Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [25]
Dangerous creatures lurked in this swamp; but to a Jedi, none were evil. Voracious quicksand mires waited, still as pools; tentacles mingled with the hanging vines. Luke knew them all, now, they were all part of the living planet, each integral to the Force of which he, too, was a pulsing aspect.
Yet there were dark things here, as well—unimaginably dark, reflections of the dark corners of his soul. He’d seen these things here. He’d run from them, he’d struggled with them; he’d even faced them. He’d vanquished some of them.
But some still cowered here. These dark things.
He climbed around a barricade of gnarled roots, slippery with moss. On the other side, a smooth, unimpeded path led straight in the direction he wanted to go; but he did not take it. Instead, he plunged once more into the undergrowth.
High overhead, something black and flapping approached, then veered away. Luke paid no attention. He just kept walking.
The jungle thinned a bit. Beyond the next bog, Luke saw it—the small, strangely-shaped dwelling, its odd little windows shedding a warm yellow light in the damp rain-forest. He skirted the mire, and crouching low, entered the cottage.
Yoda stood smiling inside, his small green hand clutching his walking stick for support. “Waiting for you I was,” he nodded.
He motioned Luke to sit in a corner. The boy was struck by how much more frail Yoda’s manner seemed—a tremor to the hand, a weakness to the voice. It made Luke afraid to speak, to betray his shock at the old master’s condition.
“That face you make,” Yoda crinkled his tired brow cheerfully. “Look I so bad to young eyes?”
He tried to conceal his woeful countenance, shifting his position in the cramped space. “No, Master … of course not.”
“I do, yes, I do!” the tiny Jedi Master chuckled gleefully. “Sick I’ve become. Yes. Old and weak.” He pointed a crooked finger at his young pupil. “When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not.”
The creature hobbled over to his bed, still chuckling and, with great effort, lay down. “Soon will I rest. Yes, forever sleep. Earned it, I have.”
Luke shook his head. “You can’t die, Master Yoda—I won’t let you.”
“Trained well, and strong with the Force are you—but not that strong! Twilight is upon me, and soon night must fall. That is the way of things … the way of the Force.”
“But I need your help,” Luke insisted. “I want to complete my training.” The great teacher couldn’t leave him now—there was too much, still, to understand. And he’d taken so much from Yoda already, and as yet given back nothing. He had much he wanted to share with the old creature.
“No more training do you require,” Yoda assured him. “Already know you that which you need.”
“Then I am a Jedi?” Luke pressed. No. He knew he was not, quite. Something still lacked.
Yoda wrinkled up his wizened features. “Not yet. One thing remains. Vader … Vader you must confront. Then, only then, a full Jedi you’ll be. And confront him you will, sooner or later.”
Luke knew this would be his test, it could not be otherwise. Every quest had its focus, and Vader was inextricably at the core of Luke’s struggle. It was agonizing for him to put the question to words; but after a long silence, he again spoke to the old Jedi. “Master Yoda—is Darth Vader my father?”
Yoda’s eyes filled with a weary compassion. This boy was not yet a man complete. A sad smile creased his face, he seemed almost to grow smaller in his bed. “A rest I need. Yes. A rest.”
Luke stared at the dwindling teacher, trying to give the old one strength, just by the force of his love and will. “Yoda, I must know,” he whispered.
“Your father he is,” Yoda said simply.
Luke closed his eyes, his mouth, his heart, to keep away the truth of what he knew was true.
“Told you, did he?” Yoda asked.
Luke nodded, but did not speak. He wanted to keep the moment frozen,