and within that framework, there was a perfectly shaped crystal geode, which contained a pulsing flicker of brilliance, surrounding a miniscule pocket of dark matter.

The last of Obi-Wan's ashes, contained within a flame of Force energy that would burn forever, as long as the framework around it remained intact.

We all knew that such a fate was unlikely, but knew also that it would be wrong, somehow, to remove the tiny marker from the magic of that place.  What remained of the man he had been was there, in the place he had loved so well. 

He was, after all, beyond the reach of the vengeance that sought to eradicate all traces of his life.

I spent a few moments reaching out through the Force, seeking that familiar presence, but finding only faint echoes of the connection we once shared.  Still, it was enough to assure me that he understood what we were being forced to do and offered his blessing.  I opened my eyes to study Xan's face and realized that he had found what I could not.  A deep, abiding peace had settled on his features, and I am still ashamed to admit that I felt a frisson of envy, as I wished I could feel - for one moment - the joy of a bond renewed and reanimated.

When he opened his eyes, and smiled at me I knew, but I tried to ignore my certainty.

"It's time," I said.  "The ships are waiting."

It was unnecessary for him to say it, but he did anyway, to avoid any ambiguity.

"I'm not going with you."

I opened my mouth to rebuke him - to remind him of his responsibilities - but my harsh words were silenced by the wisdom of a child.

"Tell Daddy," said Ciara Kenobi/Aji, in a small, steady voice, "that I will always love him, and that I miss him."

Xan went to his knees then, and gathered the brave little girl to his chest.  "My beautiful poppet," he whispered.  "I - we - love you so much, and we both wish we could have been here to watch you grow up.  But it isn't meant to be.  I can't go on without him.  I'm sorry to leave you, but I know you'll be strong.  Master Qui-Gon is going to keep you safe, and make sure that you always know how much you are loved.  I beg you to understand that I simply can't leave him here - alone."

"I know, Papa," she answered.  "And I know that both of you are always with me . . . here."  And she touched her hand to her heart, as tears welled in her father's eyes.

He stood quickly then, lifting her and holding her close for a moment, before placing her firmly into my arms, and gazing into my eyes.  "You saved me for him," he said.  "Now I ask you to save her - for both of us."

I wanted to argue - to threaten - to cajole.  But, in the end, I didn't.  I simply clasped his hand and turned and walked away.  When last I saw him, he was standing at the platform railing, framed by the rising radiance of morning. Though I saw nothing to indicate it, I have always believed that he was not standing there alone.

We made our escape in good time, and, sixteen days later, debarked at our new home.  Settling in and organizing our new colony was time-consuming and involved much hard physical labor, which turned out to be a blessing.  We had little time to spend in conjecture or contemplation.

Ciara was quiet and introspective in those early days, but she proved repeatedly that she was the daughter of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Xanatos Aji, carrying herself with a dignity far beyond her tender years.  And she took comfort in her connection to the Skywalker twins - a connection that would grow and bear sweet fruit in later years.

It was almost six cycles before we received any intelligence reports from Xan's clandestine operatives, and I think we had all believed that we were prepared to deal with whatever information might be provided.

We weren't, but, in the end, it made no difference.

We survived - thanks to the foresight and planning and determination of two brilliant young men.  Arbory did not.

I cannot be sure of the course of events that saw the end of that lovely, bucolic world, and there is no way to verify what did or did not happen.  As a result of the weapons unleashed there, the planet is now a barren wasteland, poisoned by toxic bio-agents and incapable of supporting life.  It is unlikely it will ever recover.

Xanatos, of course, is dead; I felt him die.

But I also felt the tremendous rush of joy that touched him in his final moment.  I know that he has found what he sought, and they are together now.  Forever.

As for Anakin, it may be that he achieved his fondest desire in that last fiery cataclysm that preceded the distribution of the chemical agents that would scour the planet's surface of all life, but I don't really think so.  Perhaps it is only wishful thinking - and how remarkable is it that I can even admit that to myself - but I think that, in the end, Anakin lost.

I choose to believe that, in the grip of his deep, vile hatred, he did not find what he was looking for; he did not succeed in wiping out every trace of the one person he never managed to defeat.

I choose to believe that, on that barren, desolate world, a small platform still stands, tall and visible in the blackened wasteland, and that, at its center, a tiny flame continues to burn, and that the one inscription - eight small words - is still discernible in the stone base.

It bears no name, but its meaning is unmistakable for all who ever walked there and felt his presence.

"The river runs, but the song is silent."

But that is no longer true.  Somewhere, I know, Obi-Wan is singing.

FINI