Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [58]
The potential deadliness of the dance added greatly to the suspense, and to the brilliance of the performance. Drawing to a conclusion, Barriss jumped straight toward Mazong, executed a double flip with the lightsaber whirling beneath her, and landed on her knees not an arm-length in front of him. To his considerable credit, the Yiwa chieftain did not flinch. But his eyes never left the spinning lightsaber.
Another bit of Alwari lore was imparted to the visitors as the assembled clan demonstrated their approval not only with hisses and whistles, but with a mass cracking of the knuckles of their lissome, long-fingered hands. Waves of popping swept over the gathering. As for Mazong, he quietly consulted with his advisers.
Breathing hard, her lightsaber deactivated and refastened to her belt, Barriss resumed her seat alongside her companions. Luminara leaned over to whisper to her Padawan.
“A fine exhibition, Barriss. But that last stunt was truly treacherous. It would make me unhappy to have to return to Cuipernam with you in less than one piece.”
“I’ve practiced it before, Master.” The Padawan was well pleased with herself. “I know it’s a dangerous move, but we do want to make as strong an impression as possible on these people so that they’ll help us.”
“Striking off your own limb would certainly make an impression.” Seeing the younger woman’s expression fall, Luminara reached out and gave her an encouraging hug. “I don’t mean to be overly critical. You did well. I’m proud of you.”
“So am I.” Obi-Wan glanced to his right, to the pensive young man seated next to him. “It’s your turn, Anakin.”
That snapped Anakin out of his introspection. “Me? But Master Obi-Wan, I can’t do anything like that. I haven’t been trained for it. I’m a fighter, not an artist. Nothing I could do would begin to approach Barriss’s presentation.”
“It doesn’t have to approach it.” Obi-Wan was patient with his Padawan. “But the chieftain clearly indicated he wanted to ascertain the existence of a soul in all of us. That means you, too, Anakin.”
The younger man chewed his lower lip. “I don’t suppose my sworn and witnessed statement to the effect that I have one would be sufficient?”
“I think not,” Obi-Wan replied dryly. “Stand out there, Anakin, and show them some soul. I know that you have one. The Force overflows with beauty. Draw on it.”
With great reluctance, Anakin unfolded his legs and stood. Aware of the many eyes on him, humanoid as well as Ansionian, he strode slowly to the center of the sand-paved clearing. What could he possibly do to convince these people of his inner nature, to show them that he was as much a feeling being as the gravity-defying Barriss? He had to do something. His Master had insisted on it.
He didn’t want to be here, in this circle of light in the middle of a nowhere place on a nowhere world. He wanted to be on Coruscant, or home, or …
The one memory that overrode all others jarred something loose. Something from his childhood. It possessed the virtues of simplicity: a song; slow, sad, and melancholic, but full of affection for the one who was listening. His mother had sung it to him frequently, when money was scarce and when desert winds howled outside their simple dwelling. She would appreciate the words of that song, which he had struggled to sing back to her on numerous occasions. That opportunity had not presented itself for many years now, ever since he had left her and the world of his birth.
Now he imagined that she was here, standing before him, her comforting and reassuring