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“Jedha?” Enya knew she ought not to sound quite so puzzled, and that Master Creighton Sun must have a dozen good reasons for this destination, but it was still a questioning look that she gave her new teacher.
Master Creighton smiled gently at her. “I've always thought of Jedha as a good place for new beginnings, Padawan.” He still sounded like he was trying out the word. Enya guessed that the partnership between teacher and student was something all Masters had to grow into, like an unfamiliar garment, and that was true even if a Master had trained a Padawan before.
Even for Master Yoda or Master Obratuk? she wondered. Perhaps they were exceptions, by dint of their long lifespans.
It must've been like this for Master Char-Ryl too, she realised. Only a little Enya had been too caught up in everything to realise that, too thrilled and fascinated by new lessons and worlds, too awed by her mentor to see him as anything but serene and assured, and-
“Enya? Are you alright there?”
Enya fought the prickling of tears. “Yes, Master.”
Creighton wasn't fooled. He crossed to her and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. “That's the other reason I thought we ought to go to Jedha, Enya. I think it'll give us both a chance to reflect, and maybe to process our grief a little.”
For a moment Enya tried to fight the trembling of her lip, but it won out. She let her head slump against Creighton’s shoulder. “I miss him so badly, Master.”
“As do I, Enya. Char-Ryl was a fine Jedi, and a brilliant teacher.” Something in his tone caught her off-guard. Lifting her head, Enya regarded her new mentor through her tears. His eyes were soft in a way she couldn’t really recall them being before. “He was the sort of teacher who can become a Padawan’s rock, which makes his loss all the worse. Force knows, it pains me too.”
That helped, somewhat. Master Creighton did help Enya to temper her sense of loss, to keep it in perspective. She knew that he was grappling with the loss of other friends too, Aida Forte the most prominent of them. But the pain didn’t go away entirely.
Navigating this grief was like tracking through some fairytale forest, the sinister sort where every root, creeper and bramble sought malevolently to snag you. Life as Char-Ryl Roy’s Padawan had come with a myriad of little cues. They wove together like fabric, the comfort of a favourite cloak or tabard – the sort that a Jedi wasn’t really meant to have favourites of anyway, but still took comfort in. Now Enya was left with a thousand small reminders of her Master’s absence.
There were unexpected, even silly-seeming little ways in which it manifested. When Creighton entered a room Enya was already in, and she was unprepared, she would be momentarily brought up short by a tread which wasn't quite Master Char-Ryl’s, a human silhouette a little shorter than the Cerean Master. Char-Ryl’s conical skull had never ceased to be striking to her - indeed, she’d always wondered how he avoided striking it on low doorways, though he always managed to pass through with no loss of composure.
In those moments, Enya would feel a split-second of puzzlement at why the shape she saw didn’t conform to Char-Ryl’s. Just as quickly as that confusion occurred, however, a fresh surge of sorrow would flood in after it, along with a stab of shame that she could forget the loss, however briefly.
That these moments felt silly and little only put a sharper edge on the pangs of loss which Enya felt every time.
"Well, it cer'ainly sounds like a date," Tey grinned when Matty told him. “You’ll be all set for a dancing partner at the Festival.”
“We barely know each other,” Matty protested. “I mean, we swapped messages a bunch when she and Master Roy were going to be coming here but that doesn’t really mean much as far as I can tell – and she just lost Master Roy anyway.”
“That would seem less-than-conducive to a date,” Tey admitted, and tilted his head the other way. “But perhaps it's still a good reason to have one. Or just a day out, if you want to call it that.”
“I do. Because it's not a date.”
“Sure it isn’t.”
Matty was very lucky that as a red-skinned Twi'lek, she was at minimal risk of getting caught blushing. Unfortunately, Tey seemed able to read just about anyone’s face.
She was spared by the entrance of her Master. Vildar strode in briskly, not even breaking stride as he eyed their Sephi friend with a mixture of approach and amusement. “I think you might’ve wound my new apprentice up enough now, Tey.”
“Not everyone’s spring is wound as tight as yours, Villy. Though Master Tight-on might be able to rival you.” Tey realised that he'd undermined his own point, and dealt with it in the usual way. He shrugged it off. “Anyway my point is that all it’ll take is for the Festival to start, and most of this city will let their hair or lekku or lehorns down in an instant. I don’t doubt our Matty will be one of ‘em.”
Vildar came to a halt, and crossed his arms. “Nevertheless, I’d appreciate you relenting for the moment. Especially as my Padawan isn't letting her lekku down just yet. In fact,” he said, now looking straight at Matty, “I need her to grab a warm cloak now, as we’ll be heading for the spaceport in about, oh, five minutes.”
The approach to Jedha City, Enya thought, was fittingly arduous for a pilgrimage. Winds buffeted the little ship, seemingly from all directions. Given that, Enya felt that the planet Najedha, hanging serenely and seemingly immobile in the sky above them, was somehow mocking the two Jedi.
Creighton handled the controls as ably as Char-Ryl had, though his demeanour was rather different. Where Char-Ryl would go quiet, projecting serenity as if he hoped to set a good example which the wind might follow, Creighton argued with the elements.
“Leave off, if you please. Leave off,” he muttered, leaning hard into a rightward steer, keeping them on track, before exclaiming “Oh, that's hardly necessary!” as the air pressure dropped right beneath them and the ship dipped sharply.
Still, he was an old hand at piloting, and quite equal to any unnecessaryness on the part of Jedha’s atmosphere. Enya was even treated to a fairly stable view of the mountains before those gave way to the squat, broad mesa from which the Holy City was built. It was certainly imposing, albeit a less elegant sight than she might have imagined. The place was rugged, with the city’s teeming buildings enclosed by the blocky walls.
Casting her eyes at those immense, plunging slopes, Enya wondered if they had been originally reared to guard against sandstorms, or against besieging armies. Jedha had been coveted by many sects and other powers, both for its sacral quality and its great wealth of Kyber crystals. Those had proven ample incentive to invade and attempt to seize the moon, more than once.
The Temple, which rose far higher than anything else, was the only thing to tower above them. Enya could well imagine how that might have bred resentment of the Jedi, when it had truly been theirs. Of course it was built to venerate the Force, rather than any power the Jedi claimed for themselves, but the nuance was so easily lost even if the Jedi made no mistake. And even if there was no one keen to actively exploit that ill will. Enya had learned from bitter experience that such people were out there. The Path of the Open Hand had fallen, but that didn’t mean it would all go away, and even then, that low-level resentment would still persist.
Creighton was now issuing gentle commands to the landing controls even as he worked their controls. She took that as her cue to focus on the here and now, and she reached for her cloak. “Pull it tight,” Creighton advised her, gathering his own heavy cloak around himself, “draw a deep breath, and brace yourself.”
Enya had read up on Jedha, and knew that its deserts were famously chilly, but even so she flinched at the first bite of its air. She shot an embarrassed glance at Creighton, who appeared unruffled.
“I feel it too,” he assured her. “Maybe I should’ve stopped shaving for a bit, and insulated my chin. But then again, I wouldn’t like to look scruffy on the Holy Moon.”
“I don’t know,” she replied, and before she could stop herself she’d said “Master Roy had a very tidy-looking-” she faltered.
Her new Master’s expression was gentle, and he nodded. “He did wear a beard very well, Enya. I envied him, for how tidy he kept it.”
“Really?”
Creighton started moving, and Enya walked with him, tramping down the ramp. “Oh yes. I never had the patience for shaping it myself, but Char-Ryl was always meticulous.” Creighton’s eyes, when Enya finally caught up and matched his stride, had a slightly far-off look. His tone was wistful. “He looked statesmanlike without fail. I mean, he was that too, it wasn’t a facade. He was impressive in a way that he wore very lightly.” Creighton paused in his speech, though he strode on. “What I mean to say, Enya, is that it’s alright to miss him. There’s much about him to miss, wise and caring Jedi that he was. We mustn't cling to those we lose, but we can and ought to acknowledge our losses.”
“You really mean that?”
He looked at her in mild surprise. “Enya, I would never say such things if I didn't mean them. Though we must also remember that we will be reunited with those we’ve lost when we too depart from this plane of existence, and join with the Luminous. Not to mention, there’s still much for us to value in the Galaxy. Char-Ryl would tell you the same.”
Enya nodded, and successfully held off any tears which couldn't be blamed on the stinging cold wind.
That was just as well, because now she could see their welcoming party, at the end of the landing platform and just out of the wind. One was a Falleen Guardian of the Whills, looking a little severe but not quite unfriendly. Then there was a Sorcerer of Tund, scarlet robes stark in comparison to her black-and-white face paint. Despite that, and the striking visage the paint created, her smile struck Enya as warm.
And in between them, shorter by a head and with skin as red as the sorcerer’s robes, were two Jedi. One was a Kiffar, denoted by the horizontal marking across his face. The red Twi'lek next to him had to be Matthea Cathley. Despite the easy recognition, Enya blinked. The pictures Matty – she preferred “Matty” to “Matthea”, Enya recalled – had sent when they swapped messages hadn’t shown just how tiny she was. This girl had survived the Night of Sorrows?
Don’t be foolish, she chided herself. You’re the same age as her, and you were there too. She was reminded of that when the other girl had raised a hand to fidget with a Padawan braid, secured by a cord to one long red lekku.
Enya's conscious mind was too busy absorbing all this for her to stop her subconscious from whispering oh, she really is cute. Too late to tell it hush now. Especially because that treacherous corner of her mind was right. Matty's smile was nervous, but a winning one all the same. Her eyes were bright, her cheekbones high and sharp.
Enya hastily rearranged her face into a slight smile instead of the oh which had briefly taken hold of it. With any luck, everyone's eyes were on Master Creighton, who looked every inch the serene Jedi Master, and definitely not on the little Padawan next to him.
Matty's eyes were firmly on the human girl. Master Creighton was old news to her. Sure, he was impressive - and it was also impressive that the man who’d led an army in restoring peace to Jedha City had come back as humbly as any pilgrim – but he was an austere sort of quiet, and not the easiest to warm to. When Matty had met him before, he’d had very limited time for a teenage apprentice’s ramblings. He’d mostly spoken to Oliviah, back then, who’d been more on his wavelength – an actual grown-up, that is, Matty thought.
As such, it was a hell of a lot easier to focus on the younger Jedi next to Creighton, one whom Matty was only seeing in person for the first time. Perhaps it was too easy. An involuntary hel-looo echoed in her head. Enya had looked pretty in her pictures, but in the flesh, she brought a little flutter to the Twi’lek girl's chest.
Matty tried to remember the need for decorum. She shouldn't just stare at those bright eyes, nor those cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes started to rove down - Matty stopped them, and tried to find somewhere to decently turn her attention.
Perhaps Enya’s hair – hair was safe to admire, right? Big hair. Admittedly Matty had no first-hand experience of having hair, but she got told her lekku were big for her age. Enya’s hair probably matched them for volume. She had a pretty sizeable bun at the back of her head, but that still left a great mass of glossy black hair to spill down over her cloak and shoulders.
Her lightsaber looked interesting too. The coating was a muted gold, and a slender guard curled around the hilt, where it would protect the wielder’s fingers. Enya had one hand resting on it – actually, that didn’t necessarily look like a resting hand. There was something protective about it – which was fair enough on a world where plenty of people might spit at a Jedi, but this felt more specific than that. Curious.
The Force moved a little oddly around her. If Matty were more focused, like she ought to be, she would’ve noticed that first. She tried to piece it together, the swirl of emotions, and map them onto what she saw of Enya’s expression. Mostly sadness, she thought, and recalled that Enya’s Master had been lost on Dalna.
Master Vildar was the first to speak, greeting Creighton and welcoming him back to the Holy Moon. “Of course you’ll know Tarna Miak-” he indicated the red-robed Sorcerer, and then the Guardian “-and Captain Oklane Viss.” Next he looked to Enya. “And Padawan Keen, I understand this is your first visit?”
Enya dipped her head. “Yes, Master.”
Vildar smiled, breaking the stony expression which seemed to be his face’s default. “Well, I’d like to assure you that it doesn’t take all that long to adjust to this place. Even I’ve managed it, of late. And I understand you’ve been corresponding with my Padawan already?”
Enya looked at Matty and smiled nervously, then dipped her head. “I have. It’s good to actually meet in person, though.”
“And I’m sure you’ll have plenty of talk about,” Vildar said. “At least I hope you do, Enya, because Matty here most certainly does. But I think we can all safely say that talking is best done out of the icy wind. Shall we?”
They settled the new arrivals into the Temple after a walk through the city, the two Padawans trailing behind the older Jedi, the Guardian and the Sorcerer. Vildar and Creighton evidently had much to talk about, along with Miak and Viss, but Creighton suggested the Padawans take a walk up to the top of the spire first. “Best you see it while you're definitely awake enough to take it all in,” he said to Enya.
Enya nodded eagerly, though she noted a slight twitch of Matty’s eyebrows.
“The old fossils must have a lot of catching-up to do,” the Twi’lek girl explained once they were out of earshot. “This should take us quite a while.”
True to her word, the summit turned out to be every bit the hefty climb it had appeared from the sky. Perhaps even more so, Enya thought. The stairs they took led up to long galleries, then more stairs, more galleries… and that was when the real climb began.
Enya drew in a breath and followed Matty up. The other girl moved at a brisk pace, and she felt compelled to match her. It wouldn’t do to be shown up, and besides, Enya was a Jedi. She’d gone through her share of endurance training. She’d survived a full-blown battle. A walk up a big tower? That was well within her capabilities.
Even so, she was nearly sweating by the time they reached the top. She found herself taken aback by the chill air, however. The cold up at this exposed pinnacle immediately began to leech away the heat she'd generated. “Crik,” Enya swore softly, pulling her cloak tight around her.
“Uh huh,” Matty smiled from the shadow of the hood she'd pulled up. Enya reflected that at least her hair provided some insulation. Matty's lekku, on the other hand, were the opposite - they offered no protecton, and instead meant she had a whole lot more surface area for the chilly wind to bite.
Enya looked out to the horizon, both to avoid staring indecorously at Matty and because the view she’d come all this way for really was beautiful. A stark kind of beautiful, but beautiful, especially with Najedha’s purple shadow occupying one side of the sky and bringing out the gold hue of the rock and sand. The sky beyond the world was paler.
Enya had always been fascinated by the view from moons, or planets blessed with an abundance of moons. They threw up all manner of combinations of light and shape as they rolled across the sky, catching the glow of a sun or suns. Jedha’s was among the most gorgeous she’d seen. Still, she'd have liked to have this one without freezing for it. She pulled on gloves, grumbling, “Sacred places should be more comfortable.”
Matty's hooded head bobbed. “Alas, the Force doesn't feel the cold. And I think people tend to find a place more holy if there's some element of hardship to living there.”
“I suppose that's better than holy men picking a plush palace somewhere tropical,” Enya said.
Matty laughed. “Who’d ever believe in them? It would just stink of a con.” She put on a deep, pompous voice which somehow sounded like it emanated from a pile of luxuriously soft cushions. “Oh yes, such a delightful world as this is surely suffused with the, uh, divine essence.”
“And why, surely the Force itself wills that we enjoy such pretty sunsets!” Enya joined in, laughing, the cold abruptly forgotten.
“Oh, now that's something we do have here. Though for the best you want to head east out of the city, so you catch the skyline against the sun.” She lifted a hand, indicating the vast purple orb of the world Jedha orbited. “And the very best are when Najedha's in the sky overhead, so it gets lit up by the sun. The planet and its clouds both catch the light and it just...” she seemed to run out of words, which Enya had begun to doubt could ever happen, but her rapturous expression said it all.
“And that means you've probably spent all day in the shade and you’re already chilled to the bone,” Enya said. “I guess a real holy place makes you earn the beauty.”
“Seems that way to me,” Matty agreed. “I mean, otherwise it’d be too easy, right?” Her priestly impression came back. “Hey, this one’s a doozy, all you’ve gotta do is land in this one place, put some chips in the collection bowl, walk for maybe five minutes, it’s even downhill and ta-da, now you’ve arrived at this transcendental place! That’s a tourist spot, not a holy site. You wouldn’t trust any priest that set up shop there.” Then she remembered that they did have responsibilities, and shelved the tour she was already spinning up in her head. “And the other thing holy place have is things to do, because a holy place might be touched by the sacred but the divine sure isn’t doing its own upkeep, oh no. Even when there wasn’t a war in the sacred place just a few weeks back.”
Enya smiled and shrugged. “We are called to serve. Maybe save the sunset as a reward for when we’re done.”
An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind. Matty noticed. “What is it?”
Enya took a second to reply. “I wonder if that’s why the Path of the Open Hand set up where they did. I don’t really like to think about them but, well, I couldn’t help just now. You said you learned about the Mother being some kind of con artist herself, right?”
Matty’s eyes were very wide, and her expression gave the sense that she had the Galaxy’s biggest secret to share. “Oh boy, you don’t know the half of it. But before I actually get into that… I’m not sure. From what the senior Jedi pieced together, I think the Path were farming on Dalna long before the Mother came along. Seems to me that they bought into the whole simple living thing.”
That seemed perverse to Enya. To think that a community who should have remained peaceful farmers, however wrong-headed, had turned into crusading, suicidal fanatics, who had caused the death of her first Master and so many others…
Matty took hold of her shoulder. “Hey. You alright?”
Shakily, Enya nodded. “Like I say, it’s not easy for me to think about the Path.”
Matty nodded sadly. “Me neither. Sadly, though, they decided to swap simple farming for complicated… horribleness, and we’ve got their mess to clear up. Best we get to it.”
Matty would never admit it to Tey, but perhaps the best way to get through a long, hard day of relief work was to treat it as a date. At least, as much as she could do so without giving herself away and scaring off Enya. A playdate? Could manual labour, or even Force-assisted labour, count as that, assuming that playdates were even possible for nominally grown women who'd survived mad cults and battles? The latter probably counted for more than her having just turned eighteen…
The slab of stone Matty was levitating wobbled a little, not enough that any of the civilians around her noticed. Tarna Miak did, though, and so did Enya, who immediately added her strength to Matty’s to steady the object.
Guh-reat. Now she was probably looking slapdash or feeble in front of her not-even-a-date-so-why-did-it-matter-so-much-what-Enya-thought-anyway. Matty's cheeks smouldered, and again she was grateful for her already scarlet skin. Would the three dead war droids she’d heaved away count for anything?
“It gets tiring, huh?” Enya smiled, radiating a kind of shy pride at her assist. To her credit, they’d been at this for hours, albeit out of sight of most of the populace. Given the raw feelings in the city, the Disciples of the Whills had become the face of the rebuilding effort. The Jedi worked too, but did so discreetly. Let it be known later than they’d leant their aid, when tempers had cooled, and when there was no risk of stones being hurled at those trying to clear wreckage and rubble.
“Yeah,” Matty replied, figuring that this was probably the best outcome if Enya just thought she was tired. This was wearying work, after all. “And thanks, Enya. Honestly this might be my cue to take a breather,” she said, which was true as long as she didn't elaborate on what this was, exactly. “What do you like to eat, Enya? I don’t remember you saying when we messaged, but I'm pretty sure whatever it is, I can find the best place for it in the Holy City.”
Luckily, Vildar wasn't here to remark that she'd borrowed Tey's streetwise bravado. Just as well, because Matty felt like she might want to keep using it a little while longer.
“How are you getting on with her?” Master Creighton asked Enya when she returned, well-fed from the best Rylothian restaurant in the city (Enya wasn’t about to question a Twi’lek’s judgement on that, not least as she’d devoured every dish). “Matthea can be… rather a lot at first.”
“I like her,” Enya responded, perhaps a little too quickly, for Creighton blinked momentarily. The mischievous part of Enya was very small indeed, but it registered a tiny score one. “Perhaps I just haven’t got to hang out with anyone my own age for a bit, but she’s sweet, she knows her way around, and she’s… good at taking my mind off things. Which I think she might need too, to be honest.”
An appraising look had stolen over Creighton’s face. “So Vildar suggested. Well, as long as the relief work isn’t too taxing, I suggest you and Matty keep at it. Think of it as earning yourself the Season celebrations.”
“I thought you were avoiding that?” Enya queried. Creighton had been sceptical of the new, inter-faith celebration. He intended to observe the Season of Light, as all Jedi did, but privately. Big, public events weren’t much his thing, which came as no surprise to Enya.
The smile playing across Creighton’s face was wry, but gentle. “I am indeed observing the rites in private, but it hardly means that you must do the same.”
Enya found herself fighting to keep her smile from becoming a full-on grin. “I… thank you, Master.”
“Civilian garb or Disciple robes would be a good policy,” he said. “Vildar thinks it would be best if he’s the only visible Jedi presence, though I hear Silandra and Rooper might come along. But I’d seek Matthea’s views as well, while you’re out tomorrow. In any case, as you say, it would only help with taking your minds off certain things.”
It took an effort to keep the tears back, but Enya smiled at her Master. “I dare say you’re right.”
The next day, the two Padawans started out in the company of their Masters; there were tanks which needed salvaging, which meant they first had to be extricated from a square. That was ample work for any Jedi, however skilled and strong, and Vildar had suggested it might be educational for the learners. The subtleties in a Master’s approach to different tasks varied; Creighton might know some tricks which even Master Char-Ryl had not, or have a method easier for Enya – or indeed Matty – to apply.
Matty had worked hard, wanting to impress all three of the other Jedi and eager to see what she might learn. There had been a few things - the small but effective details that made such a task easier, which Vildar and Creighton both understood amply.
She found herself watching Enya as well. Neither of them were exceptional Padawans, but Enya was clever and a dedicated learner. She was also patient in ways that Matty possibly, make that definitely, wasn’t. She showed a few handy tricks which Matty made sure to quiz her about, hoping that her admiration was evident but not… overbearing.
After that, as the two Masters set off for another meeting, she’d suggested a destination.
The chambers of the Kyber Mirrors were one of the few places on Jedha where the temperature always seemed to be just right. They were cool, but not cold, insulated by thick stone above and around. The light played pleasingly here too, the glow of the torches or glow-globes reflected and gently refracted.
“It feels good to feel Kyber at peace,” Enya said. She'd taken her lightsaber from its holster and as Matty watched she opened a panel on the hilt and floated the yellow crystal free. “On Dalnan, I gave up this crystal as surety,” she said. “The Path elder was vile about it, though. Talking about gifts freely given while demanding a hostage. And all just to speak with us, when he must have known full well what they were planning.”
“I found lots of the Path were like that,” Matty offered, nodding and watching Enya's crystal slowly rotate in midair. “I think it's the certainty they had. They were good people, the people who did what the Force wanted everyone to do. And because they were so sure of that, it meant they could do terrible things, or just be generally malicious, without any doubt at all. One of the archivists used to talk about that kind of mentality.”
Enya's next words came out a little oddly. “Master Creighton talks about it too, sometimes. I think he's trying to make sense of losing Aida, and to reckon with it. He said they never questioned anything, and never listened. And I guess my Master knows that I need to figure it out too.”
The oddness took a moment to click for Matty. Enya was still trying out the idea of speaking of her new mentor in this way, easing herself into being Creighton's Padawan. Matty recognised it because, of course, she was going through the same process.
Intriguing as that was, she tried to keep following the thread of the conversation. “Didn't they listen to the Mother and the Herald, though?”
“I think it's more that they followed them. I don't think they ever tried to understand what they were being told, and they certainly never questioned it. The Force worked like the Mother said, in their world. No one ever asked how reactions within the Force would occur. Whereas a Jedi has to listen, and work to comprehend it all.”
Matty shuffled a little closer, a little nervous that Enya would recoil but willing to risk it. “Are you sure you weren't just made Master already, with all that Jedi wisdom?”
Score one for flattery, or physical proximity. Enya leaned into Matty, and her hair turned out to be very soft. She smiled brightly. “Master Char-Ryl’s wisdom might've rubbed off on me, a little. And a bit of Jedi Nattai’s too - she’s big on the whole listening thing, and I learned a lot from her. Master Creighton thinks I'm astute for my age.” She eyed Matty. “But I don't know if I've got anything on a girl who traipses all over Jedha City like she knows every cubit.”
“I had a good teacher too,” Matty said, the words coming out in a murmur. “To be clear, Vildar – I mean Master Mac is very good too. He's really clever and he's travelled all over. But Master Leebon taught me about navigating this place.” Her voice became distant even to her ears, freighted with the sorrow which welled in her chest. “She knew this whole city, from the catacombs to the tip of every spire. Most of what I’ve learned about this world, and a whole lot of other things, is from her. If not her, then people she introduced me to.”
From the very start, the venerable Selonian had taken immense care to ensure her Padawan knew where she could go safely in the holy city, and where she would have to tread carefully, if she ventured there at all. She’d tutored her in the politics of the city and the Convocation, even particular movements if they were big enough. Matty wouldn’t have been able to navigate the tumult brought on by the Path, if not for her Master’s lessons. She’d-
She realised Enya was looking at her with big, concerned eyes. She went to say something, but her mouth, which was normally on its way to lightspeed before her brain even reached for the accelerator, had stalled. There was a welling feeling in her chest which felt like it would spill out of her, because it wasn’t just Leebon she was thinking of, but Master Gluth.
Instead, Enya put both hands around one of Matty’s and said, “I think our losses are both still fresh, Matty.” She brought her forehead gently into contact; her hair was startlingly soft. Matty leaned into it.
“There are those who say Jedha is a good place to deal with a loss,” she said. “There are tales about that.”
Matty launched into the story, glad to have a path for her chatter. The legend was one part of the enormous system-siege which Jedha had endured at the hands of Darth Siqsa. A thousand Jedi and over a hundred times as many Guardians of the Whills had stood against the Sith Lord and his enormous horde, along with whatever other resistance they could scrape together. The Sorcerers of Tund had worked their fiery arts against the onslaught of Force Lightning. The Lonto and the Matukai stood side by side, while the Fallanassi bent their illusions to confound would-be infiltrators in the tunnels.
Many of the Republic soldiers and even the Jedi had arrived on the Holy Moon in desperate shape, and the Wookie Jedi Master Nowamkuh was one such. He had been rescued from the Sack of Nagsho after a calamitous duel with Siqsa himself, terribly wounded and with his lightsaber destroyed. He’d been the last surviving Jedi stationed on that world. Another warzone seemed the last place to take a half-broken Jedi, but the Sith had closed off the rest of the sector. Jedha was the only remaining refuge.
No one had known what to do with Nowamkuh, and so when he rose from his sickbed saying that the Force called him away from the city, no one moved to stop him. They had looked to Lord Marshal Abaja, the Jedi who governed Jedha and knew its spirit better than any other.
"The moon offers a gift to our brother," the Tholothian had said. "Nowamkuh must make peace with himself, and believe himself worthy to receive it."
Just what passed between the lone Wookie and the cold desert, and the crystal-laced arcologies which lay beneath, no story told. "Which, in my experience, means that whoever tells the story will decide that Nowamkuh faced down and overcame whatever difficulty besets their own student or students at that moment,” Matty said.
Enya grinned, surprisingly impish. "I know the type."
What was known, however, was that as Darth Siqsa stood on the burning battlements of Jedha City with the mortally wounded Abaja at his feet, and the defenders' hopes shrank to a mere candle's flicker, a storm had arisen from the desert behind the Sith. It swirled and roiled in the Force too, and even Siqsa had turned from his impending triumph to regard it.
The Jedi archivists maintained that it was at exactly that moment that a golden blade had lit the sandstorm from within. Then Nowamkuh had emerged. "He came into the midst of the Sith like a thunderbolt," Matty exclaimed, relishing her favourite line in the whole story, "and where he struck, they broke. The thralls and the mercenaries simply fled. The fanatics and the Sith themselves tried to swarm him, but the golden saber felled whoever stood in its wielder's way.”
Finally, Siqsa himself moved to face the Wookie Jedi, and their duel eclipsed everything else in the battle. Siqsa was a monstrous warrior, his spirit burning with all the hatred and cruelty of the Dark Side, but Nowamkuh fought with a strength which seemed to come from the very heart of Jedha. Finally the Sith Lord's reign of terror ended in a great arc of the golden saber, and Nowamkuh accepted the stewardship of Jedha from the dying Abaja.
“There seems to be loss in all those stories,” she said. “More nights of sorrow, more sacrifices.” She looked down at the floor. “Nowadays I think about Abaja as much as I do Nowamkuh. Did he leave a Padawan behind? How did the loss feel to them?”
Enya was close again, touching her forearm this time. “I’ve been thinking similarly, about some of the old stories. Different ones, but it comes up so often. I find myself imagining being in the place of Satele Shan after Darach was killed, and then I realise that it doesn’t apply at all. Their wars were still ongoing. They had… I mean, it wasn’t scores to settle. That’s not our way. But Satele continued her Master’s work. The Path did all this to us, meanwhile, and they just dissolved. Not that I want revenge, of course. It’s just that it was all so quick, almost enough that it feels incomplete.”
Shaking her head, Matty said, “We mustn’t think like that. It was the Mother who masterminded all of that. Without her tricks, the Path are too obviously wrong to pose any danger. Awful as their deaths were, Master Leebon and Master Roy fell in the pursuit of peace. Light and life.”
“Maybe.” With a visible effort, Enya let it go. For a moment, they were silent together, save for their breathing. Finally, Enya spoke again. "You know, it's a pity you don't get offworld more often and see more Jedi," she said. "You tell stories about this moon better than anyone I've met. Heck, you tell stories better than most. And I bet you don't get to tell them that often."
“Oh, I get to tell them sometimes,” Matty said. “Sometimes I get sent to look after visiting Jedi like you, and sometimes Senators, even people from other orders. And honestly, if you think I tell a good tale, you should hear some of the ones which get told at Enlightenment.”
“Welcome, Padawan Matty!” exclaimed Kradon when she walked in. “Come to make use of the discount at last!”
“I had to wait until you’d fixed the place up,” Matty retorted, grinning. “Especially as I know Jedi get the very opposite of a discount. I wasn’t about to go paying extra in a bar which doesn’t have all its walls standing.”
Enya shot her a look. “You get charged extra?”
Kradon protested at the look on her face. “It is only to cover the fact that when a Jedi patronises Enlightenment there are often… attendant expenses. Losses to furniture and furnishings. Kradon is sure you will understand!”
At which point all the regulars pitched in with anecdotes, mostly from the Battle, as they jointly conducted Enya to a seat. Matty was left at the bar.
The proprietor leaned in close, conspiratorial. “Kradon is not one to turn away customers, but… it is a surprise that you would bring a pretty girl here and not somewhere more… upmarket.”
Matty wasn't sure how to say that she wasn't embarking on an important seduction (at least, she didn't think she was). “We appreciate comfort. And discretion,” she added, probably too honest. Well, Kradon would only be happy to believe his suspicions were confirmed.
Matty chastised herself all the way back to the table. It would've been perfectly easy to say that this place was familiar and mostly safe, and what counted as upmarket when the city had been a warzone only a month ago? There was no need to go along with Kradon’s narrative, likewise Tey’s. And yet… it was distinctly tempting.
Enya felt a little buffeted by all the attention, and suffered a twinge of discomfort. The crowding and noise weren’t close to the uproar of the battle, not enough to bring on any real flashbacks, but it was enough to make her wince inwardly. She had to focus, ironically, on the sound. She had to hold it in her mind that the voices were cheerful and held no aggression, were in fact the very furthest thing from the jeering, snarling, howling horde that had assailed her and Char-Ryl on Dalna.
She had to hear the difference, reach out with her feelings to be certain that this was just a bar crowd in their usual haunt. They were excited for the new festival - novelty was an unusual and prized currency on a world like Jedha, so rooted in the past. Perhaps, given what Matty had recounted, they needed a bit more of that. The Holy City needed the old grudges to be cut away carefully, or they would fester all the more. Things could grow in the rot. Enya had seen that on Eiram and E’ronoh, where the Path had put down its insidious roots.
Speaking of helpful distractions, here came Matty, sliding a glass across the tabletop as she slipped into her own seat. “Seeing as Rylothian food went down well,” she said, “how about a glass of Ryloth too?”
“The famous yet confusingly named beverage,” Enya said, one eyebrow raised. “How did this one get named after the world? A competition? A referendum?”
“Oh, by being a bastardised spin on Rylothian brewing which some Twi’lek bartender spun up while he was offworld. It was a hit, and so it’s become the taste of Ryloth to most of the Galaxy. Even some Twi’lek worlds, they say.”
“Huh.” Enya sipped experimentally, then had some more, noting the smile which, despite Matty’s words, spread across her pretty scarlet face. “It works for me.”
Matty chuckled. “Truth is, I’m having the same. A Ryloth’s much weaker than most authentic Rylothian drinks, which isn’t the worst idea when we’ve got a whole festival ahead of us. I mean, even if we’re in mufti, it wouldn’t be a great idea to be reeling and puking all over.”
“Do you expect so little of my tolerance?” Enya pretended to bridle. “At some outposts, that’s duelling talk.”
“We should’ve sparred already,” Matty purred, something about her tone bringing a little flutter to Enya’s chest alongside the usual curiosity about a peer’s skill. Then she shook her head, and indicated her own glass. “I mean to say, I’m judging you by my own, ah, capacity. Twi’leks and humans can stand about the same amount of alcohol, whatever some boasters tell you. And it’s not like I grew up on Ryloth, drinking this stuff for years on end.”
Enya smiled and dipped her head. “How about two Disciples of the Whills puking around?”
That brought Matty up short for a second. She made a thinking-hard face and then ventured: “Master Creighton’s suggestion? I see what he’s thinking there, but again, I don’t think that’ll excuse any drunken regurgitation, so I really hope that’s not what you’re aiming for.. Even if everyone would find it hilarious if the head Disciple drags us to our Masters to ask why they’ve let us bring all his people into disrepute… except for him, of course. And Captain Viss. And probably our Masters… and actually quite a few of the Disciples are just as rigid as those staffs they carry.”
“OK, then no drinking to crazy excess.” Not that Enya had been seriously considering the idea – Matty was quite right. “The robes might be a smart idea, all the same.”
“So long as you're sure the crowds won’t be an option,” Matty said. That brought Enya’s head up sharply from her drink.
The Twi’lek girl’s eyes were soft, her face all gentle concern. “I don’t know if you were aware that it was showing, but I’ve seen how you are around some of the crowds here. Even if no one’s yelled at us.” She toyed with the stem of her greenish glass. “My memories of Dalna are so dominated by the caves and the… things down there, plus all the stuff with the Ro girls and the Mother. I hadn’t considered that you were part of the battle proper. Hell, I hadn’t really thought properly about what that must’ve been like.”
Enya bowed her head a little without thinking, staring into the depths of the glass before she decided that Matty’s eyes would be a better place to train her gaze. “It was vast,” she said, “like a boiling sea.” That was at least something close to capturing the seething, surging crowd which had come for them, lashing rain adding to the sense of chaos and tumult. She tried to put that into words, got some of the way, but that it all became far too much and-
A warm hand held each of hers. “But it’s done,” Matty said, her voice feather-soft. “You can tell me, Enya, but if you don’t want, you don’t need to put yourself back there. Dalna is behind you, behind us both, and Jedha’s at peace. That’s what the Festival is going to be all about.”
The Festival of Balance started out sombre, turned joyous more quickly than Matty had expected, and proceeded thereafter to raucous, once the visible Jedi and Guardians had made themselves scarce.
It looked like Tey had, once again, been right. The whole city was eager for a chance to let loose, albeit under the watchful eyes of the Guardians (because there were always the people ready to rob or worse, eager for any opportunity). Even if some ill-will persisted toward the Jedi, the Path of the Open Hand had been exposed, and the various Force-wielding groups had worked hard to repair the damage. The majority of Jedha’s people appeared happy to acclaim them once more. Or maybe they just wanted to let off some steam and just feel good again.
Matty found that impulse easy to empathise with, though she realised that Enya was finding it rather less easy to let go.
The two Padawans were sitting off to one side, Matty watching her companion watching the many dancers. Reaching out with the Force, she felt the human girl’s tangle of emotions, where Enya herself was reading the feelings of the crowd around them.
Matty’s attention didn’t go unnoticed. Enya’s dark eyes flicked to meet hers, then dropped to the table between them. “It’s a lot,” she admitted. “Not in a bad way, I think - I mean it’s such a happy crowd, but…” she blew out a breath. “It’s a lot.”
“Then let’s distract you, shall we?” Matty stood, one hand extended. “Come and dance,” she said, before she could stop herself. Realising that the step was already taken, she committed. “Please, Enya. Just forget all this, and dance with me.”
The distraction worked. Somewhere in that swirl of light and limbs, Enya found herself up close with Matty. The noise blurred into nothing more than a sense of rhythm, and Matty’s bright feelings outshone the great press and churn of emotions in the Force.
The Twi’lek girl wasn’t just close; she seemed to be the only thing Enya could see. She found herself almost entranced, her eyes drinking in the way Matty’s lekku waved, the play of light on her lustrous red skin and the brightness of her smile, the way her eyes closed as she lost herself in the dance.
Enya didn’t want to go giving in to the stereotypes that cast all Twi’leks as seductresses, but whether Matty intended it or not, a little of that was coming through now. She was just so, so, almost unfairly pretty. And damn, her footwork was incredible. Enya imagined sparring with her, picturing the way that Matty must be able to move with a saber, and then found her eyes travelling up Matty’s sleek shins, somehow apparent despite her robes, then admiring her swivelling hips, her…
When decency wrenched her gaze up to meet Matty’s eyes, she found them open again, and found that Matty was likewise looking where Enya’s eyes were… decidedly not. Except for when she glanced up, caught Enya looking, and grinned wider than Enya had seen anyone smile in months. Grinned luminously.
Some mad bravado or maybe the Force’s prodding nudged Enya forward in that moment. Next thing she knew she had an arm around Matty’s waist, an astonished laugh erupting from Matty and the two of them spinning in a whirl of flying hair and lekku-
And Matty’s lips against hers.
The din of the festival was distant. In Enya’s chambers, the Padawans’ own private din had quieted.
Matty snuggled into the hollow of Enya’s neck, planting kisses, listening to Enya’s still-rapid breathing. She felt the forceful, racing pulse of the artery there against her nose, and kissed it lingeringly, thrilling as she felt it speed up and heard Enya not quite suppress a gasp. She wondered whether to take her lips up Enya's neck to that sharp jaw and soft mouth, or down… hmm, down definitely had an appeal.
Enya murmured something which Matty, snuggled up against her, didn't catch. “Hmm?” she said, getting up on one elbow. She caught the sheet before it could slip off her shoulders - the room was cool, like most on Jedha. Securing the sheet over herself was a reflex, even with her bed much warmer than usual.
“I didn’t mean to say anything,” Enya grinned sheepishly, “but I said horizontal.”
Matty couldn’t hope to stop her grin before it showed. “As in dancing is the vertical expression of-”
A giggle answered her at first. “Yeah, that. I guess I just hadn’t expected us to get horizontal so quickly.”
Matty, suddenly apprehensive, tried to gauge the situation. “In a… good way? Not that it’s an ego thing or anything, and I’m definitely not asking for a review, but I do want to know that you’re enjoying yourself and I’d really hate to think I’d pulled you into anything uncomfortable-”
Enya reached up and placed one finger against Matty’s lips. “You’re making this all really enjoyable,” she promised. “I mean, this is definitely a little outside my comfort zone, but…” the fingertip slid sideways, Enya’s hand coming to cup Matty’s cheek. Matty leaned into it, loving the way Enya looked up at her. “Outside my comfort zone doesn’t normally feel this great,” Enya finished.
Oh, thank goodness and thank the Force. “Sometimes we find new zones,” Matty told her, sliding back down and lacing her fingers together with Enya’s, admiring the way their hues set each other off. “And sometimes feeling great… well, even a Jedi can need that, from time to time.”