Tags
completed stories, completely random posts, contrast, rambling musings, short stories, star wars
Well, since I don’t have a new chapter of Battlefield of the Soul, but I do have a hard drive full of little gems such as The First Time, You Never Know, and I Called Him Wormtongue, I decided to post another one of my never-before-seen short stories. Enjoy!
Author’s Note: The Shi’len are a creation of mine. They’re a human race–not quite a separate species–with a much longer lifespan. đ
Walk by Night
               Jillayeaâs measured pace turned up the Temple, step by step. She could not sleep. She had not slept for nights.
It was peaceful here, in the Temple precincts, when the sun had gone and the Jedi were resting. Jillayea followed the tiled floors down toward the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was refreshing, more so than sleep.
âDo you often walk here by night?â a voice asked, softly. Jillayea looked around, startled, for the owner of the voice. It was a nice voice, she contemplated, with an upper-class accent that was almost a brogue; a clear tenor, ringing, lilting, almost brassy, yet with an understated richness that surprised her. It carried something more than gentleness, something not quite remorse; though young, it was ancient, and rich with memory.
Jillayea did not see the voiceâs owner at first, then she spotted him, standing in a corner. She hadnât seen him before, though something about him was vaguely familiar; she couldnât place exactly what. He was perhaps in his late teens, with a compact, sturdy build, and of only mediocre height. It was his eyes, though, that caught her attention. They were not quite blue, not quite gray, not quite green, but a strange balance of all three; continuously changing, but somehow at rest, at the same time. Ancient eyes, that had seen more than many a Jedi.
Somehow, Jillayea tore her eyes from the young manâs eyes and took stock of his appearance. Handsome, with a cleft chin and dimpled cheeks, square jaw, broad but shallow cheekbones, straight nose with perhaps a miniscule break, thick, slightly ruffled auburn hair. Jillayea self-consciously straightened her somewhat rumpled tunics. A slight humorous twinkle of amusement lightened those strange eyes. Something about the eyes made Jillayea feel that, despite his appearance, she should be calling him âmaster.â âWell?â he continued softly. âDo you often walk here by night?â
âNot often,â Jillayea said slowly. âDo you?â The young man shrugged.
âI live here,â he said quietly. It seemed like a somewhat strange answer to Jillayea. âWhat are you looking for, young one?â There was a world of experience in the words, and, strangely enough, for once Jillayea did not object to being called young.
âI donât know.â she said quietly.
âThe answers are simple, arenât they?â he continued. Very soft-spoken, but Jillayea had the feeling that he could be intimidating, if he wanted to be. âPeace of mind, hope, dreams which wonât break, release from grief or sorrow, or even escape from nightmares. Itâs harder to tell which one you are seeking, though.â His eyes still held a faint whisper of innocence, somehow, though it was tempered by harsh trials in the school of life. âPerhaps, meditation might help. Wandering the halls of the Temple by night, not so much. Go back to bed, child.â He smiled at her. Jillayea smiled back. It was a good nightâŚ
The next thing Jillayea knew, it was morning.
Epilogue
               âMaster Skywalker?â Jillayea asked.
âYes, Jillayea,â Luke Skywalker replied, looking up from the book he was perusing.
âI wanted to ask you about⌠well, a Padawan I met, or perhaps a young knightâŚâ Jillayea blushed furiously. Here she was, dithering over someone whose name she did not even know, and she didnât even have romantic feelings for him.
âOf course. What was his, or her, name?â
âI donât know. He was smallish, well-built, a bit taller than you perhaps, but not quite as tall as Captain Solo⌠Ruddy hair, piercing eyes⌠Oh, and one more thing⌠his eyes seemed to change color.â An odd expression crossed Lukeâs face. He turned back to his desk and pulled a few books and papers out of the way, lifting a piece of canvas with a painted portrait of a young man on it.
âIs this him?â Luke asked. Jillayea nodded, eyes going wide.
âYes! How did you know?â Luke smiled slightly.
âI know him well, very well.â
âWhatâs his name? I would like to contact himâŚâ
âHis name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.â
âIs he currently in the Temple?â Luke, inexplicably, did not directly address the question.
âHe was my fatherâs mentor, and eventually mine as wellâŚâ
âSo⌠heâs Shiâlen?â
âJillayea, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been dead for almost twenty years.â Jillayea gasped.
âHeâŚâ
âYes. But I donât think Obi-Wan was the type to ever retire.â Luke smiled. âItâs good to know that heâs still around, helping us.â A faint shimmer gleamed upon the still, dust-sparkling air. Neither of them actually heard a voice, but they could have sworn that they did.
Always, old friend.