Dark Day: Part Nine

Part Nine

     Had Lire thought that taking Carth down to the Council chambers would be a simple task, she would’ve been mistaken.  Fortunately, she understood his pain and confusion and expected just that.  During the whole walk there, he was a nervous wreck.  He certainly maintained some degree of outward poise and composure, but the way his hand tightly clutched hers told another tale.  Then again, there was the matter of their connection; his anxiety rolled off him in great, almost tidal-like waves, and she could definitely feel it.  When she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, he turned his head ever so slightly in her direction and offered a wan smile.  Lire felt her heart clench in sympathy, and she reached over to take his arm.  As it was, despite his nervousness, the way he held her hand appeared to be merely out of camaraderie and less as if Lire were leading him along; now Lire’s hand on his arm evidenced concern.

     “It’s okay,” she said. “Relax.  They’re just gonna take a look.”

     “That’s the part that bothers me.”

     “I think you can trust the Council not to pry into anything personal, Carth.  Sure, it’d be hilarious if it turned out that the Jedi Council was comprised of gossip lovers, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the case.”

     “Ha, ha,” Carth muttered. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Jedi Council revealed to be little more than gossiping old biddies.’”

     Lire had to admit that that quip tickled her sense of humor, and she held back a bark of laughter so long that it came out as a muffled snort.  Carth chuckled under his breath, and after a moment, Lire lightly whacked him across the arm.

     “You’d better not ever say that in front of them.  Actually, I don’t care what you say in front of Vrook and even Bastila, but I rather like the rest.  For the record, though, that was a good one.”

     Carth grinned at her only a moment, but that charming smile was gone as quickly as it appeared as they neared the Council chambers.  A small, brightly-colored bird was twittering in the tree at the center of the Enclave’s upper level, and when it sang a particularly loud, cheerful note, Carth’s head immediately whipped in that direction.  He paused as if to listen, and Lire lingered beside him a moment.

     “I bet it’s a nice day out,” he said, tone almost longing. “Blue sky?”

     “Not a cloud in it,” Lire replied with a nod.

     “Sunshine?”

     “Enough to give a sunbather a nice tan.”

     “Hm.  What else?”

     Lire noted the semblance of wistfulness in his voice, and she understood what he was doing.  He was trying to create an image in his mind of the day so he could have something beautiful to remember should this blindness never be remedied.  She decided to take a moment to share the world with him; after all, this was his way of saying “Show me,” and she didn’t want to deny him that.  So she took his hand and led him to a nearby bench under the shadow of an eave, surrounded by fragrant flowers.

     “The bleeding hearts are blooming,” she said, taking his hand and brushing it against that plant. “The flowers are so gorgeous; they’re pink and red, and because they’re in the shade and the sun hasn’t gotten to them yet, there’s a little dew left on them.  The grass is dark green and soft; it’s like walking on carpet.”

     “Someday you’re going to have to let me off my boots and try that,” Carth murmured. Lire smiled and touched his fingertips to her face to show him that.

     “What’s wrong with now?” she asked, slipping off the thick-soled boots she wore beneath her robes and wiggling her toes down into the cool grass.

     Carth paused in momentary thought before reaching down and wrenching off his boots, slinging them to the side of the bench.  The next thing Lire knew, his feet had vanished completely into the soft green fibers of nature’s rug.

     “That ain’t so bad,” he said with a little smile. “All right, what else?”

     “Well . . .”

     Lire took a minute to look around and study her surroundings.  She’d never really taken the time to observe the Enclave in grand detail; serving as Carth’s eyes, however, now taught her a greater appreciation for the world around her.  Her deep blue eyes drank in every vista, every detail of the day, and she was so very grateful for the gift of sight.  And not only did she observe everything; she took time to listen, too.  By the time a few moments had passed, she was ready to describe the Enclave.

     “Some new Knights are meditating about ten feet away,” she said. “They’re trying not to be proud of themselves, but it’s not working.  If you listen, you can hear the fountains bubbling outside in the courtyard.  Judging by the giggling, I’ll bet some Padawans dumped a load of soap into one of them again.  Master Vrook’s going to get after them any minute now; yep, there he goes.”  She giggled as she watched the grumpy Master stride past, and Carth chuckled as he envisioned the scene.  Lire took another look around and went back to her description.  “There are birds all in the central tree; it almost sounds as if they’re singing courtship songs, so I guess that’s why they’re so beautiful today.  The loud one you hear is bright, bright red with some yellow; it looks about like a Republic uniform, actually!”

     Carth scrunched up his nose in disapproval; he certainly remembered the days of wearing those uniforms, and he didn’t like them any more now than he did then.  As Lire paused again to take another look around, he ran his hand across a nearby bush, fingers brushing against a flower whose brilliant red petals felt like fine velvet.  He could tell by its texture and fragrance that it was a rose; once he’d learned that the Jedi at the Enclave often planted flowers in memory of other Jedi—those slain in combat—so that the Force that the Jedi in question once wielded could now be used for maintaining life.  At first it’d seemed to him like a somewhat ludicrous practice if not a little overly sentimental (for the Jedi, anyway), but now he understood.  He continued to run his hands across the rosebush, barely flinching when one of the thorns dug into his battle-calloused palm and a droplet of his blood splattered onto a glossy green leaf.  He just gently fingered one bloom in particular; this one felt like a tight, new bud that was just opening.

     “Hey, Lire?” he said, and Lire turned in his direction. “What color is it?”

     “Red,” she replied. “As red as a sunset on the plains.  Do you want it cut?”

     “What the hell.  Cockpit could stand a little sprucing up anyway.”

     Lire grinned as she eased over, slipping a small knife from a sheath bound tightly against the side of her lower leg.  She always kept that blade there since she never knew when she would be otherwise unarmed.  That was a holdover from her scouting days; she knew always to be prepared for whatever might come her way.  So she scooted over closer to Carth, leaning over him and reaching for the one bloom he seemed to favor above all the others.  Then, with one quick motion, she severed the rose from the rest of the bush, leaving the one perfect blossom in her hand.  She gently pressed it into Carth’s open palm, careful not to stab him with the thorns.  He turned the rose over in his hands for a moment or two, touching its petals and leaves and inhaling its sweet scent.  Then he handed it to Lire.

     “Might as well get those thorns off,” he said. “This is gonna sound stupid, but . . . well, would you wear it until we get back to the ship?  It’d look better on you than on me, anyway.”

     “Nonsense,” Lire replied, taking the rose from him and gingerly breaking off the thorns as he’d requested. “Haven’t you ever seen men with flowers in their lapels?”

     “Well,” Carth answered, “I’m fresh outta lapels.  And I’d look like an idiot if I had a flower in my hair.”

     Lire laughed as she consented and tucked the rose behind her hair.

     “There,” she said, taking Carth’s hand and letting him feel where she’d placed it. “How’s that suit you?”

     “Fine,” he responded. “I bet you look great.”

     “Well, my hair’s a mess and my robes need a washing, but thanks just the same!”

     She laughed as she turned to look around the Enclave once more.  Standing in the passageway to the Council chambers was Master Vandar, beckoning her to come on inside.  Lire sighed and reached over to tap Carth’s hand, and that quick little touch caused his back to go immediately straight.

     “What’s up?” he asked, sounding as if he’d jump up and fight to the death the moment she gave the word.  Couldn’t take the army out of the soldier, Lire mused.

     “We’re heading in,” she answered. “Time to go see what the Council can do.”

     “I’d rather impale myself,” came the now-somewhat grumpy reply.  Lire arched an eyebrow.

     “You can’t mean that.”

     “Of course not.  I like myself a little more than that.  But this is like pulling rancor fangs.”

     “I know,” Lire answered with a sigh as she watched Vrook, irritable as ever, march past and toward Vandar. “Were I in your place, I’d rather impale myself, too.”

     “That’s encouraging,” Carth remarked with a scoff. “So now there’s a new cause of death in this galaxy: death by Jedi Council.”

     “Oh, hush!” Lire answered, trying to fight back a laugh. “I swear, you are too much.”

     Carth shrugged a bit, almost in a “Don’t I know it” fashion, as he rose from the bench, listening closely to the sounds of his surroundings to try to determine his exact location.  After a moment, he strode off in the precise direction of the Council chambers, and Lire had to jog after him to keep up.  She didn’t ask how he knew where he was going; she, too, could hear Vrook grumbling about some happening or other—probably the Padawans who’d put soap in the fountains.  And off the two went to see the Council, both barefoot; Lire had not forgotten about their boots but didn’t seem to care.  Instead, she just headed after Carth, and after a minute they arrived at their destination.

     “What those Padawans need is discipline,” Vrook was saying, brows furrowed as they seemingly permanently were. “Soap flakes in the fountains . . .  How juvenile!”

     “They are still children, Master Vrook,” Vandar replied gently, his gaze flicking to Lire and Carth for a moment. “This is easily forgivable.  But we will speak of this later, if need be.  Now we must deal with a more pressing matter.”

     He turned slowly, shuffling closer to the center of the chambers and waving Lire forward with a three-fingered hand.  Lire gave him a respectful nod; if there was one Jedi Master for whom she could claim a fondness, Vandar was that Master.

     “Padawan Dakaar, Captain Onasi, come in,” he said, motioning them over. “We have been expecting you.”

     Carth didn’t say anything; he just followed Lire forward when he heard her feet on the chamber floor.  When her motion stopped, so did his; Lire could tell that even though the Council were silent, they were impressed by his sharp hearing.  She could also tell that Vrook was positively itching with the questions of why they were both barefoot and why she was wearing a flower in her hair.  Lire decided not to answer either of those before they were even asked; she decided just to let the seemingly cantankerous Master steam for a while.  It provided her with a rather pleasant sensation of getting a one-up on him—a feeling that Bastila would certainly condemn as being of the Dark Side, were she given the opportunity.

     “Please, be seated,” Vandar said as the three other Masters settled themselves down; he himself had no need to sit as his stature did not require it.  Lire followed suit, as did Carth, though much more hesitantly. “Now, Captain, has the Padawan explained this . . . connection to you?”

     “She tried,” Carth answered rather frankly.

     Lire tried to send the Council the sensation that it had not been a good day, and three out of four nodded understandingly; Vrook just harrumphed but said nothing.  Dorak shifted momentarily before clearing his throat.

     “Normally, bonds are simple connections formed by close association, such as the bond between a Master and his Padawan,” he explained. “Others can be more complex, but this is not one of those—not exactly.  Its explanation would be relatively simple: you have simply been acquainted with Lire for several months now.  But what makes this strange is that you have unwittingly transmitted your pain to her.”

     Dorak went on to describe Lire’s episode from earlier and how that had been caused by this connection.  The whole time, Lire kept a close eye on Carth and watched as he gradually paled and grew slightly more fidgety.  She dared not reach over and touch him, however; she knew how the Jedi frowned upon attachments, no matter how foolish she considered that rule to be.  She simply listened patiently as the Masters explained the situation to Carth, ultimately taking the longest route conceivable to get to the subject of healing his internal wounds. 

     “To heal on such a scale is possible,” Zhar said calmly. “It requires great concentration, however, but is indeed feasible.  Now, this may come as a shock to you, but you seem to possess a greater concentration of the Force than the average human, Captain.”

     Lire’s stomach flipped over; she’d felt as if that were possible, but she’d never thought it would be so.  When all remaining color drained from Carth’s face, she immediately reached over and gripped his hand, ignoring every last one of the Council’s anti-relationship rules.  Right now her compatriot was in a delicate place; one wrong move could send him into a permanent breakdown.

     “So . . .” Carth asked slowly, his voice almost, almost quivering but somehow staying steady, “that means I could be a . . . Jedi?”

     “No,” Zhar replied softly. “Your Force presence isn’t strong enough to allow for training, I’m afraid, but it does seem to grant you certain intuitive skills.”

     “Told you that you weren’t just paranoid,” Lire whispered, and for a split second, a smile flashed across Carth’s face.  But then he turned his sightless gaze to the Council.

     “So where are you going with this?” he questioned.  Lire could tell that he did not want to be there; the way his hand was in his jacket pocket, tightening and loosening around that bit of chain, all too clearly evidenced this. “What destiny garbage are you gonna spew out now?”

     Lire murmured his name with a chiding tone as the Council shifted a little uncomfortably.  It was one thing for him to mention those negative views to her or one of the others; to mention them to the Council’s face was brash—but Lire rather liked knowing that she had someone at her back who would speak his mind.  Vrook grumbled something rather uncomplimentary under his breath as he folded his arms, and Lire silently wished that Mission were there.  That girl would’ve flipped Vrook off so fast that the Masters might’ve had gigantic heart attacks.  Vandar reached over and gently touched the back of Carth’s hands.

     “Padawan Dakaar will go in first,” he said, “to ready your mind.  As she is the one to whom you are bonded, this should be painless.  Then we will enter and attempt to heal the damage.”

     “Will his sight be restored?” Lire asked, inching closer to Carth and adjusting the rose in her hair so it didn’t fall out.

     “Perhaps,” Vrook grumped, “but there is, of course, no way to be sure it is not permanent.”

     There was something particularly venomous in the way he’d said that; it had obviously hit a nerve because Carth’s back went instantly straight and both his fists clenched.  Lire allowed herself to break from the picture of an obsequious Jedi Padawan that the Council so liked to see as she shot Vrook the nastiest glare she could manage.

     “Master Vrook,” she said firmly, voice low but barbed, “I would appreciate it if you did not speak to him in such a matter from now on.  Were you in his situation, you would not appreciate it if a cantankerous old grump of a Jedi Master informed you that you may never see again!  So with all due respect, Master, you ought to consider apologizing.”

     “I will do no such thing!” Vrook bellowed, but Vandar nudged him.

     “Be silent, Master Vrook,” he warned. “The Padawan is indeed correct.  We are here to help him and not to fling insults.  That is not the Jedi way.”

     Vrook’s scowl deepened; nonetheless, he nodded once, briskly, in Carth’s direction.

     “Pardon my behavior.”

     Carth shifted on the chamber floor, seemingly preparing himself to leap up and run away as fast as he could and as soon as he could.  Lire just sighed; that Vrook had not liked her from the moment the Ebon Hawk had first landed on Dantooine, and she still couldn’t figure out why.  She hadn’t done anything wrong . . .  Perhaps it was simply decided, whether by the Force or by simple fate, that Vrook should never be friendly toward her.

     There was a moment of awkward silence in the Council chambers.  Lire could clearly feel Carth’s mounting tension, and that, in turn, caused her to grow anxious.  After a moment, Dorak cleared his throat ever so faintly, preparing to pick up where Vandar had left off.

     “Captain Onasi,” he said gently, “if you would please attempt to relax, we can get started on helping you.  Don’t expect an instant miracle, though; even healing through the Force takes time, especially when we are dealing with something as delicate as the human brain.  Are you willing?”

     “Might as well,” Carth replied somberly, voice somewhat quiet. “Lire seems to think you can do something.”

     Lire heard the unvoiced “But I ain’t expecting much” in his tone, and her heart clenched.  She slid closer to him, drawing her knees under herself and reaching for his hands.  She looked at Vandar, waiting for the signal to begin.  Vandar nodded once, solemnly, and Lire gazed at Carth, giving his hands a squeeze.

     “Focus on my voice,” she said, and Carth nodded ever so faintly. “Just relax.  Think of something that calms you.  I’ll be gentle; I swear it.”

     She could tell that he still wasn’t sure about all this, but she had worked tirelessly to earn his trust, and now she felt that she had.  She felt that he would be willing to allow her inside, and she gripped his hands as hard as she dared before focusing her energy inward.  As she had earlier, she meandered through her own mind, searching for the link she’d found.  When she found that bridge, she gently crossed it into Carth’s consciousness; she knew he’d felt her there because his hands shook momentarily.  She whispered a gentle reassurance right to his mind because she felt the Council members entering slowly behind her.  She had, after all, agreed to pave the way.  Onward she continued, trying to calm Carth as she went.  He was trying to stay calm, trying to concentrate, but Lire could only imagine what this was like for him.  No doubt that it was as if the very heart of who he was had been invaded; in a sense, that was indeed what they were doing.  Lire felt a stab of guilt for that, so she tried to send calming waves through him.  It didn’t work; not at first, at least.  He did seem to relax a little more, but she saw the reason when she looked around inside his mind.  He was thinking of home, of Telos, of the white sand beaches and the crystal clear waves.  He was thinking of the lush, green grass, sparkling with dew in the early morning sunlight . . .  Lire saw small blank spots there, though—blank spots that hid memories of the native flowers and birds and their names . . .  As the Council spread out to heal his mind, Lire concentrated on that one spot and on restoring the thoughts of his home.  For someone who had lost so much, remembering the names of flowers would be a small but welcome gift.

     That task drained Lire’s strength far faster than she’d thought it would have.  Still she kept at it, though; she didn’t want to give up when she was making such great progress.  Nonetheless, she was growing steadily more exhausted, and after a moment, Zhar’s voice drifted through her mind:  Padawan.  Rest yourself.  It would not do you any good to lose yourself inside him.  You may never return to yourself should that happen.

     Lire jumped slightly as she paused and studied her work.  She had indeed made progress; where once there were fragmented memories were now whole ones.  Perhaps she could stand to rest a while . . .  So she carefully backed away until she had returned to the present, and she blinked her eyes open, glancing around the Council chambers.  It was silent as space there, but she could tell that the Masters were still hard at work with their healing.  Carth was stone still but pale; was this draining him as much as it had her?  That hardly seemed plausible, but then each Master opened his eyes.  Carth slumped sideways, but Lire quickly caught and steadied him, allowing his head to lean against her shoulder.  She glared almost accusatively at the Council, but three out of four just looked sympathetic.

     “He is all right,” Vandar assured her. “We decided to let him sleep for a time to recover his strength.”

     “Did you heal him?” Lire asked.

     “As much as possible,” Dorak replied, sounding slightly out of breath. “There is a little left undone; it may take one or two more sessions like this to completely heal it all.”

     “Will he see again?”

     The Masters exchanged a look—rather, the three who seemed to care exchanged a glance.  Vrook just harrumphed and folded his arms.

     “He may,” Zhar replied, “in time.  We could not reach that part of him . . .  It was as if he had been intentionally guarding his sight against us.”

     “Why would he do that?” Lire questioned as shock knocked the breath out of her. “I thought he wanted to see again!”

     Her hold on Carth grew only more protective, and the Masters just looked sympathetic.  Even Vrook’s stern countenance appeared to soften momentarily.  Granted, they all warned constantly against the “dangers” of attachments, but Lire was struggling to maintain the appearance of being merely a concerned friend lest the Council think there was something more.  Perhaps there was; she had no real way of knowing.  As far as she could remember, there had only ever been one man in her life that she had completely adored.  Of course, he had been nothing like Carth . . . but still.

     “I received the impression that he wished to understand what the galaxy was like without seeing it,” Vandar said quietly.

     “He . . . what?”  Lire blinked in surprise.  “That makes no sense!”

     “Perhaps it will,” Vrook interjected. “As he is struggling to understand, so should you understand him.”

     Lire wanted to scream that she did understand him and that she understood him far better than the Council ever could have.  She bit her lip to keep from exploding in an angry fit, and just at that moment, Carth stirred in her arms.  His eyes blinked open, and the question that flew out of Lire’s mouth came so suddenly and thoughtlessly that she berated herself over it.

     “Can you see?”

     The answer was equally abrupt but far more sullen.

     “No.”

     Lire’s heart sank even though she’d been expecting that response.  Although the Council had warned them not to expect instantaneous miracles, she had allowed herself to hope.  Carth’s broad shoulders slumped ever so faintly, but Vandar padded over to him and touched his hand.

     “Have no fear,” he said. “We were able to make great progress at healing your mind.  We have asked Lire to bring you back tomorrow so we may work again.”

     Carth didn’t say anything; he just pushed himself up.  His stance was slightly wobbly but soon grew more rigid, and Lire rose from the floor as well, nodding respectfully at the Masters.

     “Thank you,” she said. “We will return tomorrow.”

     She reached out and touched Carth’s arm as a signal that they could leave the Council chambers.  He didn’t need to be asked twice; as it were, he seemed to wish to be halfway to the door.  But he left with Lire, still not saying anything, and he held his silence until they left the Council.  Once they were outside, he slammed his curled fist into the wall, causing Lire to jump.

     “They didn’t do anything,” he growled. “Didn’t do one damn thing.”

     “They fixed some of the damage, Carth,” Lire answered gently, putting a hand on his shoulder and biting her lip when he shrugged it off.

     “Didn’t make me see again, though.”

     “They . . .”  Lire paused as she found herself rather unable to explain.  She sighed.  “They said that you didn’t want to be healed.”

     “Not want—!  They’re insane.  Why wouldn’t I want to see again?  It’s dark in here, Lire!  It’s like—”

     “Like there’s no one else in the galaxy but you; I know.”

     “Do you?  Do you really?  I hate this!”

     Lire flinched faintly when he slammed his fist into the wall again, but she grimaced when he pulled his hand away and she saw that he’d accidentally hit a jagged stone in the wall.  A splotch of red now stood out in harsh contrast against the plain gray façade, and Carth hissed in an angry, pained breath as he shook out his hand and cradled it momentarily against his chest.  Lire took his hand and pressed it between hers, focusing some of her power on it.  The gash sealed rather quickly as the bleeding stopped, but Lire didn’t let go. 

     “I know you hate it,” she said. “They tried, Flyboy; they tried.  They had to get through the rest of the damage first, I think, and they haven’t gotten through it all just yet.  But they healed parts that were fragmented before; I know because I saw them do it!  Just . . . hold on.  Hold on a little longer, please.  You’re afraid, but that’s all right because I am, too.”

     Carth was again quiet.  Lire had learned that he often did this: he often had explosive moments before going absolutely silent for extended periods.  She turned his hand over and inspected his palm, touching her first two fingers to it and healing the prick from the rosebush’s thorns.  Then she took the rose from her hair and pressed it into his hand; his fingers curled gingerly around it.

     “Want to go for a walk?” she asked.  He shook his head.

     “Rather not.  Besides . . . this thing needs water.”

     He turned and started off toward the Ebon Hawk, and this time, Lire didn’t go with him.  She watched as he ran his hands along the Enclave’s walls and muttered directions under his breath.  He stumbled only once but never fell and was never off-balance for long.  Lire watched him go until she could no longer see him, but she was certain he had made it back to the ship without any problems.  She wasn’t ready to return the ship herself, however, and the plains seemed to beckon her.  So she turned toward them and stepped outside the Enclave, entering the courtyard but walking beyond it.

     There was not a kath hound for a mile in any direction, and the plains were completely desolate and quiet—more so than usual.  Lire found that mildly suspicious but didn’t take it to heart; after all, many a place was quiet that time of day.  She kept walking, letting the warm breeze tug playfully at her hair and allowing the sun to warm her face and cloak her in its golden rays.  But that tranquil moment ended rather abruptly when something crunched in the tall grass not too far away.  Lire came to a standstill, dark blue eyes scanning her surroundings.  There was nothing she could see, but she could not shake the sudden feeling of doom that hung over her.

     “Carth?” she called. “Flyboy, that you?”

     No response.  The crackling was a little louder, and her hand flew to her hip and her lightsaber.  Whatever was out there was too stealthy to be a kath hound; in her experience, hungry hounds tended to lunge for their prey’s throat, not stalk like a gurrcat.  Even her Jedi training did not dull her human emotions of fear and anxiety, both of which were quite strong now.  She swallowed hard as whatever was out there seemed to draw nearer, and her hand clenched around the silvery hilt of her lightsaber.  Maybe it was Mission trying to play a joke on her.  Or maybe it wasn’t.

     “Carth?” she called one last time even though she was almost certain that it was not he who was out there. “Flyboy?”

     This time, only a low, dark chuckle answered her.