Land and Sky: Places Brothers Go Chapter 12--The Trust
Title: Places Brothers Go
Chapter Title: The Trust
Author: Lionchilde
Summary: The twelfth in a series of *cough* short memory snippets from the early life of Obi-Wan's brother Owen, beginning on the day he learns of his brother's impending arrival. Approximately 26 years pre-TPM.
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Pairings/Characters: The Kenobis, Ierei Avardi
A/N: Mission_Insane Liquids Table: Oil; 12_Stories Time Table Prompt #12 Future; 100colors Prompt #67 Chestnut.
The Trust
Growing up looks magical before the mask is on your head. But in the dark, your eyes open.
-Seeing and Knowing: A Memoir of a World in Shadow, by Lared and Inalia Kenobi
I knew what she meant, but I couldn’t believe that it was really happening. Swallowing hard, I followed her and my aunt through the dimly lit parlor and into the maze of interconnected rooms and corridors beyond. This place had been home to me since the day I was born, but suddenly it seemed alien-otherworldly. I was walking through it as a stranger in the middle of a cold, dank nightmare.
Deep within the compound, we came to a set of sealed blast doors emblazoned with a complex pattern of interlocked gold and tan rings on a red background. This was the record room-the place where the entire recorded history of our family and the broader history of our people was stored. I’d seen the blast doors down only once before. My mother had shown me how to seal them in an emergency.
“Put your hand on the sensor, Owen,” she told me now, indicating the control panel just to the left of the doors. I was short and had to stretch to reach the sensor-plate, but I did so. The plate was cold, but my palm was sweating, and I felt my hand start to slide around almost as soon as touched the sensor mechanism. Mom quickly keyed a sequence of commands, and I felt my hand tingle.
The sensation lasted only a second or two. Then she nodded, and I slipped my hand back down. “Mom…”
“You must come back here, Owen. If Aunt Bee and I can’t, then you and you are brother must do it,” she instructed.
“No! Mother!” I shook my head urgently.
“Owen,” her voice was calm and commanding. “Go to the Central District and tell Renn Magre that you carry the Kenobi family trust. Bring her back here. Unlock this door for no one except Magre. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I nodded reluctantly.
“Good. Come now, quickly,” she said, turning to move as fast as her body would allow back up the hall. I followed her as bravely as I could until I realized that Aunt Bee was still standing by the blast doors.
“Aunt Bee…” I started to say, but the words weren’t even out of my mouth when another unwelcome truth asserted itself in my brain. If my mother had not been pregnant, her duty as Chronicler would have been to remain and protect the records-with her life if necessary. Aunt Bee was her partner, and since a Weaver’s role was to safeguard the lives of her people, the task of protecting our history now fell to her.
They had been born less than a year apart. For as far back as I could remember, I had never seen them spend more than a day or two apart. Now they parted in silence. Neither of them discussed what had to be done. There was no argument and no goodbye. Drawing in a breath, I squared my shoulders and kept walking.
When we reached the kitchen again, Mrs. Deccol was waiting. My mother covered her head and face, and I stared down at the hood in my hands, feeling nothing but dread. My father would expect this of me, I knew, and there was no real choice. I couldn’t let my face be seen in the city. Even knowing that, I couldn’t shake the revulsion I felt for the adat. A voice in my mind whispered that once I donned it, I could never go back. This might be the last time I stood in this house-if I put on that hood, I would never walk the plains again, never see-
“Ben’ya!” I cried.
“Owen, there isn’t time!” Mom told me.
“I need my book!” I insisted, already hurrying around her. I ran through the parlor and up the stairs, tearing through the dark hall to my room. Inside, the lights came on as soon as I entered. The record book stuck out from under my pillow. I ran in and grabbed it, then barreled back toward the door, only to skid to a halt in the doorway as I remembered something else.
Spinning around, I flew to my dresser and yanked the top drawer all the way out. It was heavy and slipped from my hands, landing with a loud crash. The ancient chestnut boards splintered and split, doing half my work for me. I fell to my knees and dug my fingers into the small slat that had been revealed in the bottom when the sides cracked. Heaving and grunting with effort, I pulled it back until the small hollow compartment was completely exposed.
Inside was a small blaster pistol, duplicate papers of ownership to the Honor’s Flight, and a pouch that contained a bunch of forged identicards, enough spice, jewels, and money in the most common planetary currencies on the Outer Rim for my mother and I to completely disappear-as long as we could make it through the spaceport. Dad had shown me this stash when I was seven years old, and since then he had routinely drilled me the use of everything inside it. He’d also warned me never to tell my mother of its existence. It looked like she was going to find out now.
I tucked the blaster into my boot and tied the pouch to my belt. Then I pulled out my tunic to cover it and closed my robe, hoping that she would be too busy thinking about where we were going to complain about my clothes being a mess. I’d have to show it to her before long, but I didn’t want to see the look on her face just now.
With all that accomplished, I dug through the clothes that were scattered on the floor and found the adat. I wanted to pull it over my head without stopping to think about what I was doing-about what the covering meant for me and what it implied for Dad and Uncle Dannik. I knew that’s what my father would have done in my place, but I froze again, glaring at the thing.
There is no time for this! I yelled at myself.
Forcefully, I yanked it over my head. Inside it, the world was a dark, strange place. There were no eye holes or openings for breathing. The material was a fine mesh which, from the outside, appeared to be heavy, solid black cloth. On the inside, it felt light and surprisingly comfortable. I didn’t feel any hotter than I had a moment ago, and I had no trouble breathing. I could also see, but with a kind of pallor over the world, as if I was viewing it through a darkened lens.
Maybe this is what it feels like to go blind… I thought suddenly. Then I shook my head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of here.
I picked up my record book again, climbed to my feet and ran as fast as my legs could carry me back to the kitchen. It was empty, and the door was open. I kept running.
Outside, Mrs. Deccol was helping my mother into the back of the speeder. I was a little surprised to see that our bags were in the front seat, but before I could wonder about it very much, Mom doubled over in pain.
“Ua!” I shouted, racing to help.
“It’s all right, Owen,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Help me get her in,” Mrs. Deccol told me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked fearfully.
“Your brother is coming,” Mom said, clutching the side of the vehicle. “And he has…your father’s…sense of timing.”
Chapter Title: The Trust
Author: Lionchilde
Summary: The twelfth in a series of *cough* short memory snippets from the early life of Obi-Wan's brother Owen, beginning on the day he learns of his brother's impending arrival. Approximately 26 years pre-TPM.
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Pairings/Characters: The Kenobis, Ierei Avardi
A/N: Mission_Insane Liquids Table: Oil; 12_Stories Time Table Prompt #12 Future; 100colors Prompt #67 Chestnut.
The Trust
Growing up looks magical before the mask is on your head. But in the dark, your eyes open.
-Seeing and Knowing: A Memoir of a World in Shadow, by Lared and Inalia Kenobi
I knew what she meant, but I couldn’t believe that it was really happening. Swallowing hard, I followed her and my aunt through the dimly lit parlor and into the maze of interconnected rooms and corridors beyond. This place had been home to me since the day I was born, but suddenly it seemed alien-otherworldly. I was walking through it as a stranger in the middle of a cold, dank nightmare.
Deep within the compound, we came to a set of sealed blast doors emblazoned with a complex pattern of interlocked gold and tan rings on a red background. This was the record room-the place where the entire recorded history of our family and the broader history of our people was stored. I’d seen the blast doors down only once before. My mother had shown me how to seal them in an emergency.
“Put your hand on the sensor, Owen,” she told me now, indicating the control panel just to the left of the doors. I was short and had to stretch to reach the sensor-plate, but I did so. The plate was cold, but my palm was sweating, and I felt my hand start to slide around almost as soon as touched the sensor mechanism. Mom quickly keyed a sequence of commands, and I felt my hand tingle.
The sensation lasted only a second or two. Then she nodded, and I slipped my hand back down. “Mom…”
“You must come back here, Owen. If Aunt Bee and I can’t, then you and you are brother must do it,” she instructed.
“No! Mother!” I shook my head urgently.
“Owen,” her voice was calm and commanding. “Go to the Central District and tell Renn Magre that you carry the Kenobi family trust. Bring her back here. Unlock this door for no one except Magre. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I nodded reluctantly.
“Good. Come now, quickly,” she said, turning to move as fast as her body would allow back up the hall. I followed her as bravely as I could until I realized that Aunt Bee was still standing by the blast doors.
“Aunt Bee…” I started to say, but the words weren’t even out of my mouth when another unwelcome truth asserted itself in my brain. If my mother had not been pregnant, her duty as Chronicler would have been to remain and protect the records-with her life if necessary. Aunt Bee was her partner, and since a Weaver’s role was to safeguard the lives of her people, the task of protecting our history now fell to her.
They had been born less than a year apart. For as far back as I could remember, I had never seen them spend more than a day or two apart. Now they parted in silence. Neither of them discussed what had to be done. There was no argument and no goodbye. Drawing in a breath, I squared my shoulders and kept walking.
When we reached the kitchen again, Mrs. Deccol was waiting. My mother covered her head and face, and I stared down at the hood in my hands, feeling nothing but dread. My father would expect this of me, I knew, and there was no real choice. I couldn’t let my face be seen in the city. Even knowing that, I couldn’t shake the revulsion I felt for the adat. A voice in my mind whispered that once I donned it, I could never go back. This might be the last time I stood in this house-if I put on that hood, I would never walk the plains again, never see-
“Ben’ya!” I cried.
“Owen, there isn’t time!” Mom told me.
“I need my book!” I insisted, already hurrying around her. I ran through the parlor and up the stairs, tearing through the dark hall to my room. Inside, the lights came on as soon as I entered. The record book stuck out from under my pillow. I ran in and grabbed it, then barreled back toward the door, only to skid to a halt in the doorway as I remembered something else.
Spinning around, I flew to my dresser and yanked the top drawer all the way out. It was heavy and slipped from my hands, landing with a loud crash. The ancient chestnut boards splintered and split, doing half my work for me. I fell to my knees and dug my fingers into the small slat that had been revealed in the bottom when the sides cracked. Heaving and grunting with effort, I pulled it back until the small hollow compartment was completely exposed.
Inside was a small blaster pistol, duplicate papers of ownership to the Honor’s Flight, and a pouch that contained a bunch of forged identicards, enough spice, jewels, and money in the most common planetary currencies on the Outer Rim for my mother and I to completely disappear-as long as we could make it through the spaceport. Dad had shown me this stash when I was seven years old, and since then he had routinely drilled me the use of everything inside it. He’d also warned me never to tell my mother of its existence. It looked like she was going to find out now.
I tucked the blaster into my boot and tied the pouch to my belt. Then I pulled out my tunic to cover it and closed my robe, hoping that she would be too busy thinking about where we were going to complain about my clothes being a mess. I’d have to show it to her before long, but I didn’t want to see the look on her face just now.
With all that accomplished, I dug through the clothes that were scattered on the floor and found the adat. I wanted to pull it over my head without stopping to think about what I was doing-about what the covering meant for me and what it implied for Dad and Uncle Dannik. I knew that’s what my father would have done in my place, but I froze again, glaring at the thing.
There is no time for this! I yelled at myself.
Forcefully, I yanked it over my head. Inside it, the world was a dark, strange place. There were no eye holes or openings for breathing. The material was a fine mesh which, from the outside, appeared to be heavy, solid black cloth. On the inside, it felt light and surprisingly comfortable. I didn’t feel any hotter than I had a moment ago, and I had no trouble breathing. I could also see, but with a kind of pallor over the world, as if I was viewing it through a darkened lens.
Maybe this is what it feels like to go blind… I thought suddenly. Then I shook my head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of here.
I picked up my record book again, climbed to my feet and ran as fast as my legs could carry me back to the kitchen. It was empty, and the door was open. I kept running.
Outside, Mrs. Deccol was helping my mother into the back of the speeder. I was a little surprised to see that our bags were in the front seat, but before I could wonder about it very much, Mom doubled over in pain.
“Ua!” I shouted, racing to help.
“It’s all right, Owen,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Help me get her in,” Mrs. Deccol told me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked fearfully.
“Your brother is coming,” Mom said, clutching the side of the vehicle. “And he has…your father’s…sense of timing.”