Two Sides

Delve Deep

I'm shaking with exertion by the time we reach the shore, but I manage to heave Rey out of the lake and carry her up the beach. There's scrub grass past the sand, and beyond that a thick layer of dead conifer needles covering the forest floor. I lay her down as gently as I can, and press my fingers into her neck. The surge of fear threatens to devour me when I cannot feel anything. I place my fingers in front of my mouth and and warm them, and try again. I feel a pulse, though it's thready and flees at the pressure. Her chest rises, ever so slightly. 

The air is balmy and comfortable, but we are soaked and have been in the lake for too long. I use the Force to pull every scrap of combustible material into a huge pile in front of me. It's exhausting. I have to focus hard to light it. It's soon a roaring blaze, snapping and cracking. Big, thick logs are at the center. It should burn for hours. The risk is necessary. Any nearby predator will know we're here. I reach out, probing into the darkness without any finesse. As far as I can tell, nothing big enough to attack us is lurking within a few kilometers. Unfortunately, there's nothing big enough to eat, either. 

I strip off my wet clothing and lay it by the fire. Rey is still where I placed her, too cold to even shiver. And soaking wet. Shit. Well, she was already intent on killing me before, so I can't really make it worse. And she needs the body heat. I frown, trying to decide if I just rationalized my way into stripping off her clothing. No. It's for her own good. She can kill me when she wakes up. If she wakes up. That last thought gets me moving. 

I peel off her wet clothes, noting with anxiety the blue tinge in her toes and fingers, and the chalk whiteness of the rest of her skin. Even her lips are white. I try my best not to stare at her, affording her a modicum of decency. It helps to just use my fingers and stare past her into the fire. I slide her over as close to the fire as possible and pull her against me, tucking her arms across her chest and tangling my legs with hers. I can mostly cover her. I jolt at how cold she is, but my body recovers quickly. 

I'm exhausted. I drift, waking with a jolt to the strange noises of birds nesting in the trees and branches creaking in the breeze. I continue to try to press into Rey's mind, but there is nothing. I think I'll know if she dies. I think it will tear my heart out and leave me spinning. The invisible cord that's always been stretched between us now feels like a short iron chain. I felt when Leia died. Surely Rey's connection to the Force is much stronger. I drift again, praying for some kind of solution.

Luke frowns at me. His hair is still brown, his face wiped clean of the wrinkles I saw on them when we last fought on the salt planet. I look down at my own hands, and realize that they are small and thin. I'm back at Luke's training camp, sitting in a quiet forest grove with him, listening to him lecture. In front of me lies a crow with a wing bent backwards, cawing weakly in pain.

"You have the potential," says Luke. "But you don't clear your mind. There is too much going on. To access Force Healing, you cannot allow your mind to wander. You have to delve deep. You have to feel something strong enough to motivate the energy."

I feel the rage in my younger self roil up in indignation. How dare he! Luke, a man who on a good day might care enough to notice I'm still breathing, now demands that I feel deeply. 

"I have plenty of anger," I snipe, pleased with the unhappy look on Luke's face.

"Anger won't work. Hate, rage, fear, and anger create power. But it's not the kind of power that will ever produce healing. It's not how the Force works." 

"If I am strong enough, I won't ever need to heal anyone. I won't ever allow anyone I care about to be hurt. I will keep them safe." I nod, smug in my fourteen-year-old understanding of the world. He knew better than this weak, washed-out Jedi, a failure, consigned to teaching orphan children things he could only dream of.

Luke closes his eyes and visibly works to regain his composure. I have learned in my short time at the camp that my best skill is annoying him. I thought in the beginning he would fill the void of a constantly absent father. But he can't. He's distant and sad, and he offers nothing I need. Neither do the other children here. We are all being trained to fit into the rebellion's machine, cogs in a wheel that turns without regard for what it demands. I hate it here. 

"Ben, please try. Your mother sent you here to learn." 

I stand, shaking with rage. It's so quick to rise up in me. And with it comes the power I've learned to crave, the rush of adrenaline I get from nothing else.

"I'm not you! I'm not your puppet! You might have wanted to be able to heal, but I don't! I don't care. Maybe if you had been able to heal, grandfather wouldn't have died. It was your fault. I won't make up for your failures." 

I wake, shaking with the memory the dream dredged up. Rey feels just as cold as she did when we fell asleep, just as weak and close to death. I press a kiss to her forehead, close my eyes, and try, decades later, to follow the advice of my uncle. I focus on Rey, on how hurt and damaged she is, on how it is my fault. On how much I want a chance for her to be angry at me again, even if it means she'll reject me. It's the only option either of us have left.