Chapter Text
The Force is with me,
and I am one with the Force;
and I fear nothing,
because all is as the Force wills it.
—The Guardian’s Mantra, author unknown
From Collected Poems, Prayers, and Meditations on the Force,
Edited by Kozem Pel, Disciple of the Whills
***
“You're not ready yet. You still have much to learn. A lightsaber of your own construct you must. Essential part of Jedi training, it is,” entreats Yoda.
“I feel the Force,” Luke retorts. “I will do it, but I have to save them first.”
“But you cannot control it. This is a dangerous time for you, Luke. You are now most susceptible to the temptations of the dark side,” Ben Kenobi’s distant Force voice echoes among the trees.
“Feeling the Force, not enough is. Learn it, study it, you must. Contemplate it. Commune with others strong with it, our old mistakes repeat you must not.”
“I will go there,” Luke pleads, visibly more agitated and distressed from the vision. “I promise that, Master.”
***
And so Luke goes to help. He climbs into his X-wing and flies straight to Bespin, only to find a trap waiting for him there. After his nearly tragic encounter with Vader, he's even more resolved to keep his promise to Yoda and Ben. He has to go to Jedha, now the only place in the Galaxy, where he can study the Force in a way that wasn’t following the former Jedi Order’s methods and where he hopes he can find enough kyber to construct a new lightsaber. Originally, this was supposed to be just an exercise of skill—the construction of one’s own lightsaber is a part of every Jedi Knight’s training. Now, it's a pressing necessity, since Luke’s lightsaber—the one that belonged to his father—is lost somewhere in the Cloud City tunnels. I’m not sure I would be able to use it, now that I know who he really was, Luke muses, flexing his prosthetic hand, as Artoo calculates the hyperlanes to the Jedha moon from the Rebellion rendezvous point at the Redemption.
***
“Welcome, Mister Skywalker, to the Jedha City spaceport. Enjoy your stay,” the space control officer in the main hangar smiles at Luke, handing him back his ID and scandocs.
The floor in the hangar bay is stone like every other structure in the city and around it. Worn down until smooth as glass by countless takeoffs and landings, droid wheels as well as feet of pilgrims, tourists, stormtroopers, and others who crossed it over the centuries. Luke watches the reflective surface of the hangar bay floor, transfixed by the reflected silhouettes of beings passing through the building. Artoo breaks him out of his musings with a quiet warble of admonishment about organics needing sustenance, wheeling past him towards the entrance to the cantina. The only warm dish offered by the service droid at the counter is a soup with rehydrated noodles. Definitely beats rations any time, thinks Luke as he slurps the nondescript broth and the occasional noodle.
Afterwards, they go outside, ignoring the entreating shouts of hover cab drivers. After the long journey in the cramped space of his X-wing cockpit, he needs to stretch his legs and—this feels important and appropriate, somehow—walk into the Holy City. To feel the dust and sand crunching under his boots. The moment he steps out in the open air, however, is when he becomes sure how much he underestimated his tolerance of Jedha’s cold climate and how unsuited his outfit is for the cold gusts of wind. Wearing his yellow flight jacket and pants, Luke makes a mental note to visit the local market soon, in hope of finding something much, much warmer than the change of garments he brought with him. His pilot’s suit won’t do at all, if he wants to stay incognito. My old coat from Hoth is rotting somewhere in Yoda’s bog, he sighs to himself, suppressing another shiver and wrapping himself tighter with the thin jacket.
When still in hyperspace, Luke complained to Artoo that he never managed to find out anything more about Jedha beyond the two essential facts that it’s home of the Guardians of the Whills and kyber. At that, Artoo beeped mockingly that it’s like cold Tatooine, but civilized.
“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, offended. But then he sagged against the backseat, sighing, “I guess that backwater sandball isn’t the pinnacle of civilisation, so I’ll give you that. Wait, what do you mean cold?”
And at Artoo’s vague explanation of Jedha’s climate, Luke mused, “How cold can it be, after Hoth?”
Right now, he's pretty sure the droid is laughing at him silently while enjoying his metal body that isn't affected by such trivial things as the weather.
***
The smells and colors of the main street assault Luke as he and Artoo pass under the stone arch and the increasing noise of the city envelops them. It feels fitting. Luke comes up to a stall with two Rodians behind the counter, selling different varieties of multicoloured utensils that may be kitchen appliances, but Luke isn’t entirely sure.
“Excuse me, which way to the Temple of the Kyber?” he asks them, hoping they will be able to help.
The road to the Temple turns out to be a long, but straight path from the stall. “The Pilgrims Walk, the Blessing Way, the Square of Stars,” says the taller Rodian. “Then you’ll see the Old Shadows wall, and the entrance is just around the corner.”
The sun begins to set as they approach the entrance in a high wall and Luke catalogues the destruction of the Temple clearly visible in the damaged facade and stairs. Signs of blaster fire and even heavier weaponry.
On top of the stairs to the entrance, with his face illuminated by the setting sun, sits a young human man with brown skin, a dark ponytail and beard. He’s clad in a pilot’s uniform. He’s propped against the wall, but clearly nodding off, completely unaware of his surroundings.
“Excuse me, sir,” Luke starts, tentatively, trying not to startle him. No reaction. “Sir?” He tries again, this time brushing a hand against the man’s sleeve. He jolts awake and immediately stands up, focusing his gaze on Luke. The man’s dark eyes glint with sunlight, taking Luke’s breath away for a second, long enough to miss his question.
“Huh?” is all Luke can muster, apparently.
“I said, can I help you?” the man replies, smiling broadly at Luke.
“Yeah, yeah,” Luke regains his composure. “I’m looking for the Guardians of the Whills? In the Temple of the Kyber?”
“You’ve uh—You’ve found just the place, then. Pilgrim?” He is smiling at Luke, which makes it harder to form coherent replies, apparently.
“In a manner of speaking. I’m Luke Skywalker,” he puts out his hand to pry the stranger’s name out of him.
“Bodhi Rook,” he shakes Luke’s hand, his palm warm and soft against Luke’s. Definitely a pilot. He follows Bodhi inside the Temple, leaving Artoo at the entrance. The stone floor of the hallway is as worn out as the almost glass-polished stone of the spaceport. The yard inside the Temple is as damaged as the outside facade, with pedestals devoid of any monuments in each of the four corners. The only things that don’t suggest the recent destruction are plants in giant terracotta pots and a gaggle of children of various species in the middle of the yard. The children are imitating the movements of a robed figure, all holding smaller versions of the instructor’s stick. At the sound of the two men approaching, the robed instructor turns towards the newcomers and strikes one end of the stick twice against the stone floor. The children stop their exercises.
“Bodhi?” he asks, although he doesn’t look directly at them. The children stand still, holding their tiny sticks in front of them, all their eyes fixed on the two newcomers.
“Brought you a pilgrim, Chirrut,” Bodhi tells him.
***
After all the proper introductions are made (“So it was you who blew up the rest of our kyber in that ghastly Death Star! Good job!” Chirrut says, at which Bodhi’s eyes widen comically), Bodhi salutes them both and excuses himself. Luke follows Chirrut—Chirrut Îmwe, the Guardian of the Whills—across the yard and inside again to his office. The space is as cozy as a room in an enormous, thousands-years-old temple can be. Manuscripts and leather-bound tomes line the shelves, stacked seemingly without much thought or order. The desk under the only window is strewn with datapads, some of them at dangerous angles in a heap. They sit down on the rug at a low table in the middle of the room. Chirrut brews them both some fresh tea in a metal teapot and pours it into two metal cups. Luke is very glad at the warmth of the liquid, tasting vastly different from the teas he’s had so far—Tatooine’s H'Kak bean tea and Yoda’s secret herb tea ( good for you, it is, strong will it make you )—although the aftertaste reminds him more of caf than either of the two other teas.
“Master Îmwe,” Luke starts, pausing to take a sip. “I came on a spiritual pilgrimage here, but there’s more to it than just my spiritual journey, I must confess.” Chirrut raises an eyebrow at that. “I came to study the Force from you and I also—need to construct my own lightsaber to complete my Jedi training.”
Chirrut’s both eyebrows are now nearing his hairline. “Jedi? Thought all of you were long gone.”
“So did I, and yet—here I am,” Luke says, shrugging. There’s a gentle tap on the wooden door behind them. It’s Bodhi, glancing at Luke from the doorway.
“I, uh—I’m all set with the scandocs,” he says. “The crates are in the storage room, you’re good for a month or so.” He clears his throat. “I’ll be going now,” he says, smiling at Luke and stepping out without waiting for a reply.
Luke’s gaze lingers on the doorway for a moment, before his thoughts focus back on Chirrut’s monologue.
“—show you some of it. We’ll see about that new lightsaber, I know what you’re looking for, but it won’t be easy to get a hold of now, I’m afraid.”
“I heard about the occupation and the cost of it.”
“So you know that we blew up all the kyber mines on Jedha? And that there’s nothing left of it here in the Temple anymore? It was the first thing the Imperials carried out of this building.”
“I do, but—I was hoping there’s some left.”
And there is, as it turns out, but it’s not as easily accessible as it used to be. Chirrut is very cryptic about it, but Luke allows himself to hope. He explains the instructions for his continued training and Chirrut lights up at the prospect of training—or at least helping to train—a future Jedi. Luke then suspiciously eyes Chirrut’s stick, propped against the wall next to him.
Their conversation then takes a less serious turn and they exchange observations about life on different desert worlds. As Chirrut laughs at the idea of frying a dewback egg on a scorching hot stone on Tatooine, there comes another gentle tap on the wooden door.
“Hi.” It’s Bodhi again.
“Bodhi, back already?’ Chirrut asks. “I thought we were all set for at least a month.”
“Yeah, you are, it’s just that I forgot—my goggles.”
“Your goggles?” Chirrut asks, his eyebrows once again raised. “You never take them off.”
Before Bodhi can answer, Chirrut smirks and gestures at the teapot in front of him, “Why don’t you join us for tea before you go? And maybe have a look around for your goggles, checking your own head first?” At that, Bodhi’s hands shoot up to pat his own forehead and, of course, the blasted goggles have been there all along. He locks eyes with Luke and all three burst into laughter.
Bodhi sits down with them and this time actually takes off his goggles, putting them on the table.
“May I?” Luke asks, pointing at the device. Bodhi nods and Luke—instead of reaching out and picking it up—looks at the goggles and they start to float a few centimeters above the table top.
Bodhi gazes at the levitating device, entranced, and elbows Chirrut. “He’s—levitating my goggles?”
“You should get a separate room for that,” Chirrut says, grinning brightly. Bodhi snorts and rolls his eyes at that.
Luke flushes bright pink and moves the goggles into his open palm, moves them around. “Torjeka-made? With night vision?” he asks Bodhi.
“Yeah. The stormtroopers didn’t, um—didn’t really need them anymore.” Bodhi shrugs, smiling lopsidedly at Luke. “Extremely handy for night cargo runs with the light-enhancing settings.”
Bodhi apparently knows his way around most of the things in Chirrut’s office. He makes them all another pot of tea and they have a long chat about the current state of things on Jedha. Luke thought he had had some idea about how the situation might look like from past experiences with worlds liberated from the Empire, but Chirrut and Bodhi’s tale of the insurgency and the absolute economic nightmare after the Empire left are beyond Luke’s imagination.
“We knew that by blowing up the Imperial-controlled kyber mines we were essentially sending up in smoke our only export commodity,” Bodhi says as he blows on the steaming cup, “not counting the spice and prayer. But all in all—”
“—it was still better than letting them slowly bleed us dry. It was a fifty-fifty bargain as far as long term survival was concerned,” Chirrut chips in. “We need to lay low with what’s left of the kyber, so keep it to yourself that there’s anything left.”
Bodhi nods vigorously. “There were three possible outcomes. If we had done nothing, the Imperials would have slowly bled us dry, yes. You and Baze made a deal with Saw, and there were two possible bad case scenarios: either quick death for all of us or prolonged suffering after an economic collapse. So—the fact that we haven’t yet starved to death is the best case scenario.”
“The final blow to the occupying garrisons was the coordinated effort of Partisans, miners, and what was left of the scattered Temple residents,” Bodhi continues. “Thankfully, kyber crystals are extremely prone to energy overloads. An arranged power failure in every Empire-controlled kyber mine, safety evacuation of miners, and—”
“Boom!” Chirrut chimes in, miming an explosion with his hands.
“Pity we couldn’t help,” Luke whispers, eyes unfocused. He straightens and adds, “But we can help now.”
“We might help each other, yes.” Chirrut smiles. “Now, Bodhi. You should take Luke out and show him the city.
Bodhi brightens at that. “I’ll need to move the bike then. See you outside in five?” he asks and Luke nods in response, grinning.
Chirrut rummages in one of the cabinets and takes out a dark red piece of cloth with two green-yellow stripes. It looks suspiciously dusty. “A traditional Jedhan poncho to keep you warm?” Chirrut offers the garment and Luke couldn’t be happier to finally stay warm, regardless of dust.
***
Bodhi’s waiting at the entrance to the Temple and upon seeing Luke stepping out of the doorway, he snorts.
“Kriff, Luke, did Chirrut take down one of his wall rugs from his office?” Bodhi asks.
Luke glances down on his poncho and makes a face at Bodhi. It does look a bit like the rugs from Chirrut’s office. “It’s either this or getting frostbite by the end of the evening.”
Bodhi then has the brilliant idea to start their walk at the New Market stalls where Luke can pick out something less rug-like. They walk a few blocks arm in arm, enjoying the evening bustle around them and the mingling smells of incense and fried dishes. Luke takes an enormous amount of time to choose a new poncho, making a huge mess out of the neatly stacked selection. He finally settles on a black knotting with an arrow-head-like golden pattern at the bottom. Bodhi gives him a thumbs-up in approval and they go around the Old City in slow circles until the streets empty out a bit, although never fall entirely quiet. The Holy City, especially the Old City district, never sleeps. Bodhi chatters away about the city, pointing at buildings as they pass them by.
“I wouldn’t know for shit, but if you ask someone more qualified, they’d probably tell you that this is a few hundreds or thousands years old. I think rumor has it that there was one structure here in the Old City that’s hundreds of thousands of years old, but I couldn’t tell you which one. If you talk to Chirrut long enough, he’ll tell you that NiJedha is ‘a city made for hiding as much as it was a city built upon self-discovery’ or other such stuff, which is his standard line to all pilgrims and new disciples.” Bodhi looks up at Luke, who’s been staring at him intently, smiling. “Just tell me to shut up if I talk too much.”
“No, no, don’t stop,” Luke insists. “I can’t tell you anything remotely interesting about my own homeworld, unless you like stories about bull-eyeing womp rats from a skyhopper and the intricacies of moisture farming.”
***
Later that night when they part ways, Luke gets back to the Temple where Chirrut offered him a spare room in the pilgrim’s quarters. The Temple is already quiet, so Luke tip-toes into the room, the door panel hisses quietly as it closes behind him. The building is a harmonious combination of old and new, which is very fitting. The modern electronic fixtures in the newer and redesigned structure of the living quarters blend seamlessly with the old section of the Temple with the communal areas—for meditating, praying, studying, practicing—which are well-insulated, but mostly devoid of tech additions.
Artoo is already powered down for the night in the corner, his photoreceptor blinking slowly, indicative of a power-saving mode. Luke goes to spread out his bedrolls and opens up Chirrut’s datapad with Kozem Pel’s Collected Poems, Prayers, and Meditations on the Force. (“If you want to know more than the Jedi way of the Force, start with this book.”).
“—of poetry?” Luke mutters to himself. “Peace is a lie. / There is only Passion. / Through Passion I gain Strength. / Through Strength I gain Power. / Through Power I gain Victory. / Through Victory my chains are Broken. / The Force shall free me—oh, it’s Sith poetry? The Code of the Sith.” Luke’s thoughts drift to his fight with Vader again and to Yoda’s warnings. There is darkness in me too, but is it there because of him? Or is it there because we all have some darkness in us? He thought about it a lot already while meditating in hyperspace on route to Jedha. The eternal question of nature versus nurture makes Luke’s head spin—he knows he won’t solve the oldest philosophical conundrum in the Galaxy in the course of one pilgrimage, but it keeps nagging at him nevertheless. Exhausted from the day’s events, Luke falls asleep with the lines of the Sith Code looping in his head and dreams of handsome cargo pilots wearing ridiculous ponchos.
***
Luke doesn’t see Bodhi for over a week, during which he gets to know each nook and cranny of the Temple, as he gets lost in the dark corridors more often that he’d like to admit. He hasn’t got any time to go outside of the Temple walls and explore the city any more for now, instead he passes his days meditating in the main hall with other pilgrims and disciples and reading anything Chirrut gives him. It took a good few years before people began trusting that Imperials won’t come back to Jedha and seal off the Temple again, detaining any devotees in the process. Even now, there are only two disciples permanently living in the Temple, K'asia—human with dark brown skin and black hair in bantu knots peeking out of their disciple hood—and Ramu—Duros with blue-green skin and red eyes, also clad in brown disciple’s robes, but with no trace of hair showing outside of his hood. All three talk a lot during meal times in the only communal space with a stove and cooling chamber.
“—you realize the Jedi were assholes, right?” K'asia says as they chew on the boiling hot goulash. Luke looks at them affronted and Ramu snorts, choking on his food. “Ask Chirrut or Baze, I think they’re old enough to at least have met one at some point before the purge. It’s common knowledge among the elders over here that they were exceptional assholes, Luke. As an organisation, that is.”
They bicker over the course of the meal, Luke—half-heartedly—defending both of his masters without divulging any identifiable details about them, in case this reaches any imperial ears. No one knows anything about Luke’s training yet, especially not the whereabouts of the last Jedi Master in the Galaxy.
The other permanent residents of the Temple are the children who Luke met the day he arrived. A motley bunch of kids of various species, all orphans and survivors of the occupation. Luke sometimes sees them in the middle of a class taught in tandem by Kaya Gimm—a red-headed human—and a CZ-model tutor droid. The only person whom Luke has yet to meet is Baze Malbus and from what he’s heard about the man, Luke’s extremely excited to have a chance to spar with him.
At the end of the week, after days (and two nights) of poring over texts on the nature of the Force and ethics of Force-users as seen by various sects—Central Isopter, Night Sisters, Sisters of Sarrav, among others—Luke finally gets out of the Temple to see more of the city. While taking a stroll he ends up climbing to the tallest sector of the Old City to contemplate a poem from another collection he got from Chirrut, The Jedha Book of Haiku.
Thinking he’s alone, he reads aloud, “‘After sunset / suffuses its vermilion – / autumn dusk.’ Huh. It’s summer still, but sure feels like autumn to me.”
“Has Chirrut also given you his favorite book of haikus?” comes a familiar voice from behind Luke. Bodhi is climbing the last steps onto the viewing deck. Luke turns his head, chastising himself that he got sneaked upon. “Charming view, no?” says Bodhi, while looking Luke straight in the eyes.
Stars, he’s flirting with me. Isn’t he?