Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [60]
There was a hero, of course. And a heroine. And where both are present, there invariably arises a love story poignant and true. Greater issues than the feelings of the two lovers were at stake. The fate of millions lay in the balance, their very lives and the lives of their children dependent on the making of correct decisions, on choosing to fight for truth and justice. There was sacrifice and war, betrayal and revelation, greed and revenge, and in the end, as the fate of the two lovers hung suspended like a small weight from a thread, redemption. Beyond that, the humble storyteller could not see, could not say, a confession that provoked cries of unsatisfied frustration from his audience.
With a soft smile, Obi-Wan asked if they really wanted to hear how it all turned out. The chorus of concurrence that followed woke half the beasts in the corrals. Even Mazong, Anakin noted, had been sucked into the tale, and required closure.
Raising his hands, Obi-Wan requested and received a silence so complete that the small furry scratchers on the far side of the lake could be heard rubbing their abdomens against the rocks there. In a voice deliberately hushed, he resumed the story, his voice never rising but the words coming faster and faster, until his audience, leaning forward the better to hear and not miss a single word, threatened to collapse en masse onto the sand.
When he delivered the final surprise, there were shouts of joy and much appreciative laughter from the onlookers, followed by intense discussions of the tale just told. Ignoring these, Obi-Wan walked quietly back to his place and took his seat. So overcome were the Yiwa by the telling that they forgot to hiss or whistle or crack a single knuckle in appreciation. It didn’t matter. There was no need for applause. Obi-Wan’s saga had passed beyond the need for simple approval into the realm of complete acceptance.
“You enchanted everyone entirely, Master.” Anakin hardly knew what to say. “Myself included.”
Picking at the sand by his feet, the Jedi shrugged disarmingly. “Such is the power of story, my young Padawan.”
Anakin considered this carefully, as he was learning to do with everything Obi-Wan Kenobi said. “You kept everyone in complete suspense. Suspension might be a better description. I never saw the happy ending coming and didn’t expect it. Do all your stories have happy endings?”
Flicking a few grains of sand aside, Obi-Wan looked up at him sharply enough to give his apprentice an unexpected start. “Only time will tell that, Anakin Skywalker. In storytelling, nothing is a given, the astonishing becomes commonplace, and one learns to expect the unexpected. But when people of understanding and goodwill come together, a happy ending is usually assured.”
The Padawan frowned uncertainly. “I was speaking of storytelling, Master. Not reality.”
“One is but a reflection of the other, and sometimes it’s difficult to tell which is the original and which the mirror image. There is much to be learned from stories that can’t be taught by history.” Obi-Wan smiled. “It’s like making a cake. Much lies in the choosing of ingredients before the baking has even begun.” Before Anakin could comment again, Obi-Wan had turned back to the center of the gathering. “We’ll talk more about it later, if you like. For now, we need to show courtesy by giving our colleague Luminara the same kind of close attention as the Yiwa.”
Unsatisfied but understanding, Anakin turned away from his Master to where Luminara had taken center stage. It wasn’t much of a stage, he knew. The lighting was bad, the floor uneven, and one would flatter the audience by calling it unsophisticated, but she approached it as if it were the finest theater on Coruscant. She had spoken several times of feeling the chill carried by the wind that swept over the prairie, and so wore her long robes. Yiwa